4

.LUCA’S POV

“Get out,” I said, yanking open the car door.  

Isabella stayed where she was, her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at me like she wanted me dead. The glowing lights of the mansion reflected in her hazel eyes, turning them molten with anger.  

“Do I have to drag you out?” I asked, leaning closer. My voice was calm, but she’d been pushing me all day. Maybe I did ‘forget’  to inform her about a party she was meant to accompany me on purpose until an hour ago.

“Do it,” she said, her lips curling into a bitter smile. “Drag me out in front of your precious guests. Show them what a gentleman you are.”  

I grabbed her wrist, pulling her forward until our faces were inches apart. “We’re late, and if you embarrass me tonight, Isabella, I swear I'll break your neck myself.”  

Her laugh was cold, cutting through the tension like a blade. “If you weren’t so desperate to use me as a trophy, you’d probably have done it already.”  

I released her with a shove, and she stumbled slightly before straightening herself. Her heels clicked against the driveway as she stepped out, her dress sweeping around her. She didn’t look back at me, but I could see the tension in her shoulders.  

“Behave,” I warned, following her toward the mansion.  

“Try to make me,” she shot back.  

The mansion was a sprawling palace of power and wealth, Crystal chandeliers bathed the grand hall in golden light, while the murmur of conversation mingled with the clink of glasses. Every face in the room belonged to someone dangerous—Dons, Capos, their wives, and mistresses.  

Tonight wasn’t just about appearances. It was a chance to send a message: Luca Ricci was untouchable, and Isabella Moretti—whether she liked it or not—was part of his empire now.  

Isabella clung to my arm, her nails digging into my sleeve as she let me drag her from one conversation to the next. She was playing the role, but only because she had to. The defiance in her eyes hadn’t dimmed, and I had no doubt she’d spit in my face the moment we were alone.  

“Smile,” I whispered as we approached the Donati family, our key allies for tonight’s negotiations.  

She turned her head slightly, her smile sharp as glass. “Anything for you, dear husband,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

The Donatis were waiting for us by the bar, their patriarch, Vittorio, raising his glass as we approached.  

“Ricci!” he greeted me with open arms, though his grin was more snake than man. “And your lovely bride. Congratulations. I didn’t think you’d ever settle down.”  

“It was time,” I said smoothly, though the grip I had on Isabella’s arm tightened. “Isabella has proven to be full of... surprises.”  

Her smile didn’t waver, but I felt the way her body stiffened.  

“Ah, surprises,” Vittorio chuckled. “Good ones, I hope.”  

I nodded, though my mind was already elsewhere. Something was wrong. The air felt off, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. I scanned the room, my eyes sweeping over the crowd, looking for anything—or anyone—out of place.  

We moved to a private table near the center of the hall, surrounded by guards on all sides. Isabella sat beside me, her posture regal but distant, a silent rebellion in every movement.  

The discussion with Vittorio began smoothly enough, each word polished and practiced. But I wasn’t listening. My instincts screamed at me to pay attention to the room instead.  

“Excuse me,” Isabella said suddenly, rising from her seat.  

I caught her wrist under the table, keeping my expression neutral as I leaned toward her. “Where do you think you’re going?” I asked quietly.  

“To get some air,” she replied, her voice tight.  

For a moment, I debated forcing her to stay. But her anger was bubbling too close to the surface, and a scene in front of Vittorio wasn’t worth the trouble.  

“Two minutes,” I said, releasing her. “And if you try to run, Isabella, I’ll drag you back myself.”  

She pulled her arm free and walked away, her head held high, she looked at me beneath her nose like i was no better than a pest then turned to leave.  

The first shot rang out like a crack of thunder.  

Glass shattered, screams filled the air, and chaos erupted. Guests dove for cover as gunfire sprayed through the grand hall, shattering chandeliers and overturning tables.  

I was on my feet in an instant, pulling out my gun and scanning the room for the attackers. They came in fast—five, maybe six of them, armed and ruthless. They weren’t just here to make a statement. They were here to kill.  

I turned toward the doorway, my blood running cold when I saw her.  

Isabella,

She stood frozen near the archway, her wide eyes locked on one of the gunmen leveling his weapon at her.  

I didn’t think.  

I moved.  

The bullet whizzed past as I tackled her to the ground, her body hitting the marble floor with a thud.  

“Stay down!” I barked, shielding her with my body.  

Her breaths came fast and shallow beneath me, her hands gripping my jacket as if it was the only thing keeping her grounded.  

The room was a battlefield. Guards fired back, their shots echoing off the high ceilings. Guests screamed as they scrambled for cover, their expensive suits and dresses now stained with blood and fear.  

I pulled Isabella behind an overturned table, crouching low as bullets ripped through the air above us.  

“Don’t move,” I ordered, my eyes scanning for the next threat.  

Her defiance flared, even now. “I’m not some helpless—”  

“Shut up,” I snapped, cutting her off. “You want to prove something? Stay alive.”  

I rose from cover, firing two shots into the chest of an attacker moving toward us. His body crumpled to the floor, but there was no time to stop. Another shooter appeared on the balcony, his rifle trained on me.  

I dove to the side as the bullets tore through the table, splinters flying.  

The fight was relentless. I moved like a predator, taking down one target after another with brutal precision. But my focus was split.  

Isabella.  

Every time I heard a scream or a gunshot too close to her hiding spot, my heart twisted—a feeling I didn’t have time to examine.  

Then it happened.  

A shot rang out from the balcony, and Isabella cried out, clutching her shoulder as blood seeped through her dress.  

Rage consumed me.  

I turned toward the shooter, my vision narrowing. He didn’t get the chance to fire again. My shot hit him square in the chest, and his body collapsed against the railing before falling to the floor below.  

I was at Isabella’s side in seconds, pulling her hand away from the wound.  

“It’s nothing,” she said through gritted teeth, though her voice trembled.  

I grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at me. “Nothing?” I snarled. “You could’ve died.”  

Her eyes narrowed, the defiance burning even brighter now. “What do you care?”  

I leaned in closer, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “I don’t. But no one touches what’s mine.”  

I hate you,” she whispered, her voice shaking. She was in pain and her little act to show off strength wasn't fooling me 

“Good,” I growled, firing a shot at the last of the attackers. “Because if you die, it’ll be by my hands—not theirs.”