chapter 6

Isabella's POV

The morning sun streamed through the sheer curtains, casting golden rays over the luxurious bedroom. I sat before the ornate vanity, absentmindedly running a brush through my dark waves. My mind was clouded with the events of the previous night—our dance, our heated argument, and the undeniable tension that lingered in the air.

Niccolò had left the room without another word, and for the first time since our forced marriage, I felt an unsettling heaviness settle in my chest. Why did it matter? Why did it sting when he walked away? I hated him—or at least I told myself I did.

I exhaled sharply, pushing away the thoughts. Today was a new day, and I refused to let Niccolò occupy my mind any more than he already had.

As I fastened a delicate bracelet around my wrist, I heard the door swing open. My body tensed at the familiar presence that filled the room. I met his gaze through the mirror—dark, unreadable, and laced with something dangerous. He was dressed impeccably in a black tailored suit, his hair neatly styled, his presence overwhelming the space.

His sharp eyes flickered down to my hands, and a muscle in his jaw ticked. I followed his gaze, realizing what had caught his attention.

The wedding ring.

Or rather, the absence of it.

"Where is it?" His voice was low, deadly.

I arched a brow, feigning ignorance. "Where is what?"

In an instant, he was behind me, his large hands gripping the arms of the vanity chair, caging me in. His face was close to mine, his breath hot against my ear.

"Don't test my patience, Isabella," he warned, his tone calm yet laced with menace. "Where. Is. The. Ring?"

I refused to be intimidated. Lifting my chin, I met his gaze in the mirror. "I took it off."

His grip tightened on the chair. "Put it back on."

I let out a humorless laugh. "Why? So the world can pretend this marriage isn't a farce? So I can play the role of your obedient wife?"

His fingers curled around my chin, forcing me to turn and look directly at him. "Because you are my wife, Isabella. And whether you like it or not, you will wear that ring."

I swallowed hard, refusing to let my emotions betray me. He was too close, his presence suffocating. "You can't force me."

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. "You'd be surprised what I can do."

Before I could retort, he released me and stepped back, adjusting his cuffs with a cold, calculated look. "Get ready. We're leaving."

I frowned. "Leaving? Where?"

He turned toward the door but paused, glancing over his shoulder. "To the Sforza Empire. It's time you see what power truly looks like."

The ride to the Sforza headquarters was silent, filled with nothing but the low hum of the engine and the tension crackling between us. The sleek black car we rode in was heavily armored, the security detail around us unwavering. It was a stark reminder of the world I had been thrown into.

When we arrived, I stepped out, my eyes taking in the grandeur before me. The Sforza Empire wasn't just an organization; it was an empire in every sense. The massive building stood tall, its design modern yet exuding an air of intimidation.

Inside, men in suits and armed guards moved with precision, each one nodding respectfully at Niccolò. He walked through the halls like a king surveying his kingdom, and I followed, my curiosity warring with my resentment.

He led me to a private shooting range, the scent of gunpowder lingering in the air.

"Do you know how to shoot?" he asked, retrieving a sleek black pistol from a nearby table.

I crossed my arms. "No."

He let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "That won't do. If you're going to be my wife, you need to know how to defend yourself."

Before I could argue, he stepped behind me, pressing the gun into my hands. The weight of it was heavier than I expected, the cold metal foreign against my skin.

"Hold it like this," he murmured, his hands covering mine as he adjusted my grip. The warmth of his body against my back made my breath hitch, but I forced myself to focus.

He guided me, his deep voice instructing me on how to aim, how to steady my breathing, how to pull the trigger with precision. Despite my resistance to him, I had to admit—he was patient, his touch surprisingly gentle as he molded my stance.

"Now, shoot," he commanded.

I hesitated for a moment before pulling the trigger. The sound echoed through the space, the recoil jolting me slightly. I barely hit the target, but a small surge of satisfaction bloomed within me.

Niccolò hummed in approval. "Not bad."

I turned my head slightly to glance at him. "For a beginner?"

His lips twitched. "For a Sforza."

Before I could respond, a sudden noise broke the moment—a loud crash, followed by the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked.

My breath caught as a man emerged from the shadows, his gun aimed directly at Niccolò. Everything happened in a blur. My heart pounded, my pulse roaring in my ears.

Niccolò moved, but I was faster.

