Isabella POV
I can't breathe in this dress.
The church doors swing open, and everyone stands up. Two hundred people turn to stare at me like I'm a prize cow at an auction. My father squeezes my arm so hard it hurts.
"Smile, Isabella," he hisses in my ear. "Remember what's at stake."
What's at stake is our family losing everything. What's at stake is Dad's gambling debts that could get us all killed. What's at stake is me marrying a complete stranger to save everyone.
I paste on a smile that feels like cracking glass.
The wedding march plays. Dad drags me forward. Each step feels like walking to my own funeral. At the end of the aisle stands Arthur Valentino—tall, handsome, and looking at me like I'm a piece of furniture he didn't order but has to keep anyway.
We've met exactly twice. Once at a business dinner where he barely spoke to me. Once last week when he came to discuss "wedding arrangements" and spent the whole time on his phone.
This is the man I'm supposed to spend my life with.
My eyes blur with tears I refuse to let fall. I won't cry. I won't give these people the satisfaction. Half of them are probably taking bets on how long this disaster will last.
Then I see him.
Front row. Right side. Sitting perfectly still while everyone else whispers and points at me.
Enzo Valentino.
Arthur's father.
He's staring at me like I'm the only person in this entire church. His dark eyes pin me in place, and suddenly I forget how to walk. My father has to pull me forward.
I've seen Enzo before. Lots of times, actually. He's always at the same charity events, the same gallery openings, the same restaurants my family goes to. I used to think it was coincidence. Now I'm not so sure.
Because the way he's looking at me right now? That's not how a man looks at his future daughter-in-law.
That's how a wolf looks at something it wants to devour.
My skin prickles with heat. I force myself to look away, back at Arthur. My soon-to-be husband is checking his watch. Actually checking his watch during our wedding ceremony.
This is fine. Everything is fine.
We reach the altar. Dad practically throws me at Arthur and rushes to his seat. Arthur takes my hand like he's afraid I might be contagious. His palm is cold and dry. There's no spark, no connection, nothing.
The priest starts talking. I don't hear a word. My heart is hammering so loud it drowns out everything else. I can feel Enzo's eyes burning into my back.
Don't look. Don't look. Don't look.
I look.
He's leaning forward now, elbows on his knees, completely focused on me. When our eyes meet, something dark flashes across his face. Hunger. That's the word for it. He looks hungry.
A shiver runs down my spine that has nothing to do with fear.
"Isabella Romano," the priest says loudly, making me jump. "Do you take this man—"
"Yes," I blurt out before he finishes. Just get this over with.
Arthur's turn. He says "I do" in the same tone he'd use to confirm a dentist appointment.
"You may now exchange rings."
Arthur pulls out a ring that probably cost more than my dad's car. He slides it onto my finger with the care of someone filling out paperwork. His hands are steady. Mine are shaking so badly I almost drop his ring twice.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest announces. "You may kiss the bride."
This is it. My first kiss with my husband.
Arthur leans in. His lips touch my cheek—just my cheek—for exactly half a second. It feels like being kissed by a fish. Cold. Wet. Wrong.
The crowd claps politely. Some people whisper. I hear giggles.
Arthur offers me his arm like a robot. We turn to face everyone. I should be looking at my new husband, smiling for the cameras. Instead, my eyes find Enzo again.
He's not clapping. He's not smiling. He's just watching me with an expression I can't read. But his hands are gripping the pew in front of him so hard his knuckles are white.
Why does Arthur's father look angrier about this wedding than Arthur does?
We walk down the aisle together. Arthur is already pulling away from me, creating distance. At the church doors, he drops my arm completely.
"The reception is at the Valentino mansion," he says stiffly. "I'll meet you there. I have calls to make."
"Wait, what? We're supposed to ride together—"
But he's already walking away, phone pressed to his ear.
I stand there in my wedding dress, alone, while guests file past me offering fake congratulations. My face hurts from smiling. My feet hurt from these stupid shoes. My heart hurts from the horrible realization that I just made the biggest mistake of my life.
"Isabella."
That voice. Deep. Rough. Making my name sound like a secret.
I turn. Enzo is standing three feet away. Up close, he's even more intimidating. Tall and broad-shouldered, with silver threading through his dark hair. He's wearing a black suit that probably costs more than my entire wedding.
But it's his eyes that trap me. Dark and intense and full of things I don't understand.
"Congratulations," he says. The word sounds wrong coming from him. Like he's choking on it.
"Thank you," I whisper.
He steps closer. Too close. Close enough that I can smell his cologne—expensive and woody and making my head spin.
"Welcome to the family," he says quietly. So quietly that only I can hear. "We need to talk. Tonight. After the reception. There are things you need to know about your father."
My blood turns to ice. "What things?"
But someone calls his name. He steps back, and the moment breaks.
"Enjoy your reception, daughter-in-law," he says louder, for the benefit of the people around us. Then he leans in one last time, his lips almost touching my ear. "And Isabella? That dress looks beautiful on you. I'll enjoy taking it off you later."
He walks away before my brain can process what he just said.
Did he—did Arthur's father just—
No. I must have heard wrong. The church is loud, people are talking, I'm stressed and tired and—
My phone buzzes in the tiny pocket of my dress. I pull it out with shaking hands.
Unknown number.
One text message: "Your father just made a deal to sell you to the Russo family. The wedding was a trap. Get out NOW."
The phone slips from my fingers and shatters on the marble floor.
Someone screams.
I look up and see my father running toward the exit, his face white with terror.
And behind him, men in black suits are pulling out guns.