The marble floors of the mansion gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers, each step Isabella took echoing like a countdown. The men who had escorted her disappeared the moment she entered. Now it was just her and the house that felt more like a kingdom.
A butler in black bowed silently, leading her through long corridors lined with portraits of fierce-eyed men and elegant women, generations of Valenti power staring down at her. She felt small, a lamb being ushered into the wolf's den.
The double doors at the end of the hall opened.
Dominic Valenti sat at the head of a long dining table, his suit sharp, his presence sharper. Before him lay a table set for two, silver candelabras casting shadows across his face. He rose slowly as she entered, eyes locked on her as though nothing else in the world existed.
"Isabella." His voice was smooth, deliberate. "You came."
"As if I had a choice," she whispered, her defiance surprising even herself.
Dominic's lips curved into the faintest smirk, like a predator amused by its prey's attempt to fight. "There's always a choice. You chose correctly."
He gestured to the seat beside him, not across the table, but close enough that their arms might brush. Isabella hesitated, but the butler pulled the chair for her before she could protest.
The first course arrived: fine porcelain plates, delicate cuts of food she couldn't pronounce. She didn't touch it.
"You're not eating."
"I'm not hungry."
Dominic leaned back, watching her in silence. The weight of his stare pressed against her skin until she finally blurted out, "Why me? What do you want from me?"
His hand moved, fingers tapping lightly against the table. "Want? That's too small a word." He leaned closer, lowering his voice until she could feel the warmth of it. "When I see something I desire, Isabella, I take it. And I don't let go."
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
Dominic's eyes flicked down, noticing her trembling hands. With unhurried grace, he reached across the table and covered her hand with his own. The contrast was stark, her small, shaking fingers beneath the steel grip of his palm.
"You don't know me," she said, though her voice lacked strength.
"Oh, but I do." His smirk deepened. He snapped his fingers, and the butler appeared, placing a thin file on the table. Dominic opened it, flipping through papers. "Isabella Cruz. Twenty two. Works at a café. Dropped out of university to care for her sick mother. Lives in a small apartment with peeling wallpaper."
Her breath caught.
Dominic tilted his head, studying her reaction. "Your mother's prescriptions cost more than you can earn in six months. But she hasn't missed a dose, has she?"
Isabella's throat went dry. "How"
"Because I paid for them." His voice was calm, final. "Every pill. Every treatment. Every visit."
The room spun. She pushed back from the table, panic rising. "Why would you? You don't even know me!"
Dominic stood as well, moving faster than she expected. In an instant, he was in front of her, his presence towering, caging her against the chair. His eyes burned with an intensity that stole her breath.
"You think I don't know you?" he murmured, his hand brushing a strand of hair from her face with surprising gentleness. "I've been watching you, Isabella. Long before you ever saw me."
Her body stiffened, fear and something darker twisting inside her chest.
"From the moment I saw you in that café window, you became mine." His voice dropped to a whisper, possessive and dangerous. "Your world, your choices, even your fears they belong to me now."
Isabella tried to speak, but no words came. The Don's gaze was suffocating, terrifying… and yet, part of her couldn't look away.
Dominic leaned closer, his lips grazing her ear. "Remember this, Isabella. You didn't walk into my world tonight. I pulled you into it. And I don't release what I claim."
The candles flickered, shadows wrapping around them like a promise she didn't want but couldn't escape.