Instinct took over as I raised the gun still in my hands. With a sharp inhale, I pulled the trigger. The shot rang out, the man collapsing instantly, his weapon clattering to the ground.

I stood frozen, my hands trembling, my mind barely processing what I had just done. The metallic scent of blood filled the air.

Niccolò stepped forward, his hands gripping my arms. "Isabella. Look at me."

I lifted my gaze to his, my chest heaving. "I... I just killed someone."

He cupped my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek. "He would have killed me. You did what had to be done."

Tears burned at the back of my eyes, but I blinked them away. "Does it ever stop feeling this way?"

He was silent for a moment before answering. "No. But you learn to live with it."

A shiver ran down my spine. I had pulled the trigger to save him. But as I stood there, staring at the lifeless body before me, one terrifying thought echoed in my mind.

Was I becoming one of them?

_______________________________

Niccolò's POV

The morning light poured into the room, casting a golden glow over Isabella as she sat before the vanity, brushing through her dark waves. She looked lost in thought, unaware of my presence as I stepped inside. My gaze trailed over her, taking in the way her delicate fingers moved with absentminded grace.

Then I saw it.

Or rather, I saw what was missing.

The wedding ring was gone.

A slow burn of irritation coiled in my chest. My jaw tightened as I stalked forward, the click of my shoes against the marble floor making her shoulders tense. I stopped behind her, meeting her gaze in the mirror. She didn't flinch, but I saw the flicker of awareness in her eyes.

"Where is it?" My voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the edge beneath it.

She arched a brow, feigning innocence. "Where is what?"

I leaned down, bracing my hands on the arms of the vanity chair, caging her in. "Don't test my patience, Isabella. Where. Is. The. Ring?"

She lifted her chin, defiance burning in her eyes. "I took it off."

My fingers curled around the armrests, tension rippling through my body. "Put it back on."

She let out a humorless laugh. "Why? So I can play the perfect little wife in your empire?"

I turned her chair with a firm grip, forcing her to face me. My fingers tilted her chin up, my touch rougher than I intended. "Because you are my wife, Isabella. And in my world, my wife wears my ring."

Her breath hitched, but she masked it well. "You can't force me."

A slow smirk played at my lips. "You'd be surprised what I can do."

I released her and straightened, adjusting the cuffs of my suit. "Get ready. We're leaving."

She frowned. "Leaving? Where?"

I turned toward the door but paused. "To the Sforza Empire. It's time you see what power truly looks like."

The ride was silent. Isabella sat beside me, her arms crossed, her gaze fixed out the window. She was stubborn—infuriatingly so—but I'd expected nothing less. The guards followed in black SUVs, ensuring no threats could touch us.

When we arrived, I watched her as she took in the massive structure before us—the beating heart of the Sforza Empire. This wasn't just an organization; it was my legacy, my dominion.

Inside, my men acknowledged me with nods of respect, their eyes flicking to Isabella with subtle curiosity. I led her through the corridors, her hesitant steps betraying her unease.

We stopped at the private shooting range. I grabbed a sleek black pistol from the table, weighing it in my hands before glancing at her. "Do you know how to shoot?"

She crossed her arms. "No."

A chuckle rumbled from my chest. "That won't do. If you're going to be my wife, you need to know how to defend yourself."

Before she could protest, I pressed the gun into her hands, stepping behind her. Her body stiffened as I guided her hands, adjusting her grip, steadying her stance.

"Breathe," I murmured against her ear. "Keep your arms firm."

She hesitated before pulling the trigger. The shot rang out, missing the target by inches. Still, I saw the flicker of pride in her eyes.

"Not bad," I said.

Before she could respond, a sudden crash shattered the moment.

A man emerged from the shadows, gun aimed at me.

I moved, but before I could react, Isabella did.

The shot echoed through the space. The man collapsed, blood pooling beneath him.

Her hands trembled as she stared at the gun. "I... I just killed someone."

I stepped forward, gripping her arms. "Look at me, Isabella."

Her wide eyes met mine, searching for something—an answer, reassurance.

"He would have killed me," I said. "You did what had to be done."

Her breath shuddered. "Does it ever stop feeling this way?"

I hesitated. "No. But you learn to live with it."

She shivered, the realization settling over her.

She had saved my life.

And in doing so, she had stepped deeper into my world.