VOWS OF FIRE AND BLOOD

The villa's gates swung open, and two black SUVs rolled out into the night. Dante and I sat in the back of the first, leather seats cold against my bare arms. The hum of the engine filled the silence between us, thick with everything unspoken.

He'd ordered me into a black dress, tight, elegant, the kind that clung to every curve whether I wanted it to or not. My hair was pinned back, my throat bare. I felt exposed, on display. Exactly as he wanted.

I kept my eyes fixed on the blur of city lights beyond the tinted glass. Anything to avoid looking at him. But the weight of his gaze pressed against me, heavy and unyielding.

"Sit closer," he said finally, voice low but leaving no room for refusal.

I turned to him, bristling. "I'm fine where I am."

His mouth curved in a slow, dangerous smile. "That wasn't a request."

Heat flushed my cheeks. I shifted a fraction closer, just to spite him by making it as reluctant as possible. His arm slid around my shoulders instantly, pulling me firmly against his side. The scent of his cologne, dark, intoxicating wrapped around me.

"Better," he murmured.

I stiffened, every nerve screaming at me to pull away. But his hand moved down, resting on my thigh, fingers splayed over the fabric of the dress. Not groping. Not even moving. Just there. A quiet claim. A warning.

"Dante..." I began, but he silenced me with a single look.

"When we arrive," he said, his thumb brushing the inside of my thigh in slow, maddening circles, "you will stay at my side. You will smile when I tell you to. You will not speak unless I give you permission. Understand?"

Fury clawed at my chest. "I'm not some puppet you can..."

His hand tightened, just enough to make me gasp. His lips brushed my ear, his voice a silken threat. "Understand?"

My heart hammered, heat pooling low in my belly despite my anger. I hated him for it. I hated myself more.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Good girl," he said softly, his mouth grazing the shell of my ear before he leaned back again, completely composed, as if nothing had happened.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, but the imprint of his hand lingered on my thigh, a brand I couldn't escape.

The SUV slowed, tires crunching over gravel. I leaned forward slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of where we were, but Dante's hand pressed gently but firmly against my thigh, holding me in place.

"Patience," he murmured.

The car stopped in front of an imposing mansion, three stories of pale stone, windows glowing with warm light, but the atmosphere was anything but welcoming. Black-clad men stood at the entrance, weapons visible at their sides. Their eyes tracked the vehicle like wolves scenting prey.

Dante stepped out first. The moment his shoes touched the ground, the guards straightened, their posture shifting in subtle acknowledgment of who he was. Not a guest. Not even an equal. A man to be reckoned with.

Then his hand was at the door, opening it for me. He extended his palm, expectant. I hesitated, glaring up at him, but the weight of so many eyes watching pressed down on me. Slowly, I slid my hand into his.

His grip was warm, strong. Possessive. He drew me out of the car, tucking me neatly against his side as though I were made to fit there. His arm settled around my waist, anchoring me to him.

The guards' gazes lingered on me, curious, assessing, some openly appreciative. I stiffened, heat crawling up my neck.

Dante felt it instantly. His hand tightened at my hip, his mouth dipping close to my ear. "Keep your head high," he whispered. "You're mine. Let them choke on it."

My heart thudded, a confusing mix of defiance and...something else. Pride? Desire? I shoved the thought away.

Inside, the mansion was even more intimidating. Crystal chandeliers threw light across polished marble floors. The air hummed with low conversation, sharp laughter, the clink of glasses. Men in tailored suits turned as Dante entered, their gazes cutting toward him and then to me.

"Bellanti," one of them greeted, his accent thick, his smile sharp. "And this must be..." His eyes swept over me in a way that made my stomach knot. "Your bride."

Dante's arm tightened around me until I could barely breathe. "My wife," he corrected smoothly, his tone like a blade hidden in silk. "Isabella Bellanti."

The man's smile faltered. He inclined his head. "A beautiful choice."

Dante's answering smile didn't reach his eyes. His thumb stroked once over my hip, a subtle reminder, a silent promise.

I forced my chin up, meeting the man's gaze with what little courage I had. For a moment, something like respect flickered in his eyes before he turned away.

