Bella’s POV

The flight back to Venice dragged like a death sentence, but I didn’t sleep.

I kept picturing my mother’s arms around me the second we landed. She was the only one who never obeyed Dad’s order to cut me off completely.

Secret bank transfers.

Burner phones at 2 a.m. just to hear my voice.

I needed her now more than ever.

The car rolled through the gates, and the mansion rose in front of me like a tomb.

Same manicured lawns. Same marble steps. Same silence that swallowed screams.

It didn’t feel like home.

It felt like a cage I’d voluntarily walked back into.

Rafael squeezed my hand as we stepped out. “Breathe, Bella. He’s not going to kill you.”

“I gave a short laugh, dry and humourless. “That’s easy for you to say. He didn’t threaten to cut you off and erase your existence.”

“You were a kid and you were in love. He was angry. He’s cooled off since then.”

I didn’t answer. I just kept staring, unsure whether to run away or march forward.

The door creaked open before we even knocked. Rosa — the help, stood there, her eyes wide, her hand flying to her mouth. “Dios mío… Isabella?”

I managed a tired smile. “Hey, Rosa.”

She pulled me into a tight hug, murmuring prayers in Spanish as if trying to hold me together with her arms. For a second, I let her. Let the familiarity wash over me.

Inside, everything smelled like money and million-dollar deals.

I strolled through the hallway, running my fingers over the edges of framed family portraits. I used to belong in these walls. Now I wasn’t so sure.

Rafael didn’t speak again until we reached the main hall. “He’s in his study.”

“Of course he is,” I muttered.

Alejandro Mendoza—my father, the man who built an empire and buried emotions beneath it, stood by the window, reading something with too much intensity.

He didn’t look at me, but he could tell when I stepped into the room.

“I see you finally came to your senses,” he said without turning.

“Micah cheated,” I answered, voice flat.

He turned then, one eyebrow raised. “I’m not surprised. I told you that boy was trash.”

I didn’t have the energy to fight that battle again.

“Where’s Mom?”

“Milan. She doesn’t know you’re here.” His eyes flicked over me—cheap jeans, tired eyes, broken pride. “And she won’t. Not until you’ve earned the right.”

He gestured to the chair like I was a business associate, not his daughter.

“Sit.”

I obeyed, every movement slow, my stomach twisting.

For a long moment, he just stood there, his hands folded behind his back, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in my worn frame, the exhaustion that clung to me like a second skin.

Then, without a trace of warmth, he spoke.

“What really brings you here, Bella?”

I swallowed hard. “I just… I had nowhere else to go. And I was tired of running. I want my place back in the family. However, I have to earn it.”

He gave a slight nod, the barest hint of a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips like he was savouring some private joke only he understood. “Then you’ll have to follow my rules.”

Really? No welcome. No soft words. Just that —an order?

I braced myself.

He turned to pour a glass of scotch, his movements slow and cold. The golden liquid caught the light, glowing like a warning.

When he spoke again, his voice was smooth but sharp like a razor.

“I said I’d give you a future.”

His eyes flicked briefly to mine, but he looked through me, not at me.

“Your mother and I wanted to speak with you before you decided to run off with that riffraff.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Speak to me about what?”

He took a slow step forward, the quiet confidence of a man who knew he had me trapped.

“Before you ran off, there were some ties I had to cut loose and some that needed fixing.”

“Where are you going with this?”

I asked, sitting up straight.

“Let’s just say I made some decisions and crossed some people. And in order to correct that, I need to make an alliance. And as the saying goes — the enemy of my enemy is my friend. And you, my child —are going to be the wife of my new friend.”

The words felt like a cold snap to my face. “What did you just say?” I asked, like I didn’t hear him right.

My father didn’t flinch. “You’re getting married, Bella.”

My heart dropped. “What…to whom?”

“Matteo Moretti.”

My mouth went dry. Matteo Moretti? That name wasn’t just familiar, it was a damn warning.

“You want me to marry that sleaze?” I snapped, standing from the couch. “The man who used to traffic girls and have them dance half-naked in his clubs for fun? That’s the kind of man you want me to spend the rest of my life with?”

