Trigger Warnings: - Taboo relationship. - violence, manipulation. - Explicit sexual content: power play, rough intimacy, and kink - Emotional and psychological torment Isabella Moretti’s world was destroyed by Luca Ricci—the man she’s now forced to marry. She’s out for revenge, but Luca isn’t the kind of man to be defeated so easily. He has his own plans, and they’re darker than she could ever imagine. Their hatred burns like fire, but their chemistry is undeniable. Passion laced with violence, desire wrapped in pain, and secrets that threaten to consume them both. In a world where pleasure and power collide, Isabella’s body and mind are pushed to their limits. Torn between two men—Luca, the ruthless bastard who broke her, and, the twisted love she never saw coming—she finds herself drowning in a web of obsession and taboo. Her heart is at war, but the question remains: who will claim her? And at what cost?
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ISABELLA’S POV
The lace of my wedding dress felt like chains, wrapping around me tighter with every breath. The fabric was smooth against my skin, but it may as well have been ropes binding me to my fate.
This wasn’t a dress. It was a costume—a cruel joke.The thorns of the bouquet bit into my palms, the sharp pain grounding me. Blood welled under my grip, smearing the edges of the roses. I didn’t loosen my hold. I wanted to feel it, wanted the sting to drown out the boiling rage inside me.
But it wasn’t the roses or the dress that made my blood burn.
It was him.
Luca Ricci stood at the altar, every inch of him radiating control. His broad shoulders were squared, his sharp jawline catching the light streaming through the cathedral windows. The scar along his jaw only added to the picture of danger he exuded.
He didn’t smile—not even the faintest twitch of his lips. He didn’t need to. His satisfaction was quieter, colder, and sharper than any blade.
He wasn’t marrying me because he wanted me. He was marrying me to break me.
The priest’s voice dragged me out of my thoughts. His calm, steady tone carried over the low murmur of the crowd. The halls were filled with mafia elites, their eyes gleaming with curiosity and satisfaction.
My humiliation was their entertainment.At the front row sat my father, his hunched figure totally different to the powerful man he once was. He kept his gaze fixed on the marble floor, too ashamed to look at me.
The priest turned to Luca. “Do you, Luca Ricci, take Isabella Moretti to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Luca didn’t hesitate. His icy blue gaze stayed locked on mine as he said, “I do.”
The words stabbed into me like a knife. My fists clenched around the bouquet, and I had to fight the urge to scream. Somewhere deep down, I’d held onto the hope—however foolish—that he would call this off. That even Luca Ricci would find this charade too cruel.
But no. He didn’t flinch.
The priest turned to me. “And do you, Isabella Moretti, take Luca Ricci—”
“I do,” I snapped before he could finish. My voice rang cold and clear, cutting through the tension in the room. I wouldn’t give Luca the satisfaction of seeing me falter.
The corner of his mouth twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. It was something darker. As the priest announced us husband and wife, he leaned in close, his breath brushing against my ear.
“Smile, Isabella,” he whispered, his voice as smooth as silk. “It’s a wedding, not a funeral.”
My chest tightened as the muscles in my face strained to obey. I forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. He wanted me to play the part? Fine. I would, but I’d make him regret it.
“I’ll kill you before I ever call you my husband,” I hissed, my voice low but venomous.
His blue eyes glittered with amusement as he straightened.
“You’ll call me whatever I want, sweetheart. By the time I’m done, you’ll beg to.” he pulled away, grinning from ear to ear, I could bareky hide my irritation, he was a fucking show off.
The ceremony ended, but the nightmare didn’t. As we walked back down the aisle, all eyes followed us. The weight of their gazes made my skin crawl.
Luca didn’t bother opening the car door for me—not that I expected him to. I climbed in on my own, the heavy folds of my dress bunching awkwardly around me.
The limousine ride to his penthouse was stifling. The silence between us was thick, the tension thick enough a knife could cut through. I stared out the window, pretending he didn’t exist.
“You should thank me,” he said suddenly, his tone calm and almost bored.
I turned my head slowly, glaring at him. “Thank you? For what? Destroying my family? Forcing me into this marriage?”
“For giving you a purpose,” he replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Before this, you were nothing. A spoiled princess with no future. Now, at least, you’re useful.”
