Escaping the Pawn, Ensnaring the Don

Isabella POV

The bitter, metallic taste of the tonic still coated my tongue when the heavy front door of the safe house clicked open. Damien stepped into the living area, the air around him instantly dropping in temperature. He stopped dead. His nostrils flared, catching the lingering, suffocating scent of Eleonora Falcone’s heavy floral perfume.

Then, his predatory amber eyes locked onto the empty glass vial resting on the polished mahogany table.

The silence that followed was lethal. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking dangerously beneath his skin. He wasn't furious about the prevention of a child—he was enraged by the blatant disrespect. This safe house was his domain. I was his possession. His mother had bypassed his authority, implying he couldn't control what was his.

"Who was here?" Damien growled, his voice a low, vibrating threat that shook the floorboards.

I knew his explosive temper. If I didn't extinguish this fire now, it would consume me. Swallowing my terror, I closed the distance between us. I raised a trembling hand and placed it flat against the hard, tense muscle of his chest.

"Your mother's handmaiden," I whispered, forcing myself to hold his lethal gaze. I leaned in closer, letting my breath ghost over his jaw. "But I only obey the master of this house. You."

I pressed my lips to his in a desperate, calculated kiss. For a split second, he was rigid as stone. Then, with a dark, guttural sound, his large hands gripped my hips, lifting me effortlessly. He took me right there against the edge of the mahogany table, his movements harsh and demanding, a brutal reminder of exactly who owned me.

Later that night, the air in his study was thick with the scent of expensive cigars and aged whiskey. I was tasked with organizing the scattered files on the side table, but my eyes kept drifting to the heavy leather-bound ledger open on his massive desk. Columns of numbers. Money. Blood. If I could understand those numbers, I could understand the source of his power. I thought of my mother's lost business acumen, and a sharp pang of longing hit my chest.

"Fascinated by the math, *gattina*?"

Damien's voice broke my focus. Before I could step back, he caught my wrist and pulled me down onto his lap. His large hand rested heavily, possessively, on my waist. He gestured toward the corner of the room where my newly acquired Fifth Avenue boxes and jewel cases sat, then tapped the tip of his fountain pen against the open ledger.

"A choice," he murmured, his amber eyes narrowing as he searched my face for a trap. "All the finery a woman could ever desire, or the pen, and a lesson on what these numbers truly mean."

He was testing me. He needed to know if I was just a greedy girl dazzled by wealth, or a woman with dangerous ambitions. Ambition in his world would get me killed.

Remembering my secret plan, I didn't hesitate. I forced a soft, vacuous smile and reached up to trace the cold, brilliant ruby necklace at my throat. "The dresses," I said smoothly, leaning my head against his shoulder. "And the jewels."

His tense muscles relaxed slightly. A dark flicker of amusement returned to his eyes. He saw exactly what I wanted him to see: a shallow, materialistic pet, easily controlled by luxury. He didn't see the boat ticket back to Sicily I was already calculating in my head. He didn't know these jewels were my only hope of rescuing my friend Maria.

A heavy knock on the heavy oak door shattered the quiet.

"Boss," Leo 'The Bear' Gallo's gruff voice called out. "Luca Viti is here. He was sent to formally discuss the details of his upcoming arranged marriage."

The name hit me like a physical blow. *Luca.*

The color drained from my face. Luca was the kind boy from Little Italy, the one who used to share his bread with me when we were children. He represented a life of normalcy and decency I could never have again. Panic seized my throat. If Damien sensed any connection between us, if he saw Luca look at me with pity, Luca would be a dead man.

I scrambled to get off Damien's lap. "I... I should go to my room," I choked out, my heart hammering violently against my ribs.

Damien didn't let go. Instead, his arm tightened around my waist like a steel band, locking me flush against his chest. He felt my violent trembling. His amber eyes darkened, shifting from calculated control to pure, predatory jealousy. He leaned in, his breath hot and dangerous against my ear.

"You're not going anywhere."

He looked up at the doorway, a chilling, humorless smile curving his lips. "Send Viti in, Leo," Damien commanded, his grip on me bruising. "He's here to discuss his wedding. My girl will stay right here and offer her congratulations."