Chapter One: The Man Who Came for Her

 "Go upstairs, wear something decent, and come down when I call you." Claudia paused, studying Isabella's face with an expression that made the younger woman uneasy. "And for once in your miserable life, try not to embarrass this family."

Isabella nodded and hurried out of the kitchen before Claudia could find another reason to humiliate her. She had barely reached the staircase when she heard her father speaking in the living room, his voice unusually low and nervous. Roberto Rossi rarely sounded nervous around his family, especially when he was ordering Isabella around. That alone made her slow her steps.

"Please, Mr. Moretti, I need a little more time," her father pleaded.

Isabella stopped.

The name struck her like a sudden blow.

Moretti.

She had heard that name before, whispered by neighbours who stopped talking whenever a black car passed their street. She had heard it from shopkeepers who lowered their voices when discussing Milan's underworld. Most frighteningly, she had once overheard her father telling a friend that Alessandro Moretti was a man no sensible person would ever dare to owe money.

The mafia king.

The devil of Milan.

A man people claimed could destroy an entire family without losing a night's sleep.

Isabella's stomach twisted as she moved closer to the living room entrance. She knew she should return upstairs, but fear held her in place, forcing her to listen to every word. Her father spoke again, his voice shaking beneath the desperate attempt to sound respectful.

"I swear I'll repay everything," Roberto said. "Just give me another month, and I will find the money."

"Another month?" a stranger replied. "You said that three months ago."

The voice was smooth, almost amused, but something about it sent a chill down Isabella's spine. She pressed her back against the wall and peered through the narrow opening beside the door. A tall man dressed in a black suit stood near the window, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, while two broad-shouldered men waited behind him.

He looked nothing like the monsters Isabella had imagined when she heard stories about the Moretti family. His dark hair was neatly styled, his face handsome, and his smile almost pleasant, but his eyes were sharp enough to make her look away. He didn't need to raise his voice to make her father look like a frightened child. The stranger seemed perfectly comfortable watching Roberto struggle to explain himself.

The stranger's smile disappeared.

"Your daughter is precisely why I'm here."

Isabella felt the blood drain from her face.

For several seconds, she couldn't move, couldn't breathe properly, and couldn't make sense of what she had just heard. She looked down at her injured thumb, watching the blood soak through the napkin, but the pain suddenly seemed insignificant. Her father had mentioned her, and the stranger had answered as though she were the final item in a business transaction.

"No," she whispered.

The word escaped before she could stop it.

Inside the living room, every head turned toward the doorway.

Claudia appeared behind Isabella almost immediately and gripped her upper arm. "What are you doing standing there?" she hissed, digging her fingers into Isabella's skin. "I told you to go upstairs." Isabella flinched but couldn't tear her eyes away from the stranger, who was now studying her with open curiosity. Her father looked as though he had just seen a ghost.

"Is this her?" the stranger asked.

Claudia's grip tightened. "Yes, Mr. Moretti."

Isabella's knees nearly gave way.

Mr. Moretti.

That was all she needed to hear.

The stranger studied her for a moment, then glanced at Roberto.

"You didn't tell her?"

Roberto swallowed. "I was going to."

"When?"

The question was quiet, but Roberto's face reddened.

"When the time was right," he muttered.

The stranger let out a short, humourless laugh. "The time was right three weeks ago, when you signed the agreement." 

For a moment, Isabella thought she had misunderstood.

The words were simple enough, yet her mind refused to accept them. She looked from her father to Claudia, hoping one of them would laugh and admit that this was some cruel misunderstanding. But Claudia stood beside the doorway with an expression of impatient satisfaction, while Bianca watched from the sofa without making the slightest attempt to hide her smile.

"Going where?" Isabella whispered.

"To the Moretti residence," Roberto answered.

"I don't want to go," she whispered.

"I didn't ask what you wanted."

Her lips trembled.

For one brief moment, she stood straighter, her tears still running down her cheeks but her eyes fixed on her father with something stronger than fear. She wanted him to look at her, to see the daughter he was sacrificing, and to remember that she was a human being rather than a convenient solution to his problems. But Roberto only looked away.

The stranger stepped between them.

"Enough."

One word, spoken without force, silenced the room.

He turned to Isabella. "You can walk to the car yourself, or my men can help you."

She stared at him, horrified.

"I can walk."

"Good."

He moved toward the door, apparently expecting her to follow.

Isabella didn't move.

She watched him cross the threshold, then looked back at her father one last time. Roberto stood near the window with his hands clasped behind his back, while Claudia was already speaking quietly to Bianca. 

A black car waited at the gate, its windows dark enough to hide whoever might be inside. Two men stood beside it, and one opened the rear door when the stranger approached. Isabella hesitated at the sight of the dark interior, imagining locked doors, unfamiliar rooms, and a future in which every decision would belong to someone else.

"Get in," the stranger said.

She obeyed.

The door closed behind her with a heavy thud, and she flinched at the sound. Through the window, she watched her childhood home grow smaller as the car pulled away, carrying her toward a man she believed could destroy her with a single command. She pressed her injured thumb against her palm and tried to stop herself from crying, but the harder she fought the tears, the more they came.

After several minutes, the stranger glanced at her from the opposite seat.

"You're going to make yourself sick if you keep crying like that."

"I'm sorry," she whispered automatically.

He frowned. "Why do you keep apologising?"

Isabella looked at him through wet lashes, too frightened to answer honestly.

"We're here."

Isabella looked outside.

The gates before them were enormous, made of black iron and guarded by armed men. Beyond them stood a sprawling mansion surrounded by high walls, trimmed gardens, and rows of security lights. It was beautiful in the way expensive things could be beautiful, but to Isabella, it looked like a fortress designed to keep prisoners from escaping.

The gates opened.

The car drove through, and the gates shut behind them.

Isabella's breath caught.