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.”

Bella’s POV

I stood at my bedroom window for what felt like hours, watching the dark driveway like a prisoner waiting for parole.

I’d chosen the most modest thing I could find: a long red silk dress that covered everything, I twisted my hair into a sleek bun, and the diamonds in my ears screamed “Mendoza heiress.”

I looked safe, respectable. The version of me my father wanted the world to see.

My phone buzzed on my bed.

Lucia: “Headlights off, back gate. NOW.”

I grabbed a dark coat, slipped out of my heels, and ran barefoot down the stairs like the way I used to when I was a teenager. The lights were dim and I could barely see anything.

I was two steps from the door when a voice froze me solid.

“Isabella.”

I turned slowly.

My father stood in the shadows of the hallway, cigar glowing in the dark.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going out,” I said, chin high. “I can still go out, can’t I, Dad?”

He took a slow drag, studying me. “That depends. People do stupid things when they’re unhappy.”

I laughed, sharp and bitter. “And what do you think I’ll do now—run away?”

“You already tried that once, remember? Look where it got you, it’ll be stupid of you to do it again.” He growled.

I said nothing, I simply shook my head.

He stepped closer. “I know you’re angry about the wedding—”

“You’re damn right, I’m angry,” I yelled. “I come back and I get nothing from you. No welcome. No how are you? Nothing. Instead, I’m slammed into a marriage with someone I don’t love.”

“You brought it on yourself.” He fired at me.

“No, you brought it on me Dad.” I fired back. “Who’s Romano?” I asked finally, voice shaking with everything I’d overheard. “That name keeps floating around this house like a ghost. You’re terrified of him. What did you do?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It is when you’re selling me to cover your fuck ups!” I snapped. “I’m the one paying for whatever you did, so tell me!”

“Watch your mouth when you speak to me, Isabella,” he growled.

“I used to,” I fired back. “When you still deserved my respect. Now I just loathe you.”

His hand tightened around the cigar. “That’s enough. Go to your room.”

“No,” I whispered, stepping toward the door. “You don’t get to lock me up ten days before you hand me to Matteo Moretti. Tonight I deserve to breathe.”

“You will not step one foot outside this house.” My father’s voice turned dark.

“Watch me.”

I yanked the door open and ran.

Bare feet on cold marble, then wet grass, past the fountain, past the pool lights shimmering like spilt gold. I didn’t stop until I hit the service gate and flung myself into Lucia’s waiting arms.

She squealed, squeezing me so hard my ribs protested. “It’s really you!”

“Go, go, go—My Dad could have the guards on us any second!”

“Then get in.” She yelled.

We both hopped in the car. She turned on the ignition, tyres spitting gravel as we shot into the night.

Five minutes of silence, then she glanced over, eyes widening.

“What the hell are you wearing, honey?”

“You said cute!”

“I meant carelessly sexy! What do you think this….a Mendoza gala? Girl please.” She waved her hand.

“Then what is it?”

Lucia grinned like a devil. “It’s the night you stop existing for everyone else.”

She pulled up to her house and minutes later we were in her bedroom—same fairy lights, same chaos of clothes and perfume—and she was tearing through her closet like a woman on a mission.

“We’re gonna dress you in something hot tonight.” She giggled. “Something….slutty.”

She picked out the first dress. “Too long.”

Then a second. “Too modest.” She scowled.

“Too sweet.”

And then pulled out a scrap of fabric that looked like there was barely anything to it. It was short, black and covered in glittery stones.

“This,” she declared, holding it up like a trophy. “Open front, backless, hem barely legal. Every eye in the room will be on you.”

I raised a brow. “I’ll freeze.”

“You’ll burn,” she corrected, smirking as she tossed it at me. “We’re finding you a man tonight. Micah was trash. I’m sorry you went through that.” She pouted, genuinely.

I let out a breath I’d been holding for months. “That sounds…nice. But my dad already found a man for me.”

Her head snapped toward me so fast her bun nearly collapsed. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, slipping my legs into the dress. “He got himself into some shit, and now I’m paying for it. I’m marrying Matteo fucking Moretti.”

Lucia blinked—slow, like her brain was buffering. “Matteo? Oh.” The disappointment in her voice was small but sharp. “That’s surprising.”

I paused, heels in my hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine. But that must suck for you.”

“It does. I’m so frustrated, Lu. How could my father even do that to me? Matteo Moretti of all people. I’d rather die.”

“Maybe he’s not that bad,” she offered, but there was no real conviction behind it.

“He’s awful,” I snapped. “He treats women like shit. I’d rather suck off a stranger than lose my virginity to that prick.”

She grinned like I’d just handed her the night’s challenge. “Okay, then that’s what we’ll do.”

I stared. “…what?”

“We’ll find you a stranger to suck off.” She said, like it was some casual thing.

