VOWS OF FIRE AND BLOOD

The private club reeked of power and money. Gilded chandeliers glowed above velvet booths, where men in tailored suits whispered about deals that could topple governments. My father's hand was iron around my wrist as he pulled me deeper inside, past guards who didn't bother pretending not to stare.

I already knew who waited for me.

Dante Moretti.

The man they called Il Lupo : The Wolf.

He was leaning casually against the bar when I saw him, a dark suit cut to perfection around a body that radiated effortless command. A glass of whiskey dangled from one hand.

My father nudged me forward. "Isabella. Meet your fiancé."

I froze. My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out the murmur of conversations, the clinking of crystal.

Dante's gaze lifted, and the world tilted. Gray eyes, sharp as a blade, locked on mine. He didn't smile. Didn't blink. Just let his eyes drag down the length of me in a slow, searing appraisal that set my skin aflame and my stomach in knots.

"Princess Romano," he drawled at last, his voice deep velvet laced with steel. "You kept me waiting."

My chin snapped up. "I wasn't aware I owed you my time."

A flicker of amusement touched his mouth. Dangerous, lethal amusement. He set his glass down, straightened, and closed the distance between us with a predator's ease. His scent, expensive cologne, smoke, and something darker wrapped around me.

"Everything you are," he said softly, so only I could hear, "already belongs to me."

The words shouldn't have made my heart stumble. They shouldn't have curled heat low in my belly. But the way he said them like a vow, like a promise carved into stone stole my breath.

I forced my glare to steady. "You don't own me, Moretti."

His smile widened, all wolf, no warmth. "Not yet."

Dante gestured smoothly to a secluded booth tucked into the shadows. His men, sharp-eyed and silent, stood at discreet distance as if the outcome of this meeting was already written.

I slid into the booth stiffly, folding my arms across my chest. Dante sat opposite, his movements unhurried, every line of him radiating control.

A server appeared instantly with another whiskey for him, a glass of wine for me. I hadn't ordered it.

"You'll like it," Dante murmured, watching as I eyed the drink. "French, older than you. Sweet, with a sharp bite at the end. Much like its new owner."

"I didn't agree to anything," I said, my voice clipped.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, the lamplight catching in his eyes like cold fire. "Your father signed. The oath is sealed. In three days, Isabella, you will stand beside me as my wife."

The word wife struck like a lash. I tried to mask the jolt it sent through me with disdain. "You think you can buy loyalty with a ring?"

"No." His gaze dropped, lingering deliberately on my mouth, then lower. "I'll take it."

Heat surged through