Chapter 3: A Deal with the Devil

Isla spent the rest of the day trying—and failing—to focus.

No matter how much she told herself to ignore it, the weight of Dominic Valenti’s invitation clung to her like a second skin. She went through the motions—attended her classes and scribbled notes she wouldn’t remember later—but her mind was elsewhere.

Because tonight, she was willingly walking into the lion’s den.

By the time she returned to her apartment, the sun was already beginning to set, casting long shadows across the city skyline. She dropped her bag by the door, leaning against the wall as she exhaled sharply.

Her roommate, Sofia, arched a brow from the couch. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Worse. I met one.

“I’m fine,” Isla lied, kicking off her shoes.

Sofia smirked. “That’s convincing. Let me guess—bad first day?”

You have no idea.

Isla hesitated. She and Sofia were close, but there were things she couldn’t tell her—things that came with being a Ricci.

“Something like that,” she muttered, heading toward her room.

Once inside, she shut the door and leaned against it, staring at her reflection in the mirror. What the hell am I doing?

She could still say no. She could ignore Dominic Valenti and pretend this never happened.

But deep down, she knew she wouldn’t.

Because this wasn’t just dinner.

It was a warning. A test. A trap.

And Isla had never been one to run from a fight.

Squaring her shoulders, she crossed the room and opened her closet. If I have to do this, I’ll do it on my terms.

She pulled out a sleek black dress—nothing too revealing, but enough to make a statement. If Dominic wanted to play games, she’d show him she wasn’t just another pawn.

By the time she was ready, her heart was hammering against her ribs.

The clock read 7:50.

There was still time to turn back.

Instead, she grabbed her purse and walked out the door.

---

The restaurant Dominic had chosen wasn’t a flashy five-star place, nor was it a dimly lit, suspicious meeting spot. It was quiet. Exclusive. The kind of place where only the powerful came to make deals in whispered voices.

The hostess barely glanced at her before leading her to a private booth in the back.

And there he was.

Dominic sat with the ease of a man who owned everything around him. A whiskey glass rested in his hand, his suit pristine, his expression unreadable.

But when he looked up, something dark flickered in his gaze.

“You came,” he said smoothly.

She slid into the seat across from him, keeping her face impassive. “I wanted to see what kind of man invites a Ricci to dinner without fearing for his life.”

His lips curved. “And?”

“I haven’t decided if you’re reckless or just arrogant.”

He chuckled, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Maybe I’m both.”

The air between them crackled.

Isla sat back, crossing her legs. “So tell me, Professor, what do you really want?”

Dominic leaned forward, his gaze locking onto hers.

“You.”

Her breath caught.

But before she could respond, the waiter arrived, and just like that, the moment was gone.

For now.

Isla’s pulse thrummed in her ears as she forced herself to hold Dominic’s gaze. His words still lingered between them, a challenge wrapped in smooth arrogance.

You.

It was a declaration. A warning. And something far more dangerous.

The waiter set down two menus and a bottle of wine, oblivious to the tension crackling between them. Isla barely glanced at the menu before setting it aside, her fingers resting lightly against the table.

“Bold answer,” she murmured. “But I don’t belong to anyone, Dominic.”

His smirk deepened. “Not yet.”

Heat pooled low in her stomach, but she refused to let him see how his words affected her. Instead, she tilted her head, studying him.

“You don’t strike me as the type to bring a woman to dinner just to flirt,” she said coolly. “So why am I really here?”

Dominic took a slow sip of his whiskey before answering. “Because you intrigue me, Isla. And because I like to know the pieces in play before the game truly begins.”

She stiffened. “What game?”

He set his glass down with a soft clink, leaning forward. “You and I both know our families are at war. And yet, here you are, sitting across from me.” His voice dropped, almost conspiratorial. “Now, why is that?”

Her stomach tightened.

Was he testing her? Trying to see where her loyalties lay?

She forced herself to meet his gaze without hesitation. “Because you asked.”

He chuckled, the sound rich and dark. “Simple as that?”

“No,” she admitted. “But let’s not pretend this was a normal invitation. You knew I’d come, didn’t you?”

Dominic ran a finger along the rim of his glass. “I was willing to bet on it.”

The waiter returned, taking their orders, but Isla barely noticed. Every instinct told her that this night wasn’t about dinner—it was about power. Control.

And Dominic Valenti was a man who thrived on both.

