Chapter Three: Blood and Rescue

Isabella couldn't sleep that night. Her father's words kept ringing in her head: "Isabella will marry Dante Moretti."

Staring at a cold cup of tea that she had not yet touched, she sat at her desk. Her chest felt heavy, but the house was quiet. She want to be able to accept that everything had been a mistake and that her father would retract his statements the next day.

Sofia knocked once and then walked in without waiting. Her hair was messed up from crying, and she looked tired.

"You should have let me handle it." Sofia whispered, sitting beside her,

She gave a headshake. "He would never have listened to you. He would have pushed you into Adrian's arms."

"You're going to be pushed into Dante's now." Sofia tried to remain firm by crossing her arms, but her voice broke. "How is that an improvement?"

"It isn't," Isabella whispered. She looked away, blinking furiously. "But I couldn't stand Adrian touching you."

Sofia sat on the bed. "I wish you had thought about yourself for once."

They were quiet. The clock ticked on the wall. Isabella shoved the chilled tea out of her way and massaged her forehead. “I just need some air,” she said.

She got a sweater, and left the room. The halls were dark, servants already in bed for the night. She went out the side door for a breath of night air to cool her.

The street was too quiet. She knew she shouldn’t, but Isabella smoked a cigarette. Resting against the wall, she expelled a puff of smoke. Her pocket started to vibrate and she reached for her phone, but footsteps on the path behind her stopped her.

She turned around. Two men wearing dark clothes were next to a black car parked down the street.

“Miss Romano,” one of them said. His voice was rough. "Your old man's waiting for you."

Her chest tightened. "My father is in there," she argued.

They began walking toward her. She stepped back. "Stay away from me."

The taller man took hold of her arm. "Don't fight. Adrian wants to talk to you."

Her stomach dropped. "Let me go!" she screamed, struggling. She picked at his hand, but he did not recoil. The second man pulled open the car door. "Get her in."

Isabella fought and kicked, but the man had a firm hold on her. But from her cigarettes there still bobbed a couple of burning stubs. "Help!" she screamed, but the street was empty.

The man pushed her in the car. She hit her head on the door frame and felt woozy. "Stop! Please!" she cried, her voice shaking.

Then, a new voice broke the darkness.

"Let her go.

Both men quieted. Isabella looked up and there he was– Dante Moretti, just two feet away. His jaw was firm, his eyes hard. He no longer looked like a gala-goer. He looked dangerous.

This ain't none of your business, said the taller man. "Adrian wants her."

Dante's jaw tightened. "I said let her go."

The man holding Isabella laughed. "What if we don't?"

It was swift. Dante moved in, pinched the man's wrist, and gave a dreadful twist. There was a snap and the man was on the floor, screaming. Isabella stumbled back and fell out of his grasp.

blow The second man pulled a knife as he approached Dante. Isabella drew back against the wall and trembled. Dante was quick, deflecting the punch while ramming his elbow into the man’s throat. The man gasped for breath, the knife falling from nerveless fingers.

Dante accepted it without question and plunged into his chest. The man fell, choking. Isabella brought a hand up to her lip, a sickening feeling swirling in her stomach. She had watched fights, but not like this. This wasn't defense—this was brutality.

The first man grappled to his feet, holding his broken wrist. Dante kicked him fiercely in the ribs, and he fell over once more. He dropped his boot to the man’s throat.

"Let Adrian know that Isabella belongs to me, ' Dante said, in a cold, dank tone.

The man sputtered, but Dante squeezed him tighter, until his slumped.

The street was still. Isabella was panting, her hands shaking. She looked at the bodies and then at Dante, whose shirt was stained with blood now.

He faced her slowly. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head wildly. "No. I." She couldn't speak.

Dante moved closer. She tried to recoil, but no longer felt her legs. He was suffocating, more than the violence she had just witnessed.

He reached out, lifting her chin, making he look him in the eye. Despite being hot with blood, his hand was warm. “You should not have been by yourself,” he told her.

I… I didn’t realize they’d–” Her voice wavered, and she looked the other way.

With a sudden gesture he drew her to him, his arm tight about her. She stiffened, his heart steady against her flesh.

“You owe me now,” Dante said. His breath touched her ear. "Everything."

She swallowed. "I didn't ask you to—"

“You don’t have to ask,” he cut her off. "You're mine now.".

Her chest tightened. She wished she could argue with him, to scream at him, but the words eluded her. His grip on her, his tone, the blood on his hands — all served to make it so obviously she didn’t have a choice.

He let her go, but his eyes remained on her. "Go inside. Do not leave the house without me again."

Isabella slowly nodded, her tense body. She walked towards the door, her steps unsteady. When she reached the door, she turned around once.

Dante was still there, calm as if nothing had happened, the two bodies lying behind him.

Her hands shook as she opened the door. She knew the truth as her heart pounded—she wasn't trapped by her father's decision anymore. She was trapped by Dante.