DANTE'S POV
She was staring at me like I was the devil.
Maybe I was.
"Come," I repeated, turning away from Isabella. "We don't have all day."
Her footsteps followed. Slow. Hesitant. Like a deer walking toward a trap.
Smart deer.
I led her through the mansion. Past the grand staircase. Past the library with books I'd never read. Past rooms I barely remembered existed.
Tommy had texted during the drive. Viktor knew about her. Which meant someone in my organization was talking.
Someone was going to die for that.
But first, I needed to secure my newest asset.
"This wing is private," I said, climbing the stairs. "No staff allowed. No guests. Just you and me."
"Why?" Her voice was small. Scared.
"Because I don't trust anyone else."
We reached the second floor. My room was at the end of the hall. The room beside it had been empty for years.
Not anymore.
I opened the door and stepped aside. "Your room."
Isabella walked in slowly. Her eyes went wide.
The room was bigger than her entire apartment. King bed. Private bathroom. Walk-in closet already filled with clothes in her size.
She touched the bedspread. Soft. Expensive. Then pulled her hand back like it burned.
"This is too much."
"This is necessary. You'll be attending events with me. You need to look the part." I gestured to the closet. "Everything you need is there. Dresses. Shoes. Jewelry. All tailored to fit."
"How did you know my size?"
"I know everything about you, remember?" I walked to the window. Bulletproof glass. Reinforced locks. "You'll be safe here. Safer than you've ever been."
"I don't feel safe. I feel trapped."
"Same thing in my world."
She stood in the middle of the room, hugging herself. So small. So breakable.
Why did I bring her here?
Because you need her, the rational part of my brain answered. Because she's perfect for the job.
But another part—the part I'd buried twenty years ago—whispered something else.
Because she looked at you in that alley and didn't look away.
I crushed that thought.
"Your bathroom is through there." I pointed. "Food will be delivered to your room three times a day. You're not allowed in the kitchen without permission."
"Why not?"
"Because that's where I keep the knives."
Her face paled. "You think I'd—"
"I think you're desperate. I think you might do something stupid." I moved closer. She backed up until she hit the wall. "Let me be very clear, Isabella. Suicide won't free you. If you hurt yourself, I stop your mother's treatment immediately. She dies because you were selfish."
Tears filled her eyes. "You're a monster."
"Yes. But I'm an honest monster." I stepped back, giving her space. "The dress for tonight is hanging in the closet. Black. Simple. Wear the diamond earrings. They're real."
"I can't wear real diamonds—"
"You will. You're representing me now. Everything about you needs to scream money and class." I checked my watch. "You have four hours. Someone will come to do your hair and makeup."
"I can do my own—"
"No. You'll do what I tell you." My voice hardened. "That's how this works. I give orders. You follow them. Simple."
She wrapped her arms around herself. "When do I see my mother?"
"When I say so."
"That's not fair—"
"Life isn't fair. You learned that three years ago when your father died. When your mother got sick. When the universe decided to crush you." I walked to the door. "Welcome to reality, little bird. At least here you get paid for suffering."
I left before she could respond.
In the hallway, I stopped. Pressed my forehead against the wall.
Why was my chest tight? Why did her tears make something inside me ache?
I didn't feel things. Hadn't in years. Emotions were weakness. Weakness got you killed.
But Isabella's face kept flashing in my mind. The way she'd signed that contract with shaking hands. The way she'd looked at her mother like she was the only thing worth living for.
When was the last time someone looked at me like that?
Never. Because I didn't deserve it.
My phone buzzed. Nico.
*Heard you brought someone home. New girlfriend?*
I typed back. *Business. Nothing more.*
*Since when do you do business with waitresses?*
*Since I decided to. Stay out of it.*
*Just watching your back, brother. You know how people talk.*
I stared at the message. Brother. Nico always called me that.
Was he the rat? Was my best friend selling me out to Viktor?
No. Impossible. Nico and I grew up together. We survived my uncle together. We built this empire together.
He wouldn't betray me.
Would he?
I deleted the conversation and headed to my office.
Tommy was already there, waiting.
"Security's doubled. Gates locked. I've got three men watching the perimeter." He looked tired. Worried. "Boss, how did Viktor know about the girl so fast?"
"Someone told him. Someone close enough to know my movements."
"You thinking what I'm thinking?"
"If you're thinking Nico, then yes."
Tommy's face darkened. "We've known him since we were kids—"
"Which makes him the perfect spy. Who else has access to everything? Who else knows my schedule, my plans, my weaknesses?" I poured myself whiskey. Drank it in one swallow. "But I need proof. Until then, we watch him. Carefully."
"And the girl?"
"Keep her close. She doesn't leave this house without me. She doesn't talk to anyone without me present." I set down my glass. "Viktor wants her for a reason. Maybe he thinks she's important to me."
"Is she?"
I didn't answer.
"Boss, if Viktor thinks you care about her—"
"I don't care about her. She's a tool. An investment." The words tasted like lies. "But she's my tool. My investment. And nobody touches what's mine."
Tommy nodded slowly. "What about tonight? The gala?"
"We go. We show her off. We make it clear she belongs to me." I looked out the window toward her room. "And we see who tries to take her away."
---
Four hours later, I stood outside her door.
Inside, I could hear movement. The stylist I'd sent was finishing up.
I knocked once. "Time to go."
The door opened.
I forgot how to breathe.
Isabella stood in the black dress I'd chosen. Simple. Elegant. But on her, it was devastating. The stylist had left her hair down in soft waves. Minimal makeup. Diamond earrings catching the light.