As soon as they were alone again, he spoke, his tone shifting. “Tell me, Isla, how much do you really know about your father’s enemies?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Enough to know I shouldn’t be having dinner with one of them.”

His lips quirked. “And yet, here you are.”

He was playing with her, unravelling her bit by bit, and damn it; she hated how good he was at it.

She took a slow sip of her wine, matching his composed energy. “I know you and my father have a history. I also know he’d lose his mind if he knew I was sitting here with you.”

Dominic’s expression darkened slightly. “He would. Because he knows what I do to the things I want.”

A shiver ran down her spine, but she held her ground.

“I’m not a thing,” she said firmly.

His gaze dropped to her lips for just a second before returning to her eyes. “No, you’re not.” He tilted his head. “Which is why this is going to be interesting.”

Isla exhaled slowly, gripping her wine glass tighter.

She had stepped into this dinner thinking she could handle Dominic Valenti. That she could play his game and walk away unscathed.

But she was beginning to realize—

She wasn’t playing at all.

She was already caught.

And Dominic Valenti knew it.

The tension between them thickened, stretching tight like a wire pulled to its breaking point. Isla wasn’t sure if it was the wine, the heat of Dominic’s unwavering gaze, or the fact that every instinct she had was screaming at her to run—but she remained seated, steadying herself with another slow sip of her drink.

She wasn’t naïve. She knew what he was doing.

Dominic Valenti wasn’t just testing her; he was marking his territory.

And somehow, in a matter of minutes, she had become his next battleground.

Her fingers toyed with the stem of her glass as she let the silence linger a beat longer before speaking. “If you think I’m going to be your pawn in whatever twisted game you’re playing, you’re mistaken.”

Dominic’s smirk remained, but there was something else beneath it now—something calculating. He leaned back in his seat, regarding her with an amused flicker in his dark eyes.

“A pawn?” he echoed. “No, Isla. You’re far more than that.”

The way he said her name sent a slow, unwanted shiver through her.

She forced herself to hold his gaze, refusing to be the first to look away. “Then what am I?”

Dominic tilted his head, considering her. “The most dangerous piece on the board.” He swirled his whiskey, taking a slow sip before adding, “A queen.”

Her breath hitched.

Not because of the words themselves—but because of the way he said them.

Like he wasn’t simply stating a fact.

Like he had already decided she belonged to him.

Isla straightened, her heart hammering against her ribs. “I don’t play by anyone’s rules but my own.”

His smirk deepened. “Good.”

Her stomach twisted, unsure whether to feel relieved or even more on edge.

Just then, the waiter returned, placing their meals in front of them. The interruption should have offered some kind of reprieve, but it didn’t. Not when Dominic picked up his fork, cutting into his steak with slow, precise movements—like a man in no hurry at all.

The meal passed in a blur of carefully chosen words, of sharp glances and subtle power shifts. Dominic was relentless in his questions—always just toeing the line between curiosity and provocation. Isla gave away nothing more than she had to, pushing back when necessary, but she could tell he was peeling her apart layer by layer.

And the worst part?

She let him.

By the time the plates were cleared, the tension between them had only grown more dangerous.

Dominic leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “You know, Isla, your father is going to find out about this.”

She lifted a brow. “Are you planning on telling him?”

He chuckled, slow and dark. “No. But I won’t need to.” His gaze flicked to the side—toward the subtle glint of a camera nestled near the restaurant’s bar. “Places like this… people like us… we’re always being watched.”

A cold realization settled in her chest.

This dinner wasn’t just a game between the two of them. It was a statement.

One Dominic had orchestrated from the very start.

“Did you do this on purpose?” she asked, voice low.

He took another sip of his whiskey, his smirk unfaltering. “What do you think?”

Her pulse pounded.

He wanted her father to know.

He wanted to provoke him.

And she had walked right into it.

Isla forced a slow breath through her nose. She couldn’t let him see how deep he had already sunk his hooks into her, couldn’t let him know that for the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure if she was the one being hunted—or the one doing the hunting.

Dominic pulled a sleek black card from his pocket and slid it across the table.

“My number,” he said smoothly. “For when you decide you want more than just dinner.”

Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t touch it.

Instead, she stood, smoothing down her dress. “You assume too much, Professor.”

His smirk remained. “And you pretend too well, Isla.”

She turned on her heel and walked away, her head held high.

But the second she stepped outside, the cool night air did nothing to ease the fire burning in her veins.

Because the worst part?

Dominic Valenti was right.

She would call him.

And when she did—she knew there’d be no turning back.