His Dark Desire: The Devil’s Bride

Bella’s POV

I lay on my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, feeling the weight of my father’s words crush me over and over again.

Ten days.

Ten fucking days to become Matteo Moretti’s property.

Ten days to lose my freedom, my future, my name.

He kept acting like this was normal—like selling me to a man half my age, a man everyone feared, was just another business deal. As if I were nothing more than a bargaining chip with a pulse.

I didn’t love Matteo.

Hell, I didn’t even like him. He made my skin crawl.

And yet somehow… I was supposed to smile at an altar while he claimed every inch of me.

Tears slipped down my temples, disappearing into the silk of the pillows. I curled onto my side, clutching my phone.

Maybe I should have stayed in Chicago.

I could have figured things out. Started over. I could’ve healed, grown, rebuilt myself.

I almost let myself imagine what life could’ve been— but the moment Micah’s name crossed my mind, I shut that door fast.

No.

Never again.

I’d burn before going back to him.

Still, anything would’ve been better than this.

Jumping from a frying pan into a damn inferno.

A loud knock interrupted my thoughts, dragging me back into my godforsaken reality.

“What now?” I snapped, not bothering to hide the irritation in my voice.

“Miss Bella?” a maid stepped inside. “Madame Mendoza just arrived.”

My breath hitched.

“Madame as in… my mother?”

The maid nodded once, then disappeared down the hallway.

I shot upright, joy exploding through my chest so fast it made me dizzy.

Mom.

If anyone could stop this nightmare, it was her. She always protected me. She always knew what to do.

I practically flew down the staircase, my heart pounding with a hope I hadn’t felt in weeks.

I heard her before I saw her.

“It feels so good to be home,” she said with a tired laugh. “I didn’t sleep on the flight. I couldn’t wait to see Isabella.”

My father began to say something, but my voice cut through the room, soft and breaking.

“Mom.”

She turned immediately.

Her eyes lit up like sunrise. “Miele.” She said in Italian.

I didn’t walk—I ran. Straight into her arms like I was a little girl again. She smelled like jasmine and long flights and the comfort I’d been starved of.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” she breathed against my hair. “I can’t believe it. I thought your father was joking when he said you had come home.”

“No, Mom. I’m really here,” I sniffed. “I’m here.”

Her smile softened. “Then everything is okay now. I have missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.” I smiled, pulling her back in. My chest tightened. “Mom, do you know what Dad is planning—”

“Bella,” my father snapped sharply.

I flinched. He never used that tone around her.

Then, as if realising he’d slipped, his voice softened almost immediately. “Bianca needs to rest. She had a long trip.”

I turned to him. His eyes were dark and tight—like if I said one more word, he’d break something.

My mother cupped my cheek. “I promise. After I rest, we’ll talk all you want, honey.”

But something in her voice…

Something in her smile…Felt wrong.

She walked away with my father beside her, the two of them disappearing into the corridor.

For a moment, I stood there alone, the joy slowly draining out of me like water through a crack.

I needed to talk to her, at least before he did.

She was the only one who should help me now.

**********

Later that evening, I passed by my father’s office—hoping, stupidly, desperately, to beg him one last time.

That’s when I heard them. My mother’s voice, low and tight.

“Is that Moretti I saw leaving as I came in?”

My father cleared his throat. “Yes. We needed to finalise some things.”

“And do any of those ‘things’ involve Bella?” My mother asked.

Silence settled between them.

Then my mother’s sharp gasp as if realizing. “We talked about this and I said NO!”

A smile creeped on my lips after hearing her say that but it quickly vanished when my father spoke.

“I know. But you saw the threats Bianca.” My father paused. “Romano isn’t joking, he will come after us.”

“Alejandro… she’s only twenty-two.” My mother said, almost begging.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You know how serious this is. If the wedding doesn’t happen, we’re all dead.”

“So why is Bella being punished?” her voice cracked. “She isn’t the one who crossed Romano. You did.”

My father inhaled sharply. “You think I like this? You think I enjoy selling my daughter off to Moretti? But we have no choice, Bianca. With this marriage… We’ll finally be protected.”

“I do not like this, not at all.” She sneered.

“I know, but it’s our only choice.” My father’s voice went soft.

My mother said nothing. I heard her sink onto the couch—the sound of someone collapsing under a weight too heavy to carry.

A single sob escaped her—barely audible.

“I’m sorry, my love,” my father whispered, kissing her head. “But this is how it has to be.”

Something inside me snapped, my mother had given up too.

I stumbled backwards, accidentally bumping a glass vase on the side table. It crashed to the floor, exploding into glittering shards.

Both their heads whipped toward the doorway.

I froze in my steps.

My eyes went wide. My breathing turned sharp.

My mother stood up instantly. “Bella—”

I didn’t wait to hear anything. I ran.

I heard my mother shout after me.

“Bella!”

And then my father’s voice, calm and cold:

“Let her go. She needs some space.”

*********

My throat tightened as I wandered through the gardens of my home.

Home? Very soon I wouldn’t even be here anymore.

I wondered what my life would be like if I had never left home. Maybe father would still have some atom of care for me.

Maybe my mother would still have the energy to fight for me. And Rafael? Raf doesn’t even seem to know where to start.

I sat on a swing bench and scrolled through my contacts until I reached the one name that felt like home.

Lucia.

My friend since I was twelve. The one who always knew how to fix things—or at least help me survive them.

I hit call, praying that she would pick up. Praying she hadn’t changed too much. Praying she’d still care. I hadn’t spoken to her since I left Italy.

The phone rang twice and then—

“Belly!” she shrieked, her voice bright enough to punch a hole in my misery. “Oh my God, is this real? Am I hallucinating? Did an angel finally bless me?”

Her background music was something classical and soft — piano, violins — elegant and soothing. The kind of sound you only heard in Lucia’s world.

I tried to force a laugh, but it came out thin.

“No hallucinations. It’s me.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “We haven’t spoken in— God, I don’t even know how long. Where are you? You sound…” She drifted off for a moment. “Belly, you sound like someone stomped on your soul.”

“I’m home,” I whispered.

“What do you mean by home?” She asked.

“I’m back in Venice.”

Silence filled the air between us.

Then a scream so loud I had to pull the phone from my ear.

“THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER RETURNS?!” Lucia hollered. “Belly, shut up. You’re lying. No, you’re not lying — OH MY GOD. We have to meet. Immediately. Right now. I’m already doing my makeup in my head.”

I stood up from the bench, nerves scraping my ribs. “I don’t know, Lucia.”

“Don’t do that,” she cut in sharply. “Don’t get shy on me. What happened? Who hurt you? Do I need to stab someone?”

“It’s… complicated.” I said tired.

“Complicated how? You know what?” she snapped. “Don’t answer that. Pick out something cute. I’m coming to get you. We’re going out tonight.”

“Are you sure?” My voice came out small, unsure, almost childlike. “My father probably has the house guarded now with all his stupid plans—“

“Belly,” she said, tone softening. “You need me. And I’ve missed you like crazy. I don’t care if I have to dig a tunnel under your father’s house — we’re getting you out.”

I exhaled, my shoulders sinking with something like relief. “Okay.”

“Good,” she said. “Chin up, we’re going all out tonight.”