CHAPTER 7: Isabella Pov

My heart clenched as Nicolas’s cold voice cut through the room, his disapproval like a blade. I stiffened under his gaze, fumbling for an explanation before my parents swooped in, their congratulations sparing me—temporarily.

“They didn’t match the flower arrangement,” I blurted quickly, the words tumbling out under pressure. My voice felt thin, strained, but I hoped it would suffice.

Sunflowers. The battle over those flowers had been relentless. Weeks of arguing with my mother, standing my ground until my father intervened and settled it in my favor. It felt like a small victory at the time—one of the few I could claim.

Nicolas’s stare stayed locked on me, unyielding, unforgiving. “You shouldn’t have chosen sunflowers. Next time I send you something to wear, I expect you to do it.”

The finality in his voice stunned me. He straightened, and the matter was done as far as he was concerned. His word wasn’t a suggestion—it was law. Any resistance was futile.

I swallowed hard, blinking back the sting of humiliation as he turned his attention to my father, extending a hand for a firm, businesslike handshake.

Before I could process the exchange, my mother pulled me into a crushing embrace. Her sharp whisper, laced with irritation, cut through the congratulatory haze. “Look happy, Isabella. Don’t you realize how lucky you are? An Underboss! Do you know how rare that is? Most of the eligible ones are taken. This is a blessing.”

A blessing? My stomach churned at the word. Luck wasn’t what had brought me here. Luck didn’t leave Gaia Moretti dead, her children motherless, or me standing at the side of a man I barely knew.

Still, I forced a smile—one that felt more like a grimace plastered across my face. My mother’s frown deepened, her frustration evident. “For God’s sake, try harder to look happy. Don’t ruin this for us.”

The sting of her words lodged in my chest like a thorn, but I knew better than to argue. I didn’t trust my voice to hold steady anyway.

Relief came in the form of my father’s warm embrace. I leaned into him, finding a brief reprieve in his familiar comfort. He had always been my refuge, even if the last few months had strained that bond.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured softly, his words wrapping around me like a balm.

“I don’t think Nicolas agrees,” I muttered under my breath, bitterness seeping through my forced composure.

My father pulled back, his brow furrowing as he studied me. His expression carried a mix of guilt and worry that only added to the weight pressing on my chest. “I’m sure he appreciates your beauty,” he said gently, but his voice wavered with uncertainty.

I managed a small, grateful smile and pressed a kiss to his cheek before stepping away. My reprieve was short-lived as Nicolas’s parents approached, their presence commanding the room.

His father shared Nicolas’s piercing blue eyes, though theirs were dulled with age and weariness. He leaned heavily on a cane, his frame a shadow of the power it must have once held. Beside him, Nicolas’s mother was the epitome of refinement. Her dark blonde hair was swept into a flawless chignon, her posture as rigid and perfect as the pearls around her neck. Behind her stood Nicolas’s sisters, poised and elegant, their every movement a lesson in grace.

I couldn’t miss the unspoken expectations looming over me. I wasn’t here to be me—I was here to be molded. Another polished accessory in Nicolas’s meticulously controlled world. The realization settled like a stone in my stomach, heavy and immovable.

Dinner felt endless, every bite catching in my throat as anxiety wound tighter with each passing moment. Nicolas barely acknowledged me, his attention fixed on his father and Luca. Sitting beside him, I felt less like a person and more like a decorative addition to his world.

Maybe it was better this way. Every time he spoke, his words were commands, each one heavier than the last. Considering I’d be sharing a bed with him tonight, his silence almost felt like mercy. Almost.

My gaze wandered to him despite myself. Nicolas was impossible to ignore—his features severe yet captivating: sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and the ever-present shadow of stubble that made him look effortlessly intimidating. He was always in a three-piece suit, but the tailored fabric couldn’t hide the strength beneath it.

“He played football in high school,” a soft voice broke into my thoughts, startling me.

I turned to Mia, Nicolas’s sister, surprised. We hadn’t spoken much, though we were now family. The ten-year age gap between us made her feel more like an aunt than a sister-in-law.

I flushed, realizing she must have caught me staring at him. “I can’t picture him playing football,” I said, attempting a weak smile.

