Isabella’s POV
“I will not marry him.”
The words left my mouth before I could stop them. They echoed in Father Angelo’s study, sharp and loud in the early morning quiet. I stood in front of his desk, my hands clenched at my sides, my heart pounding hard in my chest. Father Angelo did not raise his voice. He did not look surprised either. He only sighed slowly and folded his hands together on the desk.
“Lower your voice, Isabella,” he said. “This is not a matter you can shout away.”
I shook my head. “You cannot ask this of me. Not him. Not a De Luca.”
The servant who had led me into the study stood near the door, eyes fixed on the floor. I noticed how stiff his shoulders were, how quickly he had left after announcing me. I had known something was wrong before I even entered the room. Father Angelo never summoned me this early unless it was very serious.
On the desk between us lay a letter sealed with red wax.
Father Angelo pushed it toward me. “The De Luca family has made their demand.”
“I do not need to read it,” I said. “I already know what it says.”
“You know nothing until you listen,” he replied calmly.
I laughed bitterly. “Peace talks do not come with armed messengers. They do not come with sealed orders.”
His eyes darkened. “This marriage is the price of peace.”
I stepped back as if hitten. “Peace for who?”
“For our people,” he said. “For what remains of the Romano name.”
I felt heat rise in my chest. “They destroyed us. They burned our house. They killed my father. And now they want me.”
Father Angelo stood up. “They want an end to the war.”
“They want control,” I snapped. “They want to prove they can take even what they destroyed.”
Before he could answer, the door opened.
I turned sharply.
Alessandro De Luca walked into the study without knocking.
The room seemed to shrink the moment he entered. He was tall, dressed in black, his face calm and unreadable. His dark eyes moved over me slowly, not with surprise, but with interest. Like I was something already owned.
My anger exploded.
“So you come to see your prize in person,” I said. “Not satisfied with sending threats through paper?”
Father Angelo stepped forward. “Isabella.”
“No,” I said, not looking at him. “Let him hear me.”
Alessandro did not speak. He only stood there, hands behind his back, watching.
“You took everything from my family,” I continued. “Our home. Our name. Our power. And now you stand here to take me too.”
The silence grew heavy.
Finally, Alessandro spoke. “This marriage will happen.”
His voice was calm, firm, final.
I laughed in disbelief. “You think you can walk in here and decide my life?”
“I already have,” he replied.
I felt my hands shake. “You are cruel. Even for a De Luca.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, but his tone stayed even. “Cruelty is war. This ends it.”
I turned to Father Angelo. “You cannot allow this.”
Father Angelo looked away. “You must think beyond yourself.”
I stepped closer to Alessandro. “I will never belong to you.”
Alessandro looked at me closely now. “You will belong to peace.”
“That is not peace,” I said. “That is a cage.”
He said nothing.
Instead, he turned to Father Angelo. “Prepare her. The date will be set soon.”
“Soon?” I repeated. “You have already decided everything?”
“Yes,” he said.
Then he turned and walked out.
Just like that.
The door closed behind him, leaving silence so thick it pressed against my ears.
I stood there, breathing hard, my whole body shaking.
Father Angelo did not speak right away.
When he finally did, his voice was tired. “Your anger will not protect you, Isabella.”
I turned on him. “Then what will?”
“Control,” he said. “Patience.”
“They do not deserve obedience.”
“They deserve nothing,” he replied. “But you deserve to live.”
I looked away, my chest tight. “You are asking me to marry the man who ruined my life.”
“I am asking you to survive him,” Father Angelo said quietly.
I said nothing.
I stormed out of the study moments later, my steps fast and uneven. Lucia appeared at my side without a word, matching my pace. She did not ask questions. She never did when I was like this.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
I locked myself in my room. I paced. I sat. I stood. I pressed my hands to my face and tried not to scream. Servants moved quietly outside my door. I knew they were listening.
That evening, Father Angelo sent for me again. I refused to go.
The next morning, guards stood outside the villa.
That was when I understood.
The decision had already been made.
Days passed slowly after that. Father Angelo spoke to me often, always reminding me to stay calm, to speak less, to watch more. Lucia helped me pack quietly, choosing only what was necessary. Servants whispered. Letters came and went.
I stopped fighting openly.
I started watching.
Every sound. Every look. Every pause.
When the day of departure finally came, I walked out of the villa without turning back. My hands rested neatly in my lap as the carriage rolled forward, but my heart was racing.
This marriage was meant to end a war.
For me, it was the beginning of something far worse.