She looked nothing like the exhausted waitress from the alley.
She looked like she belonged in my world.
"Is it okay?" She touched the dress nervously. "I feel like I'm playing dress-up."
"You look perfect."
Her eyes widened. I'd surprised her. Surprised myself too.
"Ready?" I offered my arm.
She stared at it like it might bite her. Then slowly—so slowly—she placed her hand in the crook of my elbow.
Her hand was shaking.
"Relax," I murmured as we walked down the stairs. "You're just my assistant tonight. Smile. Be forgettable. Listen to everything."
"What if someone asks about me?"
"They won't. People like that don't care about assistants." We reached the front door. "But if they do, your name is Isabella Romano. You work for me. That's all they need to know."
The car waited outside. I helped her in, then slid in beside her.
She pressed herself against the opposite door. Creating distance.
Smart.
"This gala," she said quietly. "What's it really for?"
"Charity. Rich people pretending they care about poor people." I looked out the window. "But what they really care about is showing off their wealth and making deals in dark corners."
"What kind of deals?"
"The kind that end with people like Marco Torelli dead in alleys."
She flinched.
"You're going to see things tonight that will scare you. Men who smile while planning murders. Women who look kind but would stab you for the right price." I turned to face her. "Do not trust anyone. Do not accept drinks from anyone. Do not leave my side. Understood?"
"Yes."
"Good." The car turned onto the main road. "Oh, and Isabella? If anyone asks if we're sleeping together, say yes."
Her head whipped toward me. "What?"
"It's easier than explaining the truth. Let them think you're my mistress. They'll dismiss you faster that way."
"But I'm not—we haven't—"
"I know. But they don't need to know that." I met her eyes. "In my world, perception is reality. If they think you're just another pretty distraction, they'll talk freely around you. That's what we want."
She looked away. "You've thought of everything."
"I always do."
The car pulled up to the venue. Lights everywhere. Expensive cars. People in tuxedos and gowns.
Isabella's hand tightened on her clutch.
"Breathe," I told her. "You belong here now."
"I don't—"
"Yes, you do. Because I say so." I climbed out and offered my hand. "Showtime, little bird."
She took my hand and stepped out.
Cameras flashed. People stared.
And Isabella lifted her chin and smiled like she'd been doing this her whole life.
Maybe I'd chosen well after all.
We walked inside. The ballroom was massive. Crystal chandeliers. Orchestra playing. Hundreds of people who could buy and sell lives without blinking.
Nico appeared almost immediately. Smiling. Always smiling.
"Dante! You made it." His eyes slid to Isabella. "And who's this?"
"My new assistant. Isabella Romano."
"Assistant?" Nico's smile widened. "That's what we're calling them now?"
"Careful," I said softly. Dangerously.
Nico laughed and raised his hands. "Just teasing, brother. She's lovely." He offered Isabella his hand. "Nico Moretti. Dante's best friend and underboss."
Isabella shook it politely. "Nice to meet you."
"The pleasure is mine." Nico held her hand too long. "You know, if Dante ever works you too hard, you can always come find me. I'm much nicer."
I pulled Isabella back to my side. "She's fine where she is."
Something flashed in Nico's eyes. Annoyance? Jealousy?
"Of course. Well, enjoy the party." He melted back into the crowd.
Isabella looked up at me. "He seems friendly."
"He seems dangerous. Remember what I said. Trust no one."
We moved through the party. I introduced her to senators, judges, businessmen. She smiled. Nodded. Remembered every name.
Impressive.
At the bar, while I ordered drinks, a man approached Isabella.
Tall. Expensive suit. Russian accent.
Viktor Kozlov.
My blood froze.
Viktor took Isabella's hand and kissed it. "Such a beautiful creature. Tell me, does Salvatore treat you well?"
Isabella's face stayed calm. "I'm just his assistant."
"Of course you are." Viktor smiled. Wolf showing teeth. "But assistants can be so much more, yes? Perhaps you and I should talk sometime. Without your boss hovering."
"I don't think—"
"I'd be very grateful. Very generous."
I was there in two steps. My hand closed around Viktor's wrist. Hard enough to hurt.
"She's not interested."
Viktor's smile never faded. "Salvatore. I was just introducing myself to your lovely companion."
"Introductions over. Leave."
"So protective. One might think she means something to you."
"One would be wrong."
Viktor's eyes glittered with malice. "We'll see."
He walked away.
Isabella grabbed my arm. "Dante, he's the one who texted me—"
"I know. Stay close." My mind raced. Viktor made contact on purpose. In front of everyone. He wanted me to react.
Why?
My phone buzzed. Text from Tommy.
*Boss. We found the rat. You need to see this. Now.*
My stomach dropped.
I pulled Isabella toward the exit. "We're leaving."
"What's wrong?"
"Everything."
In the car, Tommy sent a photo.
Security footage. Nico meeting with Viktor. Last week.
My childhood friend. My brother.
Selling me out.
Isabella saw my face. "Dante? What happened?"
I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.
Twenty years of friendship. Gone.
"Dante, you're scaring me—"
My phone rang. Unknown number.
I answered.
"Hello, Ghost." Viktor's voice. Mocking. "Did you enjoy the party? Did you enjoy watching me touch your little bird?"
"If you go near her again—"
"You'll what? Kill me? Try. But first, you might want to ask yourself something." He paused. "Why does Nico want you dead? What did you do to make your own brother betray you?"
The line went dead.
I looked at Isabella. Her face pale. Frightened.
I'd brought her into a war.
And now she'd painted a target on her back just by standing next to me.