She needed that cold that filled her body because the second she let herself feel, she’d break down. She couldn’t do that now—not with Luca’s men watching her, and definitely not in front of Luca. Her father is dead. Her chest tightened at the thought, and she bit back tears. No—not now. She’d break down later, when she was alone. Right now, she needed to think.
The car turned, slowing as it approached a gated entrance. Isabella’s eyes narrowed slightly as iron gates began to open. The SUV rolled forward, and Isabella’s gaze swept over the property as they entered. The place was guarded more tightly than Fort Knox, with its high walls and security cameras. Guards wereposted at intervals like statues. Luca Camorra lived in a fortress, not a house.
The car came to a smooth stop in front of a sprawling, modern structure with huge glass windows and sharp edges that matched the man who lived inside it. The door opened. A man stood just outside the door, waiting for her to take his extended hand. “Miss Romano,” he said. She almost laughed at that. Miss Romano—for now. But if she gave in to Luca, she’d have to take his name, no questions asked. Isabella stepped out without taking the offered hand because she didn’t need help. And even if she had to crawl out of that car, she wouldn’t take his help.
The night air felt different here—quieter, controlled, as though even the chaos of the city knew better than to cross Luca’s threshold. She straightened her shoulders and looked toward the house. “Welcome home,” one of the men said.
Her lips pressed together to keep from barking out her laugh. This wasn’t her home—not yet. And if she had her way, not ever. But she didn’t argue with the man who was welcoming her—not out here with everyone watching her to mess up or cause a scene. Not where everything and everyone belonged to him. Instead, she walked up the front steps, each step deliberate and measured. It was almost like she wasn’t walking into a lion’s den. Like she wasn’t already trapped inside of it.
The front doors opened before she reached them. Inside was exactly what she expected—and worse. His home was minimalist, expensive, and cold. Everything had been placed with purpose. There was nothing personal to say who the home belonged to. Nothing felt comfortable or even lived in. It felt controlled, just as she was—first by her father, and now by Luca.
Her eyes moved slowly across the space, cataloging exits, cameras, and sightlines. Her survival instincts were kicking in. “You’re looking for a way out already?” he asked, his voice coming from behind her, low, and close—too close.
Isabella didn’t turn right away. “Would you blame me?” she asked calmly.
“No,” he breathed. “I don’t blame you one bit. If I were in your shoes, I’d be doing the same.”
She turned then to find Luca standing just inside the doorway, suit jacket gone, sleeves rolled up his arms, like he’d stripped down just enough to be comfortable—but not enough to be anything less than dangerous.
His eyes were already on her—watching. He always seemed to be watching her. “You won’t find any weaknesses here,” he said. “My home is secure.”
“Everyone has weaknesses,” she countered.
“Not me,” he insisted.
“That’s what powerful men like to believe,” she replied.
His mouth twitched. It wasn’t quite a smile. “Careful,” he said. “You’re in my house now.”
“I noticed,” she drawled. “But not by choice.” Silence stretched between them.
He shook his head at her, and for a second, she found herself holding her breath for him to make the next move. “Walk,” he ordered.
She didn’t move. He tilted his head slightly. Luca didn’t seem annoyed. Instead, he seemed interested in her, as though he was studying her. “Or stand there all night,” he added. “Your choice.” Isabella exhaled slowly, then moved. Not because he told her to, but because she chose to. At least, that was what she was telling herself.
He fell into step beside her, close enough that she could feel his presence without him touching her. They moved through the house in silence, past a sleek living area, a glass-walled dining space, and into a hallway that felt more private. More dangerous, if that were possible.
“This is your room,” he breathed, stopping in front of a door and opening it without ceremony. Isabella stepped inside and paused. The room wasn’t what she expected. It looked expensive and cold, like the rest of his home, but somehow, this room felt softer. It had neutral tones and clean lines. Large windows overlooking the city covered one of the walls. It didn’t feel like him at all. In fact, it felt as though it had been prepared just for her.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You had this ready for me,” she said. It wasn’t a question, but more of a statement.
Luca leaned against the doorframe; his arms crossed over his massive chest as he watched her take it in. “I plan ahead,” he said, in way of explanation. Of course he did.
Isabella turned back to him. “You planned for me?” she questioned.
“Yes,” he admitted. The bluntness of it hit harder than it should have.
“Since when?” she asked.
“Since the moment your name was put on my table as a peace offering from your father,” he admitted. The words settled heavily between them. She believed him, and that was the problem.
“How long have you been watching me?” she asked.
“Long enough,” he said with a shrug as though it was no big deal. Her stomach twisted.
“Define long enough,” she said, not sure that she wanted him to answer her.
“No,” he simply said. Of course, he wasn’t going to give her an answer. Her father told her that he offered her to Luca Camorra as a peace offering, but what if Luca had asked for her instead? She wasn’t sure how she’d feel about that.
