The Mafia King's Pregnant Captive Bride

Isabella POV

The heavy latch clicked into place, sealing me in. The air inside was dense with the smell of rich whiskey and burning wood. I stood barefoot on the dark hardwood floor, the flickering light of the fireplace casting long, trembling shadows across my bruised skin.

Behind a massive ebony desk that looked more like an altar of judgment, sat Damien Falcone. He didn't look up immediately. The scratch of his fountain pen against paper was the only sound in the cavernous room.

"Come here." His voice was a low, gravelly command that demanded absolute obedience.

I forced my legs to move, keeping my head bowed. I stopped a few feet from his desk, shivering in the sheer black lace.

Damien finally lifted his gaze. His narrow, piercing eyes-cold and ruthless as a winter storm-swept over my body. He took in the La Perla lingerie, the trembling of my bare shoulders, and then, his gaze snapped to my face.

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. His eyes locked onto the vicious purple bruise blooming on my right cheek and the dried blood on my lower lip.

"Who did this?" he asked. The words were softly spoken, devoid of any inflection, yet they carried a lethal weight that made my breath catch.

I kept my eyes glued to the floor, playing the broken captive. I didn't need to answer.

Damien didn't ask twice. He reached out and pressed a button on his intercom. A second later, the heavy oak doors opened, and Hanson, his most trusted Soldier, stepped inside.

Damien didn't even look at his bodyguard. He just jutted his chin toward my face. "Find out who touched her," Damien ordered, his tone absolute. "Bring me the hand."

"Yes, Boss," Hanson replied without a flicker of hesitation, turning on his heel and leaving the room.

The door clicked shut. We were alone again.

Damien pushed his chair back and stood. He was a towering figure of lethal grace, his tailored Italian suit doing nothing to hide the sheer, brutal power of his physique. He rounded the desk, his slow, deliberate steps echoing like a countdown.

He stopped right in front of me. The oppressive aura of his dominance was suffocating. He raised a hand, his long, calloused fingers gripping my chin with an inescapable force. He tilted my head up, forcing me to meet his icy stare as he inspected the ruined flesh of my cheek.

His touch was cold, but it sent a violent shockwave through my system. The sheer terror of being this close to the Underboss, combined with the agonizing adrenaline crash from my encounter with Cecile, finally pushed my body past its breaking point.

My vision blurred. A wave of dizziness hit me so hard my knees simply gave out.

I collapsed forward.

Damien reacted with the lightning reflexes of a predator. His arms shot out, catching me before I hit the floor. The momentum carried us both, and I found myself crashing into his chest, my legs tangling with his as he sank onto the edge of his massive desk to brace our fall.

I was suddenly sitting sideways across his lap. My soft, nearly bare curves were pressed flush against the iron-hard muscles of his thighs and chest. The intimacy of the contact was jarring. I felt his entire body go rigid beneath me.

Panic clawed at my throat. I scrambled, pressing my hands against his chest to push myself off.

"Stay," he growled, the sound vibrating deep in his chest.

His large hand clamped down on my waist like a steel vise, while his other hand shackled my delicate wrist, pinning me against him. The heat radiating from his body was intoxicating, dangerous.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth. Minutes stretched, marked only by the erratic pounding of my heart against his ribs. Damien didn't move. He didn't speak. He simply held me there, his grip unyielding, his gaze boring into the flames as if they held the answers to a question he dared not ask.

I felt the wild hammering of his pulse beneath my palm-a crack in the ice. He was not as unaffected as he pretended.

Then, the heavy oak doors burst open.

Hanson strode in, his face flushed from the cold outside and the urgency of his task. A solid twenty minutes had passed since he'd left-enough time to question the guards, trace the whispers, and extract a name.

He froze mid-step. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of me sprawled across the Underboss's lap. Instantly, a flash of lethal intent crossed Hanson's face. He thought I was a seductress, a dirty Rossi trying to compromise his boss. He took a step forward, his hand twitching toward his jacket, ready to drag me away by my hair.

Damien's head snapped up. His eyes pinned Hanson to the floor with a glare so chilling it could freeze hell over.

"Get. Out," Damien commanded. Two words, dripping with a deadly promise.

Hanson swallowed hard, bowing his head. He backed out immediately, pulling the doors shut with a soft click.

The silence rushed back in, heavier and more suffocating than before. I was trapped in the arms of the devil, my heart hammering wildly against his chest, waiting for the axe to fall.