Married to the ruthless Billionaire Mafia

It was lunch period and Rose was summoned to the dining room, the chandelier glow fell harshly on polished wood and silver cutlery.  The table could have seated thirty, but tonight only a handful of men occupied it. Their dark suits made the room feel heavier, colder. Rose's steps echoed as she entered, the sound sharp against the marble floor. She stopped just inside the threshold, her hands clutched tightly together. Every head turned. She felt their eyes sweep over her. She was the only woman in the room. At the far end was Vittorio Moretti, Rose could immediately tell he was Dante's father, they had the same storm grey eyes and even though he looked frail, he still commanded the space.  He leaned on the armrest of his chair, his fingers tapping once, twice, before his lips curved faintly. "So this is the white pet," Vittorio rasped, his voice gravelly but laced with scorn. "Welcome to the family, ragazza. Sit." Heat rose in Rose's chest. She moved stiffly to the seat opposite Dante, who sat beside his father. The silverware glinted in front of her, a plate already set, food steaming faintly. She did not touch it. "Eat," Vittorio said after a moment, gesturing with one thin hand. Rose lifted her chin. "No." Silence spread across the table. The men shifted in their seats, eyes flicking from her to Vittorio, waiting. Luca's mouth curved, his gaze amused as it lingered on her. Vittorio chuckled, a rasp that ended in a cough. "You see? She has teeth. But what good are they? A pet does not bite at the table." The laughter scraped against her nerves. Her hands curled into fists on her lap. Dante's voice broke the tension, low and controlled. "Eat, now." "I said no." The chair beside her scraped. In the next instant his hand was on her jaw, firm, forcing her mouth open as he pressed the fork past her lips. She gagged, tried to twist away, but his grip was iron. The food slid down her throat and she coughed hard, her chest burning. Vittorio clapped slowly, the sound sharp in the cavernous room. His laugh was rough, but his eyes glittered with cruel delight. "Be grateful, ragazza. My son is softer than I." Rose's stomach roiled, fury and humiliation flooding her at once. She swallowed hard, fighting back the sting in her eyes. Vittorio lifted a hand, and one of the soldiers moved to the wall. A low hum filled the room, and a projector flickered to life against the far wall.  "Train your pet," Vittorio said suddenly, his voice cutting across the room in Italian. "Non sfidarmi con la sua disobbedienza. Do not test me with her defiance." Dante's jaw tightened, but his voice was even. "I have it under control, Padre." "I hear," Vittorio rasped, coughing into his handkerchief, "that you thought someone would save you. That you still believe in fairy tales." His eyes narrowed. "Watch." "I'm not interested," Rose whispered, her voice rough. The old man didn't look at her. He merely nodded once, and two soldiers stepped forward. One seized her shoulders, the other tilted her chin toward the wall. Rose jerked against them, but their grip was unyielding. The screen lit up with a moving image. Her throat closed. It was her. She saw herself standing in the courtroom, pen in hand, her mouth curved in a smile. She watched her own laughter, her own face tilted toward Dante as though she were the happiest bride in the world.  Dante was there beside her, signing with ease, his hand steady as though the act meant nothing. To anyone else, it looked like joy. The images shifted. Photographs. Headlines. Billionaire Dante Moretti Marries Rose Blake. Who would have thought the Bachelor Dante Moretti would be so married so quickly? Italy's Financial Prince. The words scrolled in bold type, each one hammering at her chest. Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. Across the table, Vittorio's thin smile stretched. "Do you see? The world believes. They cheer for you, ragazza. Who will listen if you complain now?" Rose's voice scraped from her throat. "It's not real. None of it's real." The men around the table only looked amused. Dante leaned forward, his gaze locking onto hers. "Who will take your word over mine? You smiled for the cameras. You looked so happy signing that contract. To the world, you are my wife. Will you tell them you were forced?" His lips curved faintly. "They will laugh in your face." Her stomach dropped. Her fingers dug into the edge of her chair as the screen flicked through more images, each one a lie carved into permanence. The projector hummed on. Rose sat frozen, her mind reeling as her smiling face stared back at her from the wall. The meal ended with little else spoken. Vittorio leaned back in his chair, satisfied, while the men murmured in low voices.  Rose sat stiff and silent, her stomach turning with every fake headline that still burned behind her eyes. When the projector finally flicked off, she felt like she could breathe again-but the relief was short-lived. Dante rose first. The scrape of his chair was soft, deliberate. His eyes cut to her with a look that made her blood run cold. "Come," he said. It was not a request. The soldiers released her arms and she followed because she had no choice. Every step down the long corridor pressed heavier against her ribs. He didn't look back at her once, but his silence felt louder than words. When he opened the door to her chamber, he stepped inside and waited. She hesitated on the threshold. His hand closed around her arm, pulling her in before the door shut behind them with a dull thud. Rose's pulse skittered. She tried to pull back, but his grip was iron. "You embarrassed me tonight," Dante said, his voice low, calm, but sharp enough to cut. "In front of my father. In front of my men. You made me look weak." Her throat tightened. "I won't sit there and be called a pet." "You are what you are here," he said flatly. Her eyes flashed. "I'm not an animal. And I'm not your possession." The silence stretched. Then, without warning, he pressed her back against the wall, his hand pinning her jaw in the same place it had been at the table. His storm-grey eyes bore into hers, unflinching. "You will let them call you worse if I command it." His tone was flat, his grip unyielding. "Do you understand me?" Her pulse hammered against his palm. She tried to claw at his wrist, but he didn't flinch. "You think defiance makes you strong?" His voice dropped lower. "It makes you stupid. And in this house, stupidity gets people killed. Your father first." The words sliced through her, sharper than his hold. Tears stung her eyes, but she shook her head. "You're a monster." Something flickered across his expression and went as quickly as it came. He pressed her harder into the wall, his lips near her ear, his breath cold against her skin. "No. I am survival. And you-" his grip tightened briefly, forcing a strangled gasp from her throat-"are mine to control." He released her abruptly, and she crumpled against the wall, coughing, clutching her neck. Dante looked down at her, his suit unruffled, his gaze steady as though nothing had happened. "Remember this," he said softly. "Every choice you make, I own the cost. And I will make you pay for it." He moved to the nightstand, pressed a button on the wall. The door opened and two soldiers entered. "Strip the room," Dante ordered in Italian. The soldiers obeyed without hesitation. One by one, they carried out the velvet drapes, the armchair, the rugs. They took her mirror, even the lamp by her bed. Rose's heart pounded as she watched her sanctuary dismantle piece by piece until nothing was left but the bedframe, the mattress, and the cold walls. She spun on him. "What are you doing?" "Pets don't get luxuries," Dante said, his tone casual, almost bored. "And you haven't earned them." Her eyes burned. "I'm not your pet." He stepped closer, so near she felt the heat of his body, though his expression remained unreadable. "You are until I say otherwise." The soldiers left. The door closed. Dante's gaze didn't move from her face. "No food for the rest of the day and tomorrow," he said softly. "No water until morning. You will remember this when you think of disobedience." Her stomach clenched, but pride forced the words out. "You can take everything from this room, Dante. You won't break me." A faint smile ghosted across his lips, but it was merciless. "Everyone breaks. So will you."   He reached for the lamp switch. Darkness swallowed the room. She heard the door open, the faint click of his shoes against the marble floor, and then the lock sliding into place from outside.