- Luca
I don't believe in fate.
I believe in leverage.
Power.
Control.
And yet—
The moment she walked into that room last night, something disrupted the order I built so carefully.
Isabella Romano did not lower her eyes.
Most women do.
Most men do.
Fear is predictable.
She was not.
I knew the Romano family would offer something desperate to stop the war. Territory. Money. Access to ports.
I did not expect they would offer their daughter.
It was a strategic move.
Brutal.
Intelligent.
Short-sighted.
Because they assumed I would see her as property.
Collateral.
Disposable.
They were wrong.
I saw something else.
When her father said marriage, she didn't cry.
Didn't beg.
Didn't look to him for permission.
She calculated.
I watched her pulse in her throat.
Fast—but steady.
Controlled fear.
That interested me.
And I do not indulge interest lightly.
—
The photograph I sent her was not cruelty.
It was clarity.
If she is to stand beside me, she must understand two truths immediately:
I am always watching.
I am never unprepared.
The men at her father's estate were incompetent. I neutralised them without difficulty.
It was not about intimidation.
It was about eliminating doubt.
When she stepped onto the staircase and saw me below her, there was a moment—just a second—where instinct told her to run.
She didn't.
That restraint matters.
Fear that is mastered becomes power.
Fear that controls becomes weakness.
I cannot afford weakness beside me.
—
Matteo waited in the car as I exited the estate.
He did not speak until we were halfway down the drive.
"This is unnecessary," he said. "We could eliminate the Romano family in weeks."
"Yes."
"So why marry her?"
I adjusted my cuff slowly.
Because Matteo sees war.
I see infrastructure.
"If we destroy Romano territory," I said calmly, "we inherit unstable assets. Their captains will rebel. Their allies will splinter. Violence increases. Law enforcement pressure increases."
Matteo exhaled through his nose.
"And the girl?"
"She stabilises the transition."
He glanced at me.
"And if she's loyal to her father?"
I looked out the window.
"She won't be."
Not because I will threaten her.
Because I saw it in her eyes.
She already understands he sold her.
Betrayal fractures blood ties quickly.
I know that better than most.
—
Back at my estate, I went directly to my office.
Security footage from the Romano property streamed across the monitors.
Her bedroom window.
Her pacing.
Her hesitation before pulling the curtain.
I replayed the moment she checked the hallway.
Not panicked.
Assessing.
She studies exits.
Angles.
Movement patterns.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
I leaned back in my chair.
If she were a fool, this arrangement would bore me.
If she were cruel, I would break her.
If she were weak, I would replace her.
But she is none of those things.
She is untested steel.
And steel, when forged correctly, becomes a weapon.
—
The truth is simple.
I do not want a wife.
I do not want affection.
I do not want softness in my home.
I want loyalty.
Intelligence.
Presence.
Someone who does not tremble when men with guns enter a room.
And when I stepped close enough to feel her breath this morning—
She did not tremble.
Her scent was faintly floral.
Not overwhelming.
Controlled.
Everything about her is restrained.
Which means the fire is internal.
And that—
That is far more dangerous than hysteria.
—
Matteo entered my office without knocking.
"The Romano underboss met with two of our defected captains last night," he said.
I nodded once.
Of course he did.
He is already planning his betrayal.
He thinks marriage will distract me.
He thinks emotion will weaken me.
He thinks I am marrying for peace.
He is wrong.
I am marrying for proximity.
When she lives in my house, I will know everything.
And if her father moves against me—
She will know first.
The question is not whether she will betray me.
The question is—
Who will she choose when forced?
Blood.
Or survival.
I intend to make that choice very easy for her.
—
Later that evening, I reviewed the wedding security plan.
Every entrance locked.
Every guest vetted.
Snipers positioned.
Contingency exits mapped.
No mistakes.
No chaos.
And yet—
My mind drifted.
Not to strategy.
To her.
To the way she asked me, If I say no, does that change anything?
Defiance.
But intelligent defiance.
She tests boundaries without crossing them.
That is rare.
My phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
I did not recognise it.
Until I opened it.
One sentence.
If you hurt her, I will destroy you.
I stared at the message.
Untraceable number.
Professional masking.
Not her father.
Not amateur.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Someone else is watching Isabella Romano.
And I do not tolerate shared interests.
I typed a single reply.
Try.
Then I deleted it.
No.
Better to let them wonder.
Better to let them think I don't see them.
I stood from my desk and walked toward the window overlooking my estate.
The city lights of Verona stretched beneath me.
Controlled.
Owned.
Silent.
In one week, she will stand beside me in white.
The world will believe she was sacrificed.
They will think she is trapped.
They will underestimate her.
Just like her father does.
And if they underestimate what belongs to me—
They will regret it.
Because Isabella Romano is not a liability.
She is potential.
And I have always known how to turn potential into power.