My nails dug into my palms, my rage simmering just beneath the surface. “You mistake cruelty for purpose, Luca. You’re nothing more than a tyrant hiding behind money and power.”
He chuckled softly, leaning back in his seat. “I don’t need your approval, Isabella. I already have everything I want.”
The car pulled into the underground garage of his penthouse. The towering glass building loomed above us, fsr from the city like a fortress. Its glassy windows reflected the sky, but it felt cold, unwelcoming.
“Welcome to your new home,” Luca said as the driver opened his door. He stepped out first, then turned back and extended a hand to me.
I stared at it for a moment, then ignored him, climbing out on my own. He smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement.
The penthouse was breathtaking. Every inch of it screamed luxury, from the polished marble floors to the crystal chandeliers. It was the kind of place I would’ve admired once.
But now, all I saw was a cage.
“Do you like it?” Luca asked as he followed me into the living room.
I didn’t answer at first. My eyes darted to the windows—reinforced with iron bars. The doors were bolted, heavy, and solid. Cameras blinked in the corners of the ceiling, watching silently.
“It’s a cage,” I said finally, my voice cold.
Luca chuckled. “It’s only a cage if you try to escape. Otherwise, it’s paradise.”
I turned to him, my hazel eyes blazing with fury. “You’ll regret this, Luca. One day, you’ll realize you made a terrible mistake.”
He stepped closer, his presence suffocating. His smirk widened as he loomed over me. “The only mistake I made was not breaking your family sooner. Stop pretending you have the upper hand, Isabella. You lost the moment you walked down that aisle.”
His words hit harder than they should have, and I hated myself for it. He opened a door and gestured inside—a room meant to be mine. Without another word, he turned and walked down the hall, disappearing from view.
I stepped inside and sank onto the edge of the bed, my hands trembling. I bit back the tears threatening to fall.
As I glanced around, something caught my eye—a glint of metal under the bed. I crawled down and pulled it out: a knife. Its blade was smooth, sharp, and cold against my fingers.
For the first time all day, I felt hope.
Hours passed. The penthouse was dark and silent, but the knife in my hand felt steady, comforting.
I moved quietly down the hall, my steps soft against the floor. My heart pounded as I pushed open the door to Luca’s room.
He was sprawled across the massive bed, his chest rising and falling steadily. In sleep, he looked different—less like the monster I hated and more like a man.
But the moment passed.
I raised the knife, aiming for his heart.Before I could strike, his hand shot out, gripping my wrist like iron.
“Predictable,” he said, his voice low and sharp.
In one swift motion, he flipped me onto the bed, pinning me beneath him. The knife clattered to the floor as his weight pressed down on me.
“You’re pathetic,” he said, his tone filled with disgust.
“Let me go!” I spat, struggling against him.
He leaned closer, his breath hot against my ear. “If you’re going to kill me, Isabella, try harder next time. This was embarrassing.”
The realization hit me like a punch—he’d planted the knife there on purpose. This was his game all along.
“I’ll try again,” I hissed, my voice shaking with rage.
“I’m counting on it,” he said, his blue eyes dark and unrelenting. “Hate me all you want, sweetheart. You’ll never hate me more than I hate you.”
He released me suddenly, stepping back. I scrambled to my feet, my heart racing, every nerve on fire.
“This isn’t over,” I said, my voice low and deadly.
“No,” he replied, his smirk returning. “It’s just beginning.”