She stepped close, fixing the strap of the dress on my shoulder, eyes gleaming with mischief and fierce loyalty. Then she loosened my bun and let her hands wander in my hair. It fell across my face in waves.

“Tonight you’re not Isabella Mendoza. Tonight you’re just a girl who gets to be reckless, horny, and alive one last time. I know exactly where we’re going.” She grinned.

**********

Lucia’s Mercedes screeched to a stop in front of an old palazzo by the canal.

No sign. No name. Just a single red lantern hanging over a black door, swaying in the wind.

To most people, it looked like another abandoned building in Venice.

But the people who knew….knew this was La Volpe Rossa —the most secret, most expensive casino-club in the whole city.

Valets in dark red jackets rushed toward the cars.

Then a low rumble filled the street.

A line of black SUVs pulled up behind us like something out of a crime movie.

One by one, the doors opened at the same time.

Men stepped out—black suits, earpieces, sharp eyes.

They moved in perfect sync, calm in that dangerous way that told you they’d killed before.

And they wouldn’t blink if they had to do it again.

But one man didn’t match the rest.

He got out last—black slacks, a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled, and a fitted black waistcoat. No tie. No jacket. But somehow he still looked like the one in charge.

I leaned forward a little. “Who are those people?”

Lucia followed my gaze. “Them? Mafia. That crew basically owns half of Venice now,” she said under her breath. “And the one in the white shirt? He’s the boss. His name is Zayden.”

She cut the engine. “Dangerously hot, right?”

I couldn’t answer.

Because the second she said his name, his gaze snapped back, sharp enough to cut glass—I couldn’t tell what he was looking at but it wasn’t me.

The air left my lungs either way.

Lucia laughed softly. “Yeah. That’s the effect he has.”

She grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of the car. “Come on. The tables open in ten, and tonight the only thing you’re gambling is your cookie.”

“Do you come here a lot?” I asked, trying to sound normal while my skin still burned from that one look.

She hesitated—just a heartbeat. “Yeah. That’s actually how I met—“ she paused.

“How you met who?”

“Never mind,” she said quickly, tugging me toward the entrance.

The bouncer unclipped the velvet rope without a word. And we all swooped in like soldiers ready for battle.

Lucia leaned in as we stepped through the archway. “Tonight you don’t have a last name, remember? You’re just trouble in diamonds.”

I walked inside, pulse roaring in my ears.

Red velvet walls, gold chandeliers, the low thrum of jazz and the clink of glasses. Money, perfume, and danger thick enough to taste.

I only knew one thing, whatever happened next — I wasn’t leaving La Volpe Rossa the same girl who walked in.

Bella’s POV

The deeper I walked into La Volpe Rossa, the more the air changed.

Perfume, cigar smoke, sex, and money all tangled together until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

Girls in nothing but diamond-encrusted lingerie carried thousand-euro bottles on silver trays.

A man in a tux had a woman bent over a roulette table, her dress around her waist, and her moans swallowed by the music.

In one dark corner, two men played snooker while a third fucked a girl against the wall, slow and shameless, like it was part of the game.

My pulse was everywhere—my throat, wrists, between my legs.

“Lucia!”

We turned, and a tall man with soft brown curls and sharp cheekbones stepped out from a group near the stairs.

Lucia lit up in a way she hadn’t all night.

“Riccardo!”

He kissed her cheek—both sides—and then looked at me with curiosity.

“And who is this beautiful creature?”

“Bella,” Lucia said, looping her arm around my waist. “My best friend. Be nice.”

Riccardo smirked. “Always.”

He walked up to me, took my hand and kissed the back of my palm. “Hi.” He said.

“Oh, hi,” I replied nervously.

“If you don’t mind. I wanna…steal your friend for a bit. Lucia…can we have a minute?” He asked her.

Something in his eyes turned dark.

She turned to me, eyes sparkling.

“Give me five minutes. Have fun, okay?”

She disappeared into the crowd before I could answer.

And I was alone.

**********

The Mendoza mansion was far too quiet for the hour.

Too still. Too tense.

Alejandro Mendoza stormed across his study, the heel of his palm hitting the edge of the desk hard enough to rattle the glass table.

“She ran.” His voice cracked like a whip. “She ran

out of my house. How dare that child?”

“Calm down,” Bianca said. “You need to relax, this stress isn’t good for you.”

Rafael stood near the doorway, jaw tight. He’d been dragged out of bed the second Alejandro realised Bella wasn’t within his reach..

“You pushed her too far, Papa,” Rafael said carefully. “She just got home—”

“She owes this family loyalty!” Alejandro roared, pacing like a caged bull. “Romano will tear us apart if this marriage falls through. Do you understand that? Do you even begin to—”

“She’s not livestock,” Rafael snapped. “You can’t keep treating her like—”

“Shut your mouth.” Alejandro snapped.

“Can we not do this, not tonight?” Bianca chipped in.

The room went deathly silent.