“You finished school this summer, right?” Mia asked, her tone kind but curious.

I nodded, feeling exposed. “Yes. I was planning to go to college, but…” My voice trailed off, the weight of my new reality pressing on me.

“But you had to marry my brother,” she finished for me, her smile tinged with understanding.

I hesitated, then sighed. “I would’ve had to marry someone eventually. But being the wife of an Underboss… college isn’t in the cards.” My honesty startled even me. If my mother had heard, she’d have pulled me aside for a scolding.

Mia’s expression softened. “That’s true. You’ll have your hands full raising his kids, so you won’t be bored.”

Her words landed like a punch. My stomach twisted at the thought of being responsible for two small children. I barely felt like an adult myself. How could I possibly be a mother?

Sensing my distress, Mia squeezed my hand. “You’ll be fine. I live nearby. If you need help, just ask.”

Before I could respond, Nicolas’s sharp voice cut through. “You have your own children to worry about, Mia. Isabella will manage just fine on her own.”

His words stung, laced with the assumption that he knew me better than I knew myself—or worse, that my feelings didn’t matter at all.

Mia sighed but didn’t argue, leaving me with a sinking feeling that only deepened as the night went on.

When it was time for our first dance, my stomach was in knots. Nicolas took my hand and led me to the center of the ballroom, every guest’s gaze burning into us. I plastered on a smile, one of the many lessons my mother had drilled into me. Always smile, no matter what.

The dance was as stiff and awkward as the height difference between us, though Nicolas’s firm grip ensured there were no missteps. If we had been a real couple, I might’ve leaned into him, rested my cheek against his chest. But we were strangers, bound by duty, not love.

“Why are you trembling?” His deep voice startled me.

I glanced up at him, his expression unreadable. “Why don’t you just order me to stop?” I muttered, my voice barely audible. “Maybe my body will obey you like everything else.”

His jaw tightened, and his grip on my waist grew firmer. “Choose your words carefully, Isabella,” he murmured, his tone icy. “I’m your husband now. Show me the respect I deserve.”

I dropped my gaze, the forced smile never leaving my face. “Understood?” he asked as the dance ended, his voice a low growl near my ear.

“Understood, sir,” I whispered, the words bitter on my tongue.

His hand tightened on my arm briefly before my father stepped in, pulling me into a dance. Relief washed over me as his familiar warmth enveloped me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, concern etched into his face.

“There’s nothing you can do,” I replied, my voice cracking under the weight of unsaid truths.

Across the room, my mother laughed and chatted with Nicolas, her beaming smile making her look like the bride instead of me.

When it was Christian’s turn to dance with me, I finally felt a small sense of peace. My brother’s presence was a rare comfort amidst the chaos.

“It’s good to see you,” I said, clinging to him like a lifeline.

He nodded tersely. “It is.”

“You don’t seem thrilled that I’ll be living in the same city,” I teased weakly.

“Not at this price,” he said grimly.

I swallowed hard. “Because of Nicolas?”

Christian’s jaw tightened, his gaze scanning the room. “He’s not the right man for you.”

“Because he’s too old?” I pressed, trying to keep my tone light.

Christian let out a bitter laugh. “That’s just part of it.”

Lowering my voice, I asked the question that had haunted me for months. “Do you know what happened to Gaia?”

He hesitated. “Only Nicolas, Luca, Mansueto, and the clean-up crew knew—and the crew’s gone now. A tragic car accident.”

My breath caught. “Dad swore Nicolas wasn’t involved.”

“Dad needs Nicolas’s support,” Christian said bitterly. “If I were in charge, this marriage never would’ve happened.”

I felt like I was sinking. “You’ve worked with him. Is he really that bad?”

Christian’s eyes softened with regret. “He’s brutal, effective, and commands respect. The best Underboss we have. But that doesn’t make him a good husband.”

Tears threatened to spill over. “What should I do?”

“Obey him,” Christian said darkly as our dance ended.

The despair was suffocating. Just months ago, my biggest worries had been finishing paintings and Pilates classes. Now, I was married to a man who might have killed his wife—and I had no idea how to survive it.