"Stay close," Dante murmured against my temple, his lips brushing the barest kiss there. To everyone watching, it looked like tenderness. To me, it was chains.

The dining hall was long and glittering, but the air inside was heavy, charged. Crystal decanters glistened under chandeliers, but the men around the massive table weren't here to drink. They were predators, circling, watching, waiting.

Dante guided me to a seat at his right, his hand never leaving my lower back. Even sitting, he radiated power, broad shoulders relaxed, but eyes sharp as knives.

Across the table sat a man I didn't know, older than Dante, his dark hair streaked with gray. His suit looked expensive, but it was his gaze that unsettled me. Cold. Hungry. And fixed entirely on me.

I shifted uncomfortably under his stare. Dante noticed immediately. His hand slid from my back to my thigh, his grip firm, grounding. Warning.

The older man's lips curved. "So this is the woman who tamed the infamous Dante Bellanti," he said smoothly, his Italian accent wrapping around the words. "Your reputation travels far, signora. Tell me, do you enjoy being the wife of such a dangerous man?"

Heat crept up my neck. Every instinct screamed at me to stay silent, but his expectant smirk made my blood boil. "Enjoy isn't the word I'd use," I said before I could stop myself.

A ripple of laughter circled the table. My stomach plummeted.

Dante didn't laugh. His hand on my thigh tightened until I almost winced. He leaned close, lips brushing my ear. "Careful," he murmured, low and lethal.

The rival leaned back in his chair, unbothered, still watching me. His gaze dropped briefly, lingering on the neckline of my dress. I swallowed hard, wishing the marble floor would open up and swallow me whole.

In the blink of an eye, Dante's demeanor changed. He leaned forward, his voice calm but cutting through the room like a blade. "If your eyes linger on my wife again, you won't leave this house with them."

The table went silent. My pulse thundered in my ears.

The man chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Of course. My apologies." But his smirk lingered, and I knew this wasn't over.

Dante sat back, outwardly composed. But his hand never left me, each slow stroke of his thumb against my thigh carrying a silent message: Mine. Mine. Mine.

I didn't know whether to be furious or...something far more dangerous.

The meeting dragged on, voices rising and falling in sharp Italian, numbers and names traded like weapons. But I barely heard a word. All I felt was the heavy weight of Dante's hand, the simmering fury in his body beside me.

When the men finally rose from the table, Dante didn't linger. He stood, tugging me to my feet with a grip that brooked no refusal. His jaw was set, eyes like ice as he led me down a side corridor, away from the glitter and laughter, away from the curious stares.

The moment the door closed behind us, he pressed me back against it, caging me with his body.

"What the hell was that?" His voice was a low growl, barely restrained.

I lifted my chin. "What? That I dared speak for myself? That I dared exist while another man looked at me?"

His palm slammed against the door beside my head. "Don't play games with me, Isabella." His breath was hot against my cheek. "You think I didn't notice the way he looked at you?"

I glared back, refusing to shrink. "Noticed? You nearly tore him apart for glancing at me. You can't control every man's eyes."

His hand moved from the door to my jaw, tilting my face up to his. "No. But I can control you."

The words should have terrified me. Instead, they lit something wild and reckless inside me.

"Control me?" I whispered, my pulse racing. "Is that what you think this is?"

His lips brushed mine, not quite a kiss, more a threat. "No. This is me reminding you who you belong to."

Heat flared between us, thick and undeniable. My body betrayed me, leaning into his even as my pride screamed in protest. His thumb stroked across my lower lip, lingering before his mouth finally claimed mine in a bruising kiss.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle. It was hunger and fury and possession, all tangled together. I hated it. I craved it.

When he finally pulled back, my breath was ragged, my lips swollen. His eyes burned into mine.

"You're mine, Isabella. And I'll kill anyone who forgets it. Including you."

He didn't wait for my answer. He turned, straightened his cuffs, and opened the door as though nothing had happened.

I pressed a trembling hand to my lips, my heart thundering. I should have been terrified. Instead, all I could think was how much I wanted him to kiss me again.