“It won’t,” he insisted. The certainty in his voice seemed to hit her like a wall, but she didn’t back down. Of course, she didn’t.
“Do you know what happened to my father?” she said. He knew that in the past few hours, there had been chatter in the city that her old man was dead, but he didn’t want to be the one to tell her that.
“From your silence, I’m guessing that he’s dead,” she said. It wasn’t a question. Instead, he gave a slight nod, and she let out a soft whimper that should have made him feel bad for her, but it didn’t. “Did you know my father?” she asked.
Her father was the one who had convinced his family’s elders to have the two of them marry. He knew that the Romano family couldn’t keep going with the war, so he proposed a solution that Luca’s family couldn’t pass up.
“Everyone knew Romano,” he replied carefully.
“That’s not what I asked,” she said. Her voice softened—but it didn’t lose its edge. “Did you know him?” Luca held her gaze, not sure if she should admit knowing her father or not. He had only met him a handful of times—the last being when they went over the terms for him marrying Isabella.
“Yeah,” he finally said. Just one word, but it seemed to carry weight with her.
Her breath caught—just barely. “Do you know what happened to him?”
There it was—the question she’d been chasing. The one who had dragged her straight into hell to talk to him. Luca’s jaw tightened as he glanced toward his office door. When he looked back at her, his expression had gone colder.
“You don’t want that answer,” he said.
“I do,” she insisted.
“No,” he corrected, “you think you do, but you don’t.”
Her hands curled at her sides. “Try me.” A long pause stretched between them—heavy and charged with the electricity that seemed to hum between them.
Then Luca stepped closer, not trying to be aggressive, and being careful not to threaten her. “Whatever you believe about your father,” he said quietly, voice dropping just enough that only she could hear him, “it’s not the whole story.”
Her breath hitched. “Then tell me the rest of the story.” His gaze locked onto hers—hard and unyielding.
“If I do,” he said, “you don’t walk away from this, or me—ever.” Something in her expression shifted. He saw a crack in her tough exterior. It was small, but real.
“Maybe I already can’t walk away from any of this,” she whispered, waving her hands around herself. Luca studied her for a long moment, and then, slowly, he stepped back.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, “that’s what I’m afraid of.”
The guard by the stairs cleared his throat, a reminder that they weren’t alone. Luca knew better than to say anything that might get passed on to the wrong people—namely, the other families in New York City. Luca glanced at him, then back at Isabella.
“Go home, Isabella,” he said. She didn’t move. “Before you get yourself buried in something you can’t climb out of.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m already buried deep in this, Luca. You know what happened to my father, and I’m being forced to marry you, if you haven’t forgotten that bit of information.” Silence filled his office, and she turned, walking towards the stairs without another word.
Luca watched her the entire way down. Until she disappeared from sight. Only then did he move again. He stopped outside the door, his expression unreadable, because there was one thing he knew for certain—That girl wasn’t done. And if Luca let her back into his world, everything was about to get a lot more complicated.
Isabella
The cold air hit her the second she stepped out of the club, but it didn’t clear her head. If anything, it made all her senses even sharper. Things sounded louder around her as the door shut behind her with a heavy finality, like it was sealing something in place—not just the conversation she’d had with Luca Camorra, but the path she’d just chosen. No—she hadn’t chosen her new path. She was forced into it. There was a big difference between the two.
Isabella didn’t slow as she moved down the sidewalk, her heels striking the pavement in steady, controlled beats. She refused to look back at the club she had just left. She knew that he was watching her. She refused to let herself feel the weight of his gaze, even though she could practically feel it between her shoulder blades. He was watching, measuring her worth, and she could see in his eyes that he knew that he owned her now—and they hadn’t even said their vows yet.
The thought made her jaw tighten. “You don’t belong here.” His words echoed in her head, low and certain. But he was going to have to live with her being around, because she wasn’t leaving. Not now. Not ever. Hell, she was going to be his wife, and that meant he had no choice in whether she was around him or not.
Her father was dead—of that she was sure. She just needed to find out if her future husband had anything to do with his death. The truth settled deeper in her chest with every step she took; it was no longer a suspicion or a whispered rumor—it was real—final. And the worst part? Luca knew something—maybe not everything, but he knew enough. And he hadn’t told her what he knew.
Her throat tightened, with unshed tears that she tried to swallow down. Crying wouldn’t bring answers, and weakness wouldn’t get her anywhere in a world like his. She needed control. She needed information. And right now, she had neither.
A black car idled at the curb ahead, with its engine running low and steady. Isabella slowed slightly, her instincts prickling. The windows were tinted too dark, the kind that didn’t belong on a civilian vehicle.
Her steps didn’t falter—but her hand tightened around her purse as she willed herself to think about what to do next. The street wasn’t empty. There were people nearby—just enough witnesses to make something messy and inconvenient, but not impossible.
