Writer's POV
Isabella dropped her phone, her hands shaking. When the screen struck the marble floor, it cracked.
"Miss Isabella? Are you alright?" Her maid, Maria, hurried to retrieve the shattered fragments.
Isabella gazed at the telephone. Through the broken glass, the text message was still visible and glowing: They are aware of the meeting. Leave now.
"Who was that, my love?" Vincent, her father, entered the room. When he saw her face, his smile vanished. "What's wrong, Isabella?"
She was unable to inform him. Not right now. Not when there were already hundreds of people waiting for her wedding in the church. Not when this union was meant to spare both families from a decade of conflict.
"Nothin', Papa. It's just wedding anxiety." Isabella kicked the broken phone beneath her dresser and forced a smile.
Vincent looked at her face. He was able to read her like a book after twenty-three years. "Don't lie to me, Isabella Romano. What took place?"
Three loud bangs rang through the house before she could respond. Downstairs, there was a knock on the front door.
"Vincent! Get out! We must speak." The voice was desperate and angry.
Isabella's blood became icy. That voice was familiar to her. Mr. Ricci, Anthony's father, was there.
"Stay here," Vincent instructed her. He reached for the gun beneath his jacket. "No matter what you hear, don't come downstairs."
"Wait, Papa—"
But his footsteps were heavy on the stairs, and he was already gone.
Isabella dashed to her window to gaze at the street below. There were three black cars parked outside. Around them, men in dark suits stood with their hands inside their jackets. These were not guests at a wedding.
Her heart was racing. There was a serious problem.
Maria held up the white wedding gown and said, "Miss Isabella, we need to get you ready. The vehicle will arrive in half an hour."
Isabella examined the gown. It was exquisite, with soft silk and tiny pearls. Beside it on the dresser was her grandmother's necklace. For the ideal wedding, everything was ideal. Why, then, did she feel as though she was dressing for her own funeral?
Voices grew louder downstairs. Although she couldn't hear the words, she could hear her father and Mr. Ricci arguing.
Isabella said, "Maria, please help me with the dress." She had to appear strong if something bad was going to happen. She learned from her father that people would target you if you appeared weak.
Isabella's thoughts were racing as Maria assisted her in putting on the dress. An unidentified number had sent the text message. She was being warned about a meeting by someone. What meeting, though? And who was aware of it?
Downstairs, the yelling became more intense.
"You assured me she would be secure!" The sound of Mr. Ricci's voice echoed upstairs.
"She will be safe," Vincent retorted. "As long as everyone follows the plan."
Make a plan? What's the plan? Isabella's hands began to shake once more.
Maria remarked, "Isabella, you're so pale," as she applied makeup. "Are you feeling ill?"
"I'm all right." She wasn't okay, though. All of the instincts she learned from her father were warning her that something was amiss.
Downstairs a door slammed. Automobile engines began to run. Isabella watched the black cars leave through the window.
Vincent returned to the upper floor. His shirt was wrinkled and his face was red. "We need to talk, Isabella."
"What's going on, Papa? What brought Mr. Ricci here?"
In the chair by her window, Vincent took a heavy seat. He appeared elderly for the first time in her life. "This wedding is not something that some people want to happen."
"What people?"
"The Santoros."
Isabella's heart stopped beating. Their greatest adversaries were the Santoros. Since Marco Santoro's younger sister was killed in a car bomb ten years prior, they had been at odds. Marco was accused of blaming her father for Sofia's demise.
"The wedding is known to the Santoros?" Isabella muttered.
"They are aware of everything." Vincent sounded worn out. "They are aware that your union with Anthony will turn three families against one another. They are aware that it will make us too powerful to resist."
Isabella took a seat on her bed. Like a cloud, the white dress encircled her. "So what are they going to do?"
"I'm not sure. However, Mr. Ricci believes they might give it a shot today."
"At the church?"
Vincent gave a nod. "Perhaps. Or perhaps they will merely attempt to frighten us."
Isabella's thoughts were racing. "Should we call off the wedding, Papa?"
"No." Vincent's tone hardened. "This has been planned for months. It is essential to both families. We will appear weak if we give in now. Furthermore, in our world, weak people do not survive."
Isabella was aware that he was correct. She was aware, however, that the dead also did not live.
Vincent said, "Isabella, I need you to have courage today. As we agreed, I need you to walk down that aisle and wed Anthony. Could you please do that for me?"
She turned to face her dad. He had devoted himself to her protection from the perilous world he lived in, a good education, and a good life. He was now requesting something in return.
"Yes, Papa. I am capable of doing it."
Vincent gave her a forehead kiss while grinning. "My girl is that. You underestimate your strength."
Isabella questioned whether strength would be sufficient as he walked out of the room.
After completing her makeup, Maria took a step back. "Miss Isabella, you look stunning. Like a princess."
Isabella turned to face the mirror. The girl who was staring back at her had the ideal appearance. A radiant smile, flawless hair, and a white dress. Her world was collapsing, but no one would have guessed.
Her cell rang. Maria had reassembled it and set it on the dresser. Isabella snatched it up. The unknown number texted me again: They're coming for you. Don't trust anyone.
Isabella nearly dropped the phone again as her hands began to shake so violently.
"Miss Isabella? The vehicle has arrived."
Isabella could see the white limousine waiting outside through the window. Her father, dressed in his finest suit, stood beside it, grinning and beckoning the neighbors who had gathered to observe. Everything appeared to be typical. Everything appeared flawless. Why, then, did Isabella think she was stepping into a trap?
Her fingers were shaking as she picked up her grandmother's necklace. Her skin felt cold against the pearls.
Maria said, "Are you ready?"
Isabella inhaled deeply. "Yes."
Her phone, however, buzzed again as she approached the door. It was a different message. Anthony sent it.
Isabella I apologize. I made an effort to stop them. Run.
Isabella's blood froze. Who was Anthony attempting to stop? The Santoros? Or another person?
Once more, she peered out the window. Her dad was still waving and grinning. The door of the limousine was held open by the driver. Everything had the same appearance.
Isabella, however, now saw things that she had previously overlooked. The driver's constant scanning of the surroundings. The way the hands of her father's bodyguards were close to their weapons. The way the neighbors chose to observe from their windows rather than venture outside.
Everyone was anticipating an event.
The phone rang for Isabella. Unknown figure. She answered, her hands trembling.
"Hello?"
"Isabella Romano?" It was a cold, deep voice.
"Yes?"
"I own something that you have. And I'm on my way to retrieve it."
The line died.
Isabella gazed at the telephone. She was having trouble breathing because of how quickly her heart was beating.
Her father called to her window outside. "Isabella! It's time to leave."
She took another look at herself in the mirror. The stunning bride returned her gaze. Isabella, however, could now see the fear in her own eyes.
She was being pursued by someone. Someone who believed they owned something from her. Nor did she know what it was.
"Miss Isabella?" From the doorway, Maria called. "Everyone is waiting."
Isabella picked up her white rose bouquet. Now her hands were steady. She would confront whatever lay ahead.
However, one thought kept coming to her as she made her way to the door: "What if the person pursuing her didn't intend to give her enough time to discover their desires?"