ISABELLAS POV.Have I ever known him? Why? He'd been the most angelic person I'd met, a man who loved me way more than I'd loved myself. A man who claimed he couldn't put himself between his loyalty to his boss and whatever it was he felt for me. He'd worked the shadows all along. Fuck… Was he the shadows? My stomach churned as he moved away from the spot, my body shaking as my mind ran through a billion possibilities. I needed to get back, but I was stupid enough to stall after a man who had lied to my face and put up an act of a fucking saint when this was what he was all along. But the smile on my face faltered and quickly morphed into a frown, anger spiking through me. I realized I had no way out, unlike him. I couldn't just wander through the doors like he did. He laughed leisurely with the guards at the main entrance and the garage. I just watched. Fuck! How long had he been sneaking around like that? Stealing things from Luca to the enemy? Way to go, Isabella. Not
ISABELLA'S POV.How gullible could I be?.Luca's hatred for me was justified. My father killed his brother. A bloody child! And of course a lot happened in the mafia, and that included lots of killing, but could I blame him?.I'd be damned before I let anyone touch or harm Matteo in any way, even if it meant growing into a vile and bitter yet cold person like Luca had done, and for my father…he was knee bent on protecting some goddamned secret that would be just as filthy as he was.Not a single fibre of guilt or regret hearing Luca had killed him; it was something I'd been dying to do anyways, and Luca had done the biggest favour by pulling a trigger I'd latched on to for years.Grappling with the little sensual stability I had left, I fumbled around the closet, tucking rolls of tissues into an envelope. Hastily I stormed out of the room, heading down to the garden and towards the flowerpot I had placed the ledger in. Knot tied in my belly, seeing how weak I was, my father had ruined
ISABELLA'S POVA week. Seven bloody days. One hundred and sixty-eight fucking hours.And not a single glimpse of him.I should be relieved. I should be grateful that he finally left me alone, gave me space to breathe, to think. But instead, my mind had been a prison, tormenting me with questions I didn’t want answers to.Why hadn’t he come back?Was he disgusted? Embarrassed? Pitying me now that he knew the dirty secret of my pasts?, was he finally coming to terms that I was disgusting? A child whose father had watched as his friends had touched the most private part of my body?.No. Luca Ricci didn’t pity. He didn’t care. He took what he wanted and discarded the rest. He wasn't home because he had something else to tend to, I bet he cared less what past traumas I could have.And yet, something felt… off.I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers curling against the sheets, the weight of silence pressing down on me like chains. The air in the penthouse was stale, thick with an emptiness
LUCAS POV.Isabella wasn’t his daughter. I turned sharply, heading to the east wing, where my personal bar awaited. The dim light spilling from the shelves was comforting, even if nothing else in my life was. I didn’t bother with a glass this time. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey, I took a long pull, the burn slicing through my throat. But it wasn’t enough to drown the anger. The anger at him. At myself. At her. I leaned against the counter, the bottle dangling from my hand as I closed my eyes, letting the silence wrap around me. My chest was tight, a coil of emotions I couldn’t untangle. She wasn’t his daughter. I spent years stalking, making research learning of moretti's weakness all for this? I had to admit the man was smart.He avoided every single trail and got rid of traces. He murdered her mother just because she was pregnant for someone else? And them he subjected her into labor making her do his dirty jobs all for what?The thought wouldn’t leave me. She wasn’t
LUCA'S POV.I was a ticking time bomb. Each second waiting for me to explode. But what would I say? I missed the bloodbath, and tonight. I'd bathe in that of Sullivan moretti. The worst parent of the year.From abandoning his own son Matteo to tossing out his only daughter to save his ass, he hadn't even put up as single as a fight when I asked him for his Isabella I glanced at Kirill, who nodded command. The booth was opened, and he grabbed a box; the other guard behind him had pulled out the hard metal chains with spikes as we pushed our way toward the mansion.The guard on duty all frozen, bowing as a respect, none adding to say one thing or bloody stand in my way as we pushed through the doors.I knew the layout of the house by heart. I spent enough time watching IsBella from the shadows before we got married. Although I never mentioned it to her, I did stalk her and I'd rather have it kept to myself. Kirill held out the door to Morreti's room, and he jolted awake, rubbing hi
ISABELLA'S POV.I had seen gruesome scenes. I had seen men killed and men killing; hell, I'd seen death more than I had seen ribbons my entire life, but that… that was the most devilish and brutal death that had come apart.I wasn't certain if it was the blood-spattered over Lucas' body, the flesh that clung to his skin and clothes, or if it was the bashed-out and beaten remains of the body on the floor that joleted a nerve in me.I opened the door to the bathroom, dipped my head into the sink, and puked out my content. I gagged again, retching more.and more. Until my tummy hurt, and my lungs contracted.My head dropped as I turned on the faucet, washing my face thoroughly in whatever was left of the substance there.My belly churned as I hit my back against the wall trying to shove away the thoughts. The image. But worse still, I heard those words... about me. About my father. The accusations thrown my way.I gagged again, but this time I had nothing left in me to puke, but I felt
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