He gave a slight shrug. “He’s agreed to make changes. For your sake.”

I laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was insane. “You think a man like that changes? You’re delusional if you believe—”

“Enough. This isn’t a negotiation, Isabella,” he growled, his voice low and sharp. “You left this family. You spat on everything we stood for because you thought you’d found love with a fucking nobody. And what did it get you? Humiliation. A waitress's uniform. Betrayal.”

“You’re selling me to that animal?” I screamed. “You hate him! Everyone knows what he is!”

“I hate weakness more,” he said calmly. “You showed the world this family could be humiliated. Matteo’s name erases that stain. You will smile, you will say yes, and you will give him whatever he wants on your wedding night. Do you understand?”

I couldn’t breathe.

“You threw away your future for love,” he continued, stepping closer. “Now you’ll secure mine with obedience.”

I laughed—sharp, ugly, hysterical. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me dad? Is this my punishment?”

“I’m correcting a mistake,” he said. “Be ready. The wedding takes place in a month.”

He walked out. The door shut. And silence filled the room.

I stood there shaking, nails digging crescents into my palms.

I came home to escape one hell…

and walked straight into a worse one.

I’d rather set myself on fire than let Matteo Moretti touch me in that church.

His name tasted bitter, like poison lingering on my tongue.

I wanted to scream, to run, to claw my way out of this nightmare—but my legs felt weak, refusing to move.

I’d rather rot than wear that man’s ring.

But what choice did I have?

I’d walked away from this life three years ago. Burned every bridge on my way out. Now I was back, and I wasn’t the girl I used to be. I had no leverage, no freedom, and no voice.

I left Micah only to be handed over to a man ten times worse. A man who saw women as trophies. As property.

And now I was about to be chained to him. Sold to a creepy drug dealer who knew nothing but sex and getting high.

I wondered what my father had gotten himself into to hand me over to someone like that.

Was it for protection? For security? But from whom? Who was he hiding or running from?

I couldn’t let this happen. I couldn’t marry Matteo.

And I would do anything…to make sure that doesn’t happen.

Bella’s POV

I woke to the sound of my bedroom door creaking open. Rosa slipped in carrying a garment bag over one arm and a silver tray of cosmetics in the other.

The smell of fresh espresso and warm cornetti followed her, but my stomach still turned.

“Buongiorno, mija,” she whispered, eyes soft with pity. “Your father says you must be ready for breakfast. He sent these.”

She laid three dresses across my bed: blood-red silk, emerald satin, black lace. All tight. All expensive. All screaming trophy.

“Prepare?” I sat up, heart already racing. “Why, what’s going on?”

Rosa doesn’t meet my eyes. She laid the dresses on the bed, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. “You’ll wear this red one. It brings out your eyes.” She said.

“Rosa,” I whispered. “Tell me what’s going on.”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head, busying herself with the dresses. “Just let me make you beautiful, dearest. At the end of the day… I still answer to your father.”

I wanted to argue, but the look in her eyes stopped me. She was scared for me.

So I let her.

I let her run the bath with rose oil. Let her wash my hair like I was a doll. Let her paint my lips the colour of fresh blood, line my eyes sharp enough to cut.

The red silk dress clung to every curve; the neckline hung low, the slit climbed high. Black stilettos that could double as weapons. Diamond studs in my ears that probably cost more than I could imagine.

When she was done, I didn’t recognise the woman in the mirror. I looked like the perfect puppet bride.

I felt like an animal headed to an auction.

Rosa kissed my forehead, her eyes glassy. “Be strong, my sweet.”

Then she left me at the top of the grand staircase.

I heard them before I saw them.

My father’s low, commanding tone.

My brother’s quieter voice, he spoke like he didn’t want to be a part of the conversation.

And a third voice, oily, amused, dripping with Naples accent.

I reached the dining room doorway and every hair on my body stood up.

Matteo Moretti rose from his chair like a snake uncoiling.