Rafael swallowed and stepped back, hands raised slightly. “I’ll call her. Let me try.”

Alejandro’s jaw clenched so tight his temple twitched.

“Tell her to come home. Now. If she’s not through that door in thirty minutes, I swear—”

Rafael didn’t wait to hear the rest. He slipped out into the hallway, pulling out his phone as soon as he was out of his father’s line of fire.

He dialled Bella.

Once… twice… and finally she picked up.

“Where the hell are you?” he hissed, keeping his voice low. “Dad’s losing it. He’s—Bella, he’s out for blood.”

Her voice came through the speaker, muffled club music thumping behind her.

“I’m not coming home,” she said firmly. “Not tonight.”

“Bella, be serious—”

“No, Rafael. For once, I’m doing something for myself. I’ll come back when I want to.”

“Bella—”

The line went dead.

Rafael stared at his screen, exhaling shakily.

He already knew this was going to explode.

He just didn’t know how violently.

**********

I put my phone off as soon as I hung up the call with Raf. I could feel the weight of my father’s anger pressing down from all the way here, but I didn’t care. Not tonight. I’ll deal with his wrath later.

I wandered over to the pool table, my heels clicking on the floor, the silk of my dress brushed my legs. I picked up the cue, positioned it, and took a shot.

The ball rolled lazily, clacking against another and… nothing, I missed.

I let out a breath, repositioned, and tried once more—still nothing. My focus was shot, my hands trembling from the adrenaline and nerves.

“New at this?” a voice said behind me, low, smooth, and threaded with amusement.

I spun around. My breath hitched. Green eyes—piercing, dangerous, impossibly sharp—locked onto mine. The same man I’d seen outside, the one in white, the one whose presence had made the air thicken.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair slicked back, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, and a look that promised trouble at every angle. Handsomeness and danger wrapped into one lethal package.

“Yes… I am,” I admitted finally, my voice small.

“I could tell,” he said with a grin. “Here, let me show you.”

He stepped behind me. Close enough that I felt the heat of his body, not quite touching.

“Can I put my hands on you?”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I nodded.

His palm settled on my waist—firm and possessive—then slid up slowly, guiding my torso into position. His other hand closed over mine on the cue, long fingers wrapping around mine completely.

“Breathe out,” he murmured against my ear. “Then push.”

I did.

The white ball cracked against the red in a perfect line, the ball dropping into the pocket with a soft thud.

I spun around, laughing like an idiot. “I did it!”

He clapped, a slow, approving smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Nicely done.”

“One drink for the lady, please,” he called.

A waiter appeared instantly with two glasses of something dark and expensive.

“So,” he started. “What’s the name?”

“Only if you tell me yours first.” I smiled.

“I can bet a billion dollars that you already know my name.” He said, unsurprised.

He was right. I did. I had heard it from Lucia. And every other person who seemed to be interested in the talk of Italy’s most feared mafia lord.

But for some reason, I wanted to hear him say it.

“My name’s Bella,” I said softly. “Isabella.”

“Isabella.” He said slowly, as if trying to savour the name. “I’m not one to judge but you don’t look like you’re used to this.” He said gesturing to the surroundings.

“No. But I needed a night out, and my friend suggested.”

“Your friend must be…one of a kind.” He said as if he were wary.

“She can be a handful.” I giggled, downing my drink in one gulp. “Can I have another?” I asked the bartender.

Zayden raised his brows in surprise. “Rough night?”

“You can say that.” I sniffed.

He looked at me like a wounded puppy.

“I’ll tell you my name if you spill.” He smirked.

And so I did. I told him how I ran away for love three years ago, how I gave up my entire life because of someone who didn’t love me enough to keep his dick in his pants.

How I got betrayed by my father and how I’m made to marry someone I don’t know.

He didn’t say anything. Just nodded like he could relate.

By the time I was done. He took in a deep breath.

“Well, that’s a lot Bella. I’m sorry.”

“It’s your turn,” I said. “Your name.”

“Okay. Okay. Since that is so important.” he paused. I’m Zayden. Zayden Rom—“

“Zayden!” A loud voice called out to him before he could complete it.

“Excuse me a moment,” he said, lifting a finger.

He stepped away to meet a man briefly, their conversation short, clipped, business-like. Every word felt like it carried weight, like a storm hovering just out of sight. A few nods, a sharp smile, and just like that, he was back at my side.

“I’m sorry about that,” he murmured, sliding his hands into his pockets. “The men are heading home soon.”

He looked around, like he was trying to decide whether or not to ask me something and then —“If you don’t mind—” He paused, gaze locking onto mine, piercing like a blade.

Something about the way he looked at me made my chest tighten. It was more than curiosity. It was a claim, a weight I couldn’t ignore.

Then he leaned closer, thumb brushing the bare skin of my lower back through the thin satin of my dress. The heat of him pressed into me, and my breath hitched.

“Come home with me.”