The Bodyguard Who Stole the Mafia Bride

Isabella POV

I watched in stunned, suffocating silence as Damien bypassed my designer gowns and pulled out a sleek, ivory silk dress. Then, his large hand reached into my intimates drawer, retrieving a set of black lace lingerie.

The sheer audacity of it snapped me out of my shock. I pulled the duvet tighter around my bare chest, my cheeks burning with a volatile mix of rage and humiliation. "You don't have permission to touch me," I snapped, my voice trembling but laced with all the aristocratic venom I could muster.

He turned, the delicate lace looking absurdly fragile against his calloused, lethal hands. His expression was terrifyingly blank. "Permission is irrelevant, principessa(princess)," he stated, his voice a dark, unyielding rumble that vibrated in the quiet room. "There isn't an inch of you I haven't already claimed. You are mine."

I grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at his chest. He didn't even blink as it bounced off his solid frame. He merely set the clothes on the edge of the mattress and turned his back, a silent, immovable command that I had no choice but to obey.

Ten minutes later, I stood in the marble foyer, the silk dress clinging to my curves. I needed to regain some semblance of control. The contract said outside the bedroom, he was my soldier. I pointed to my Jimmy Choo heels resting on the floor and extended my silk-stockinged foot.

"My shoes, Soldier," I ordered, lifting my chin.

Damien's deep, ocean-blue eyes locked onto mine. For a second, he simply stared, the silence stretching until it felt dangerous. Then, he bent down. A flicker of triumph ignited in my chest-until his massive hands bypassed the shoes entirely, gripping my thighs.

With a sudden, effortless surge of power, he hoisted me into his arms. I gasped, my hands instinctively flying around his thick neck to keep from falling. He scooped up the heels with two fingers of his free hand and strode toward the private elevator, completely subverting my pathetic attempt at authority. My rebellion was nothing but a game to him.

The ride in his armored black G-Wagon was suffocating. When we pulled up to the stone steps of the New York City Marriage Bureau, my heart hammered against my ribs. Before Damien could even open my door, tires screeched. A sleek black Maybach swerved to a halt right behind us.

Julian Falcone practically threw himself out of the driver's seat. His usually perfect hair was disheveled, his aristocratic face pale with panic. "Bella!" he shouted, rushing toward me as I stepped onto the pavement. "Bella, please, you have to listen to me. Chloe was in a terrible accident, I had to-"

"Save it, Julian," I cut him off, my voice dripping with absolute ice. The sight of him no longer brought butterflies, only a sickening wave of betrayal. "The Blanchard-Falcone alliance is dead. And so are we."

"No, you don't mean that," he pleaded, desperation making him reckless. He reached out, his fingers wrapping tightly around my upper arm.

Before I could pull away, a shadow eclipsed the morning sun. Damien moved with the lethal speed of a striking viper. His hand clamped down on Julian's wrist like a steel vise.

"Take your hands off my wife," Damien commanded. The sheer, murderous intent in his voice made the air drop ten degrees.

Julian froze, his eyes darting from Damien's lethal grip to my face. "Wife?" he choked out. Then, his gaze snapped back to Damien, confusion morphing into something uglier. "Where is Chloe? Why aren't you answering her calls?"

My breath hitched. Chloe? Why would Julian's mistress be calling my bodyguard? A cold seed of doubt planted itself in my chest.

Julian sneered, trying to mask his intimidation with Falcone arrogance. "A common Soldier thinks he can take what belongs to the Falcone family?"

Damien didn't release him. Instead, he stepped closer, his towering frame dwarfing Julian. "What belongs to a Falcone is destined for ashes," Damien said softly, the promise of violence vibrating in every syllable. "What is mine... I protect at all costs. You will learn the difference."

He shoved Julian's arm away with a look of utter disgust, placed a heavy, possessive hand on the small of my back, and guided me up the steps toward the judge who would seal my fate.