Thirty-two years old and dressed like money and violence had a baby: midnight-blue suit, no tie, his top was three buttons open to reveal a thick gold chain and the Virgin Mary tattooed over his heart.

More ink crawled up his throat — roses, daggers, a snake eating its own tail. His dark hair was slicked back, diamond stud flashing in one ear, Rolex the size of a fist. Rings on every finger. He smelled like wood and cigarettes and something chemical that made my nose burn.

“Good morning, Isabella,” my father said, not even looking at me. “Allow me to introduce Matteo Moretti. Matteo, my daughter.”

“So the Mendoza Princess returns.” He laughed.

Matteo’s black eyes dragged down my body…slow enough to feel like hands.

“So this is the woman I’m going to marry.” His voice was so smooth yet rocky. He stepped closer, lifted my chin with two fingers.

“Teeth.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Show me your teeth.” He repeated.

My father’s stare turned lethal. He looked at me like he would kill me if I didn’t listen.

I parted my lips. Slowly opened my mouth.

He tilted my head side to side, inspecting me like I was a horse at market.

“Hmm. Straight. Good.”

He circled me, one hand trailing across my shoulders, down the curve of my spine, stopping just above my ass. I felt him checking off his mental list — hips, waist, breasts, like he was already deciding how many sons I’d give him.

When he came back to face me, his thumb brushed my cheekbone.

“Bellissima,” he murmured, almost tender.

Then, louder, to my father — “She’s a virgin, you said?”

“Pure as the day she was born,” Alejandro replied, pride thick in his voice. “The pride of the Mendoza line.”

Matteo’s smile made my skin crawl. “Wonderful. Alejandro, a private word?”

My father nodded. “Rafael, please continue breakfast with your sister.”

The second the door closed behind them, I flew to my brother.

“Rafael—” My voice cracked. “You can’t let him do this. Please. You know what Matteo is. You’ve heard the stories—”

He caught my wrists, grip gentle but firm. “Bella, lower your voice.”

“I won’t marry that monster!” I hissed, tears burning. “He looked at me like I’m a puppet on sale! He’ll break me, Raf. He’ll—”

“Shh.” He pulled me into the hallway, away from listening ears. “I hate this too. But Dad’s in deep. Enemies are moving on half of our ports. If this alliance doesn’t happen, we lose everything. Maybe our lives.”

I stared at him, chest heaving. “So I’m the sacrifice?”

Rafael’s jaw clenched. “I’m trying to find another way. Maybe talk him out of this or call Mom.”

“Call Mom? But Dad said Mom already knew about this.” I snapped.

“I find that hard to believe,” Rafael murmured. “Just… buy me time. Behave. Don’t give him a reason to hurt you early.”

Early?

The word made me want to throw up.

He cupped my face, eyes fierce. “One month until the wedding. I will fix this. Trust me.”

I wanted to believe him.

But the way Matteo had smiled at me—like he already owned every inch of my skin—told me time was something I didn’t have.

I nodded once, throat tight.

Rafael kissed my forehead and walked away.

I stood alone in the marble corridor, red dress clinging like blood I couldn’t wash off.”

“I can’t do this,” I whispered, the words cracking in my chest.

I turned and bolted up the staircase, down the hall, slamming my bedroom door shut behind me. My shaky hands fumbled with my phone.

I dialled my mother’s number, It rang once. Twice.

Then failed.

Over and over.

And that’s when the truth finally hit me — I was alone.

No mother.

No freedom.

No exit.

Just as my breathing started to spiral, I heard it.

“BELLA.”

Then a pause.

“BELLA.”

My father’s voice rolled through the walls like a storm.

I shot upright, wiping the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand. The door flew open—hard, fast. But this time… he didn’t look angry.

He looked relieved.

“What is it, Dad?” I asked, sitting straighter. Something in my stomach twisted. “What do you want now?”

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I just had a discussion with Matteo. And we… came to a conclusion.”

My heart dropped.

“What conclusion?”

“He can’t wait one month,” my father said flatly. “You’re getting married in ten days.”

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.”