"She isn't harmed,” I insisted. I’d been clear with my instructions. She would be no good to us if she was covered in bruises. They would never believe I meant well with my plan then.
"She's been crying,” Emilio insisted.
My gaze shifted toward his sister. She’d been pleading for me not to lock her in the room the last time I’d seen her. At that point, though, she hadn’t been crying.
She’d clearly been doing so since I’d left her, though. Black mascara ribbons were dried on her pretty face. Her eyelids were swollen, and her eyes and cheeks red from the tears.
"I imagine it was startling to be snatched off the street,” I said, shrugging. Women had a lot to fear from strange men, after all.
"Bell..." Emilio said, voice apologetic as he looked at his sister.
To that, Isabella merely shrugged. She’d been born into a mafia Family. At some level, she knew that shit like this went down, no matter how much her family likely tried to shield her from the reality of it.
"No," Emilio said again.
"War it is then," I said, moving to stand. "Shall we start now?" I asked, reaching for my gun as my men appeared from their hidden positions, surrounding the table as well as the men gathered there.
I didn’t want a massacre.
I understood how unstable that would make the mafia not only in the city but all across the United States. But I was done being treated like shit by the current administration. I was willing to fight my way back up to the top with my fists and teeth if necessary.
"No!" Isabella shrieked suddenly, a shrill, animalistic sound that had everyone pausing. Her gaze went to her brother, then the rest of the men there, as well as Alessa, assessing and understanding the damage that could be done with one word from me. "No," she repeated, looking at her brother, then turning her attention toward me. She struggled to hold my gaze, but I had to give her credit for doing it. “I’ll do it," she announced, even if her lower lip trembled as she did it.
"This is fucking ridiculous," Alessa said, getting to her feet.
"It has always been a way to secure alliances between feuding clans," I said, shrugging, keeping my gaze on Isabella as the tremble moved from just her lips to her whole body.
"Yeah, but we're not fucking warring clans in the middle ages. We're a progressive fucking modern society,” Alessa insisted.
"Of criminals," I said. "We all believe we can't trust one another. If one of yours was in my organization, that would force the trust."
"Then take me," Emilio said. "Take me on. I will work for you."
"No." What the fuck use would I have for him?
"You're not taking my sister," Emilio insisted, his body going stiff at the sounds of guns cocking all around as my men prepared for violence.
"It's okay. It's okay, Milo," Isabella insisted, trying to be brave, willing to be a sacrifice to keep the peace. As a part of me knew she would. Women were often better at that than men. Being selfless. Taking the burden upon themselves.
"It's not okay. You're not marrying this fucking monster,” Emilio growled. And, to be fair, it wasn’t an inaccurate descriptor.
"To save your life, and the lives of everyone here," Isabella said, holding up a hand as if to say there was no real choice in the matter.
"Do you even understand what you're saying?" Emilio said. "You'd have to live with him. For-fucking-ever. And other things," he added, face twisting up in disgust at the idea of his sister in bed with me.
Isabella's cautious gaze slid to me, guarded, but needing answers.
"I do want an heir," I confirmed. "It is non-negotiable."
"No," Emilio said again.
"It's... it's fine," Isabella said, though nothing about her said it was. "If you promise that you will not be the reason any harm comes to my Family," she added, looking at me, chin lifting.
"I will," I agreed. That was the whole point.
"I will slit your throat in your sleep if you go back on your word," she told me, voice shaking, but delivering the threat regardless. I liked that. But the guard holding onto her, well, he yanked her hard, making her wince.
"Don't touch her," I snapped, making the man shrink back, and Isabella's brows draw together. "Any wife of mine will be protected and will want for nothing," I said, looking over at Emilio. "She won't come to harm by my hand, or by anyone in this Family. It's the right decision," I added, looking over at Lorenzo.
"You can't be considering this," Alessa insisted, shooting daggers at Lorenzo Costa, our Capo dei Capi.
"It doesn't sound like the decision is mine," Lorenzo said, giving Emilio an apologetic look.
"You can stop it," Emilio insisted as he looked at his boss and longtime friend, tone desperate.
"Milo," Isabella said, drawing her brother’s attention with the nickname. Once she had it, she waved her arms at the dozens of armed guards around. "This is the only way you walk out of here alive today,” she reminded him.
"So you have to lose your life?" Emilio asked, voice getting rough.
"I'll live, Milo. And I will see you. Right?" she asked, looking at me, gaze desperate.
To that, I shrugged. "After a few months to make sure they are abiding by the truce, yes."
"Then it's settled,” she said, shoulders straightening a little.
"You—"
"You heard her," I said. "It is settled. Now go."
"We can't go. I can't just leave her here with you,” Emilio said. I understood his protectiveness. But it was over. It was settled. She’d agreed. They couldn’t say I was forcing her per se. It didn’t matter if she liked the choices, she still made a decision.
"That is exactly what you are going to do," I insisted as my men moved closer toward them.
I waved at Isabella, my soon-to-be wife, waiting for her to approach, then reaching to undo her handcuffs.
She avoided my gaze, but stayed by my side as she watched her loved ones make their way toward the door, having no further say in the matter.
Though Emilio’s gaze said he was going to do whatever it took to see his sister got away from me.
“I, ah, what now?” Isabella asked, gaze downcast.
“Are you asking your shoes or me?” I asked, waiting for her to gather her courage to look at me.
“You,” she said, voice tight.
“Now, we marry,” I told her, shrugging, and waving toward one of my men who approached, making her shriek and jump away.
“No. Please. No. Don’t put me back in that room, please,” she begged, eyes welling up and pouring over before she could even attempt to save her pride and blink them away. “I won’t try to run. I won’t. I said I am going to stay. And I will. Just don’t lock me up in there,” she cried, pressing a hand to her throat, making me aware of two things at once.
One, she clearly had issues with claustrophobia.
Two, she didn’t fully grasp the deal she’d just made.
“I am not your warden, Isabella,” I said, watching as she blinked up at me through watery eyes. “I am your fiancé,” I added, reaching into my pocket to produce the ring.