Chapter 7 You Belong To Me

The cafe on Via Roma was nearly empty, the smell of roasted beans and freshly baked pastries filled the air. Marco sat by the window, his coffee untouched, his knee bouncing restlessly under the table.

He checked his watch for the third time. She was late. Or maybe he was just impatient.

The door swung open.

Sofia Bianchi strolled in, her sunglasses placed carelessly on top her head, dark hair falling in waves over her leather jacket. She spotted Marco immediately and crossed the room, her boots clicking against the floor.

“You look like hell,” she said, sliding into the chair across from him. “Whatever this is, it better be worth dragging me out this early.”

Marco gave her a slight smile, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “It’s worth it.” His voice carried a heaviness that made her straighten.

Sofia studied him, her playful smirk fading. “What’s going on?”

He hesitated, staring at the coffee as if it held the right words. Finally, he looked up, his eyes shadowed. “It’s Isabella.”

At once, Sofia stiffened. “Isabella? What about her? Marco, don’t mess with me.”

Marco leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I screwed up, Sof. Bad. I got involved with the wrong people. Gambling, money I couldn’t pay back. I thought I could handle it, I thought-” His voice broke off, jaw tightening. “But when the debt came due, they wanted blood.”

Sofia’s eyes narrowed. “And you let them touch her?”

“I didn’t let them. She… she offered herself.”

The words hung in the air.

“She what?” Sofia’s voice cracked. “Marco, tell me you’re lying.”

Marco shook his head slowly, shame burning him. “Dante Moretti came for me. I was dead, Sof. There was no way out. But Isabella, she stepped in. She bargained with him. Said she’d take my place as collateral.”

Sofia’s chair scraped sharply against the floor as she stood up to her feet, her voice loud enough to draw glances. “Collateral? She’s your sister, Marco! How could you let that happen?”

“Sit down,” Marco hissed, his hand darting out to grab her wrist, dragging her back down. “Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I don’t hate myself every second for letting it happen? But she did it to save me. She made the choice.”

Sofia’s chest felt heavy, tears brimming in her eyes. “So where is she now?”

Marco swallowed hard. “I still don't know, maybe she's at Dante’s estate. Under his roof. He says she belongs to him now.”

“You’ve ruined her, Marco. You’ve thrown her into the lion’s den.”

“I know,” Marco whispered. “That’s why I called you. I need your help to find her.” His voice cracked. “I can’t lose her, Sof. Not because of me.”

For a long moment, Sofia said nothing, her lips pressed tight, her gaze burning into him like fire. Finally, she leaned forward, her tone sharp, deliberate.

“You should pray, Marco,” she said softly, dangerously. “Because if anything happens to Isabella, Dante won’t be the one you should fear. I’ll tear you apart myself.”

Marco didn’t flinch. He only nodded, because the truth was already killing him inside.

---

The door swung open without warning, slamming lightly against the wall.

Isabella froze for a moment, her blouse slipping from her fingers. Her bare shoulders gleamed in the dim light.

“What the hell—” Isabella gasped, clutching the fabric against herself.

Dante stood in the doorway, silently as his gaze swept over her in a single glance. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes lingered a second too long, enough to send heat rushing to her cheeks. In his hand hung a sleek bag and a shoebox tucked under his arm.

“You don’t knock?” she spat angrily, though her voice trembled.

He stepped inside as if she hadn’t spoken, his presence filling the room. “This is what you’ll wear tonight.”

He set the shoebox down, then unzipped the bag. A black dress slid free, liquid fabric spilling like ink between his fingers. A dress made for someone who was meant to be noticed.

Her throat tightened. “You just barge in here while I’m—”

“Undressed?” His tone was flat, yet something in the curve of his mouth made her pulse skip. He hung the dress on the wardrobe door. “Your modesty is irrelevant. You’ll be seen by far worse than me.”

Her heart pounded, her palms damp against the blouse clutched to her chest. “You can’t just walk in here like this.”

His eyes cut to hers, unblinking. “I can and I will, because you belong to me.” He closed the distance between them, every step measured. His cologne,smoky, crisp, wrapped around her, making her knees unsteady.

She swallowed hard, tilting her chin up in defiance. “You don’t own me.”

Dante stopped just inches away, his height forcing her to look up. The air between them thickened. He lowered his head slightly, his lips near her ear. “Say that again tonight. In front of men who’d rather taste your fear than respect your voice.”

A shiver shot down her spine. She hated it, hated the way her body betrayed her, the way her breath hitched even as anger burned in her chest.

“Step back,” she whispered, her grip tightening on the blouse.

But Dante didn’t move, his gaze flicking briefly to the exposed skin at her collarbone before returning to her eyes. “You’ll wear the dress,” he said in a low yet certain voice. “And you’ll stand beside me whether you like it or not.”

For a moment, neither of them looked away.

Dante could feel his pulse rising just by staring at her. "What is wrong with you Dante, she's a business transaction, nothing more than her father was." he thought to himself.

Then Dante finally pulled back, giving his distance as though nothing had happened. He adjusted his cuff.

“Midnight, my driver will drop you at the venue.” he said, turning toward the door. “Be ready. I don’t wait.”

“Next time,” she snapped, “knock.”

Just as he was about to cross the door, Dante paused, the faintest smirk tugged at his lips. “Then lock the door,” he murmured, and left her breathless in the silence.

The door clicked shut.

Isabella stood frozen, blouse still clutched to her chest, her skin prickling with leftover heat. Damn him, damn his arrogance.

She threw the blouse onto the bed. “He thinks he can just walk in, like I’m some possession to be dressed up and paraded around.” She lamented to herself, though the echo of his words, you belong to me, still clinged to her mind.

Her traitorous mind replayed the moment his breath had ghosted her ear, the low tone of his voice when he said you’ll wear th

e dress.

"No, he doesn’t get to affect me like that." She echoed her words to herself.