Sold to the Don: The Pawn Who Became Queen

Isabella

I press myself against the door and try to breathe. My heart is still racing from being thrown over Dante's shoulder like a sack of flour. Like I weigh nothing. Like I am nothing.

He sits beside me, taking up too much space. His presence fills the entire car even though he's not touching me. Not anymore.

I should stay quiet. I know I should. But the words tumble out anyway.

"Please."

He doesn't look at me. Just stares straight ahead as Luca navigates through Chicago traffic. The city rushes past the tinted windows. Gray buildings. Gray sky. Everything feels cold.

"Please what?" His voice is flat.

"Let me see them." I twist my hands in my lap. "My family. Before the wedding. Please. Just once more."

He still doesn't look at me.

I wait for the no. The refusal. The reminder that I'm his now and he doesn't care what I want.

Instead he leans forward slightly. "Luca. Change of plans. Take us to the Moretti house first."

I blink. Did I hear that right?

Luca glances in the rearview mirror but doesn't question it. Just changes lanes and turns left at the next light.

Dante sits back and crosses his arms. His jaw is tight. His gray eyes are cold when they finally slide toward me. "You have fifteen minutes. Then we leave. With or without you saying goodbye."

"Thank you." The words come out shaky. "Thank you so much. I did not think you would-"

"Don't thank me." He looks away again. "I'm not doing this to be kind."

I don't know what to say to that. So I say nothing.

The drive to my neighborhood feels longer than it should. Or maybe time just moves differently when you're sitting next to a man who could break you without trying.

We pull up outside the house I grew up in. Small. Cramped. Paint peeling on the shutters. One of the front steps is cracked.

It looks worse than I remember. Or maybe I'm seeing it differently now that I've been inside Dante's mansion.

"Fifteen minutes," Dante reminds me.

I nod and fumble with the door handle. My hands are shaking.

The house is exactly how I left it. Cluttered. Dusty. Smelling faintly of cigarette smoke and my stepmother's cheap perfume.

Father is in the living room. He jumps up when I walk in. "Isabella! You are back!"

Elena is on the couch. She looks paler than usual. Sicker. But her eyes are sharp when they land on me.

Clara comes down the stairs in a pink dress that probably cost more than our monthly rent, I wonder where she got it. "Oh. It's you."

"I came to tell you something." I stand in the doorway because I don't feel welcome enough to sit. I never have. "I am getting married. Today."

Papa's eyes light up. Actually light up. "To Valerio? That's wonderful! See, Elena? I told you it would work out."

I wait for someone to ask if I'm okay. If I'm scared. If I need help but no one does.

"You are doing the right thing," Elena says from the couch. Her voice is thin but certain. "For the family."

"Do you even love me?" The question bursts out before I can stop it. "Any of you? Do you actually love me?"

Father waves his hand like I'm being ridiculous. "Don't say nonsense, girl. Of course we love you. And you love us. That's why you're doing this."

Clara examines her nails. Perfect manicure. Pink polish, almost everything about her is pink. "It's not like you had other options anyway."

Something inside me cracks just a little at that.

"You did not even try to stop him." My voice sounds distant. Like it's coming from someone else. "You just gave me to him. Like I'm nothing."

"You are being dramatic," Elena snaps. Then she starts coughing. Father rushes to her side.

"Maybe Valerio will treat us like proper in-laws now," Papa says. He's not looking at me anymore. He's looking past me. Like I'm already gone. "We could use better connections. Better money."

I hear footsteps behind me. Heavy. Deliberate.

Dante fills the doorway. He doesn't come inside. Just stands there with his hands in his pockets. Looking at my family the way someone might look at insects.

Father sees him and his entire demeanor changes. He straightens up. Smooths down his wrinkled shirt. Tries to smile.

"Mr. Valerio! Thank you for coming. We were just telling Isabella how happy we are for her. Such a good match. Such an honor-"

"Enough." Dante's voice cuts through Father's rambling. "Isabella. Car. Now."

I look at my family one more time. Waiting for something. Anything.

Elena adjusts her blanket. Clara goes back upstairs. Papa wrings his hands and won't meet my eyes.

"Face your new life with courage," Elena says finally. "That's all you can do now."

I walk past Dante without looking at him. My eyes are burning but I refuse to cry. Not here. Not in front of them.

Behind me I hear Father's voice. Sniveling. Pathetic. "Mr. Valerio, about the debt. Perhaps we could discuss-"

Whatever Dante says in response is too quiet for me to hear, but Father goes silent immediately.

The car ride is quiet. I stare out the window and try not to think about how easily my family let me go. How quickly they moved on. How little I've ever mattered to them.

"They did not try to stop you." Dante's voice breaks the silence.

I don't answer.

"Not even once."

"I know." My voice cracks. "I know."

He says nothing else. Just watches me with those cold gray eyes that sometimes seem less cold than they should be.

We stop in front of a boutique on Michigan Avenue. The kind with a single dress in the window and no price tags because if you have to ask, you can't afford it.

A woman in a black dress rushes out to greet us. "Mr. Valerio. Everything is ready as you requested."

Inside, the boutique is all white marble and gold fixtures. It smells like expensive perfume and lilies. But I'm still stuck thinking about my family to admire the store.

"Show her the dresses," Dante says.

The woman leads me to a private room. There are five wedding dresses waiting. Each one is beautiful. Each one probably costs more than my family's house.

"Try them on," Dante orders. "All of them."

I want to refuse. Want to tell him I won't play dress-up for his entertainment. But I'm tired. So tired of fighting so I just stand there and follow the attendant to the changing store.

I try on the first dress. Lace sleeves. It's too heavy.

The second. Too much tulle.

The third. Too revealing.

The fourth makes me look like a child.

But the fifth. The fifth dress is different.

It's simple. Elegant. Off-the-shoulder with a fitted bodice that flows into a soft skirt. The fabric is silk that catches the light when I move. No excessive details. No unnecessary drama.

Just beautiful.

I stare at myself in the mirror and barely recognize the girl looking back. She looks older. More sophisticated. Like someone who belongs in Dante's world.

Like someone who isn't me.

The door opens behind me. I see Dante's reflection before I see him.

The woman who was helping me takes one look at his face and leaves quickly. The door clicks shut.

We're alone.

Dante walks toward me slowly. His eyes move over the dress. Over me. His expression is unreadable.

"Turn around," he says.

I turn. The dress is unzipped in the back. I've been holding it up with one hand.

I feel him behind me. Close enough that I can feel the heat from his body. Smell his cologne. Something expensive and dark.

His fingers brush my spine as he reaches for the zipper.

I shiver. Can't help it. Then I curse my body for always reacting this way when he's close. How do I say I hate someone when their touch makes their body react so?

He pulls the zipper up slowly. So slowly. Each tooth clicking into place feels deliberate. Intentional. His knuckles drag against my skin and I forget how to breathe.

"You're shaking," he murmurs.

"I'm cold."

"Liar."

The zipper reaches the top. But he doesn't step away. His hand stays on my back. Warm. Possessive.

"Look at yourself," he says.

I look up at the mirror. At us standing together. Him towering behind me in his dark suit. Me in white silk that suddenly feels too much like a real wedding dress.

"You're beautiful," he says. His voice is low and rough. Different from his usual cold tone.

My breath catches. "You don't mean that."

"I don't say things I don't mean." His hand slides from my back to my waist. Pulling me against him. "You're mine now, Isabella. And what's mine is always beautiful."

My heart skips, I'm not sure it's out of fear.