Isabella's POV
The night air hit me like a slap, cooler than the heat inside, but it did nothing to steady me. Damiano's grip was iron around my wrist, dragging me across the pavement until the bass of the club was only a dull throb behind us.
"Let me go," I snapped, wrenching free the second I could. My wrist stung where his fingers had been. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
He turned to me slowly, like a predator deciding whether or not to bite. His voice was quiet—too quiet.
"No, little one. The real question is—what do you think you're doing?"
His words slid out smooth, almost gentle, but beneath them was steel. A calm dismissal that cut deeper than any shout.
He stepped closer, his presence swallowing the space between us. "I got a call," he continued, "that my bride-to-be was found half-naked in a club, drinking and letting some stranger put his hands on her." His eyes narrowed, flat and merciless. "Tell me—did you really think I'd allow that kind of disrespect?"
The word bride hit like a blow. My stomach twisted, but I lifted my chin, refusing to cower.
Behind him, the door swung open and Dante appeared, face pale but determined. He positioned himself just enough between us to matter. "Isabella, are you alright?"
"Isabella," he said carefully, eyes flicking between us, "are you alright?"
I opened my mouth, but Damiano cut me off, turning his full weight on Dante.
Damiano's voice never lifted, not once. "Maybe I should put a bullet between your eyes for being there and watching my future wife do something so disgraceful. You were meant to protect her. Instead, you let her turn herself into a spectacle. You're done."
Rage snapped through me, hot and wild. I stepped into his space, close enough to feel the controlled chill radiating off him. "Don't you dare. Dante stays."
He tilted his head slightly, eyes unreadable.
He arched a brow at me, the corner of his mouth twitching—not with warmth, but with something that looked like approval. "As you wish, Principessa."
"I mean it," I hissed.
"I'm sure you do," he said simply, and turned toward his car. "Now get in. I'm taking you home."
"Like hell I am," I snapped.
His gaze darkened, steady, patient. "It's best you don't test me right now."
The warning coiled around me tighter than chains. I wanted to fight, scream, claw—but I saw it in his eyes. For now, I had no choice.
I turned to Dante instead, forcing calm into my voice. "Stay. Please. Make sure everyone gets home safe."
"Isabella." Dante's voice was a quiet anchor, steady but tense. "You don't have to go with him—"
"You know I do," I cut in, surprising even myself with how steady I sounded. I softened, just for him. "Don't worry, Dante. I'll be okay. Trust me."
His jaw clenched, but after a long beat, he nodded.
Damiano was already opening the passenger door of a sleek black McLaren, its body gleaming under the streetlights. He didn't push or pull, just waited, like he knew I'd fold.
My body moved before my pride could stop it and I slid in without another word.
The drive home was silent. The city blurred past in streaks of neon and shadow, the hum of the engine filling the void where words should've been.
I watched him, every detail—the stillness of his hands on the wheel, the way his jaw flexed once, then stilled, the way he seemed so unbothered while my pulse refused to slow.
He was calm. Too calm.
At one point, his eyes flicked to me, sharp and knowing. I jerked my gaze back to the window, cheeks hot.
The car rolled to a stop at the gate, the engine purring low and steady. I reached for the door, desperate for air that didn't smell like him, like control.
"I'll never marry you," I muttered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Damiano didn't look at me right away. His hands stayed on the wheel, steady, composed. When he finally turned his head, his gaze caught mine—dark, immovable.
"That's not up to you," he said softly.
My pulse kicked. I pushed the door open, the night swallowing me whole.
I turned back, meeting his gaze through the open door. "Go to hell, Damiano."
"I'm already halfway there, bella."
I flipped him off without hesitation and turned away. His mouth curved—not quite a smile, more a shadow of amusement, dark and dangerous—as I pushed through the gate and stalked toward the house.
Even as I walked up the path, I could still feel his gaze burning into my back—steady, patient, like a man who knew he'd already won. The echo of his words lingered, crawling under my skin.
By the time I reached the front steps, the defiance in my chest had started to wilt, replaced by a cold, crawling dread. Because if Damiano hadn't already called my father, he would. And when he did…
I exhaled sharply, muttering a curse under my breath. Knowing my luck, he'd beaten me to it. I just prayed I could at least get to my room unnoticed and deal with this in the morning.
The lights from the villa spilled across the driveway, too bright, too sharp. The scent of sea salt hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, I could almost taste the tension still clinging to me. My pulse stuttered.
The quiet before the storm felt almost merciful.
The heavy doors of the villa swung open before I could even reach for them. There my father stood—waiting. His face was red, veins straining at his temple, eyes wild with fury.
Shit.
"ISABELLA!" His voice cracked like a whip, echoing through the marble hall. "Do you have any idea what you've done tonight? Do you take pleasure in humiliating me? In dragging this family's name through the mud?"
My heels were killing me, digging cruelly into my feet with every step—but that was the least of my problems.
I didn't stop. I brushed past him, not looking back, each step measured, controlled.
"You think you can dance half-naked in a club like some—some whore while I've been breaking my back building a future for you? For this family?" His words tore at the air, but I kept moving, climbing the stairs one step at a time.
"You're such an ungrateful child! After everything I've sacrificed for you—this is how you repay me? You want to ruin us all?"
I reached the landing. My hand tightened around the banister, but I didn't look back. His fury chased me up the staircase, every word a knife, but I refused to bleed for him.
At my room, I shut the door. Locked it. Leaned back against the wood, my chest heaving like I'd just run a marathon. The silence pressed in, thicker than his shouting.
Finally, I pushed off, staggered to my bed, and let myself collapse face-first into the sheets. My body sank deep, my mind whirling with too many voices—his rage, Damiano's menace, my own heartbeat thundering in my ears.
For the first time, the truth hit me like a weight I couldn't shrug off.
I wasn't free.
I wasn't untouchable.
I was trapped.
And God help me, I was truly, royally fucked.