VOWS OF FIRE AND BLOOD

The bed was too large without him.

I woke tangled in silk sheets, the faint ache in my body a reminder of everything that had happened in the firelit dark. My skin still burned where he'd touched me, my lips swollen from his kisses.

And yet...he was gone.

I sat up, clutching the sheet to my chest, scanning the vast, shadowed bedroom. The fire had burned low, leaving only embers. The air was cool, sharp against the heat lingering on my skin.

A strange emptiness spread through me, sharp and unwelcome. I hated it. I hated him for leaving me with it.

The gown from last night lay discarded on the floor like a relic of another life. I wrapped the sheet around myself and stood, unsteady. Every step reminded me of him, of how completely he'd taken me.

I clenched my fists. I wouldn't let that mean anything. Not now. Not ever.

A faint murmur of voices drifted from downstairs. One of them his low, commanding, smooth as smoke. The sound pulled me like gravity, even as fury tightened in my chest.

I descended the stairs barefoot, clutching the sheet tighter, following his voice into the main hall.

Dante stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, phone pressed to his ear, dressed in a sharp black suit that clung to him like armor. The warmth from last night was gone. In its place was steel.

His gaze flicked toward me as I entered, lingering for only a moment before sliding back to the dark sea outside. No smile. No softness. Nothing but cool calculation.

"Yes," he said into the phone, his tone clipped. "Double the guards. If they want war, they'll drown in their own blood."

I froze. His voice was different now, harder, colder. Not the man who had kissed me like I was oxygen. This was Dante Bellanti, heir to an empire built on violence.

And he didn't even acknowledge me.

Dante ended the call with a flick of his thumb, sliding the phone into his pocket. Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. He didn't look at me right away, only adjusted his cufflinks with precise, unhurried movements.

Finally, his gaze lifted. Dark. Unreadable.

"You should put some clothes on," he said smoothly. "You look like a runaway bride."

My grip on the sheet tightened. "Last night you didn't seem to mind."

A faint curve touched his mouth, humorless, sharp. "Last night was last night. This morning, we deal with reality."

I took a step closer, anger heating my skin. "Reality? You think you can just...use me, then pretend I don't exist?"

His eyes flashed, just a flicker, there and gone but his tone stayed cold. "Don't mistake me for a man who plays games, Isabella. What happened last night wasn't about using you. It was about claiming what's already mine."

I bit back a gasp, fury and unwanted heat twisting together. "You can't own me. I'm not one of your cars or your clubs, Dante."

He moved toward me then, slow and deliberate, like a predator closing the distance. When he stopped, only inches separated us. His presence pressed against me, suffocating, magnetic.

"You think I see you as a possession?" he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "No. You're worse. You're my weakness. And I don't tolerate weakness."

The words hit like a blade, slicing deep. I wanted to spit in his face, wanted to scream that I hated him. Instead, my traitorous body trembled under the weight of his stare.

I lifted my chin anyway, refusing to let him see me break. "Then maybe you should have left me in that church."

For the first time, real heat sparked in his eyes. Not desire, anger.

"Don't tempt me," he growled, his hand snapping up to grip my jaw, forcing me to look at him. "I could still send you back. But I won't. Because whether you like it or not, Isabella, you belong to me now. In my bed. At my table. In my world."

I swallowed hard, the sheet trembling in my fists. "And if I refuse?"

His smile was lethal, pure mafia prince. "Then you'll learn the hard way what refusing me costs."

He released my jaw with a flick of his fingers and turned away, as though the conversation were over. The shift stung more than his grip; last night he'd been heat and fire, now he was ice and distance.

"Come," he said without looking back. "You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

He didn't even pause. "You're in my house. You'll eat."

I followed, partly because I had no choice, partly because I hated the way my bare feet made no sound on the marble. The villa's kitchen was vast and gleaming, its long table already set. Silver covers hid steaming plates. The smell of fresh bread and dark coffee curled in the air.

Dante gestured to a chair at the head of the table. "Sit."

I hovered. "What am I, your dog?"

His eyes flicked to mine, cold and sharp. "No. You're my wife. Which means you'll sit where I tell you."

Something inside me snapped. I dropped into the chair, lifting my chin as if daring him to push me further.

He removed one of the silver covers with slow precision, revealing a plate of poached eggs, toast, and fruit. He placed it in front of me himself. "Eat."

"I said I'm not..."

"Eat," he repeated, quieter this time, but with a weight that left no room for argument.

I picked up the fork with shaking fingers and stabbed at a piece of fruit, more for defiance than hunger. "You think feeding me makes you some kind of hero?"

His lips curved in a cold half-smile as he poured coffee into my cup. "No. Feeding you makes me your husband. Protecting what's mine."

I slammed the fork down. "You don't get to control me like this."

He leaned over the table then, palms flat against the polished wood, his face level with mine. His cologne and the faint scent of smoke from his jacket wrapped around me.

"Isabella," he said softly, dangerously, "I'm not controlling you. Not yet. This is me being gentle. Don't make me show you the other side."

Our gazes locked, his dark and unblinking, mine burning with defiance I didn't feel. For a heartbeat, the tension was a living thing between us.

Then, deliberately, I popped a piece of fruit into my mouth and chewed, glaring at him.

His eyes flicked down to my lips, then back up, and for the first time that morning, something like warmth cracked through his mask. A faint spark of heat. A warning of what still simmered beneath.

"Good girl," he murmured, so softly I almost didn't hear it.

My stomach flipped. Rage and heat tangled until I couldn't tell which was which.

The meal ended in brittle silence. I pushed the plate away after only a few bites, the food heavy in my stomach. Dante, on the other hand, ate with calm precision, every movement measured, like a man who had all the time in the world.

When he finally set his fork down, he pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the screen. His jaw tightened.

"We're leaving in twenty minutes," he said.

I blinked. "Leaving? Where?"

His gaze lifted, sharp as a blade. "A meeting."

"With who?"

He leaned back in his chair, regarding me as though weighing how much truth to reveal. "People who want me dead. Which means, by extension, they want you dead too."

My stomach lurched. "Then why the hell would you take me there?"

"Because you're mine," he said simply. "And because if they see you at my side, they'll know I'll burn their world to the ground before I let anyone touch you."

I pushed back from the table, the chair scraping hard against the floor. "You can't drag me into this. I didn't choose this life."

His mouth curved, humorless. "You chose the dress. You stood at the altar. And you said the vows."

"You forced me into those vows!" I spat.

He stood, slow and deliberate, straightening his cuffs as if I hadn't spoken. When he crossed the room, every step radiated authority, inevitability. He stopped in front of me, tilting my chin up with one finger.

"You're already marked, Isabella. Everyone knows you belong to me. If I leave you here, you'll be a target. At my side, at least you'll be protected."

I tried to jerk my face away, but his grip held firm.

"You want freedom?" His voice dropped, low and lethal. "Earn it. Survive my world first."

Then he released me, turning toward the stairs. "Twenty minutes. Wear something black."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving me trembling, furious, and God help me, terrified of what waited outside the villa walls.

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