MY FAMILY SOLD ME SO I BUILT AN EMPIRE

The first time Isabella Moretti heard her father put a price on her life, she was carrying her own birthday cake. She had turned twenty-two exactly forty-seven minutes ago. Downstairs, music floated through the grand halls of the Moretti mansion. Crystal chandeliers illuminated the marble floors, and expensive champagne flowed freely among guests who had come to celebrate the daughter of one of Italy's wealthiest businessmen. Isabella should have been happy. Instead, she stood outside her father's study, listening to a conversation that would destroy everything she thought she knew.

"Forty million euros, Vittorio. That's what you owe me." The voice belonged to Dante De Luca. Even Isabella knew that name. Every Italian knew it. Dante was a man people discussed in whispers. A mafia boss whose influence stretched across Milan, Florence, and beyond. Businessmen feared him, politicians avoided crossing him, and his enemies rarely lived long enough to regret their decisions. And now, he was standing inside her father's study. "I need more time," Vittorio Moretti replied. "You've had two years." "The market collapsed. My investments-" "Are no longer my concern." There was a brief silence. Then Dante spoke again. "Give me something worth forty million, and your debt disappears." Isabella frowned. What could her father possibly offer a man like Dante? "The company?" Vittorio suggested desperately. "Already considered it. Your company is worth less than half what you claim." "My properties, then?" "Not enough." Isabella shifted the cake in her hands. She wanted to leave, but something in Dante's voice kept her rooted to the spot. Then her father said the words that made her blood turn cold. "What about my daughter?" The cake nearly slipped from Isabella's fingers. Inside the study, silence followed. Then Dante laughed softly. "Isabella?" "She's twenty-two. Beautiful, educated, and from a respectable family. You could marry her. The alliance would benefit both families." Isabella stopped breathing. Her father was offering her as payment. "You're selling your daughter to settle a debt?" Dante asked. "I'm making a reasonable proposal." "No," Dante replied. "You're desperate." "Please, Dante. I have no other choice." Another silence. Then came the words Isabella would remember for the rest of her life. "Very well. I'll marry her." Her knees weakened. "You have my word?" Vittorio asked. "You have until Monday to prepare her. The wedding will take place within the month." "And the debt?" "Settled." Isabella backed away from the door, tears burning her eyes. Twenty-two years. Twenty-two years of believing her father loved her. She remembered the expensive gifts, the birthday celebrations, and the times he had kissed her forehead and promised that she would always be safe. Had any of it been real? She turned to leave, but her heel struck a small decorative table. The sound echoed through the corridor. The study door opened. Vittorio appeared first. His face drained of colour when he saw her. "Isabella." She stared at him. "Tell me I heard wrong." He opened his mouth, but no words came. Behind him stood Dante De Luca. He was taller than she had expected, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his expression was almost frighteningly calm. His eyes settled on the birthday cake in her hands before moving to her face. "You were listening," he observed. Isabella ignored him. "Father?" Vittorio stepped toward her. "Let me explain." "Explain what? That you're selling me to a man I've never met?" "It's not like that." "Then what is it like?" Her voice cracked. "You told me I was your daughter. You told me you loved me." "I do love you." "Then how could you do this?" Vittorio looked away. That small movement hurt more than any answer could have. Dante stepped out of the study. "Your father and I have reached an agreement." "I don't care about your agreement." His eyebrows lifted slightly. "Careful, Isabella." "Or what? You'll add me to your list of debts?" For the first time, something resembling amusement crossed his face. "You have a sharp tongue." "And you have the audacity to think I'll marry you." Dante studied her for several seconds. "You will." "Never." "We'll see." He adjusted his cufflinks and turned toward the stairs. "Bring her to my estate on Monday," he told Vittorio. Then he walked away as though the matter had already been settled. Isabella watched him disappear before turning back to her father. "I hate you." The words came out quietly. Vittorio flinched. She placed the cake on the nearby table and walked away before he could stop her. That night, Isabella locked herself in her bedroom and cried until her eyes hurt. She had no idea that the marriage was only the beginning. The following morning, a soft knock came at her door. It was Maria, the longtime housekeeper who had helped raise her after her mother died. "My child," Maria whispered, closing the door behind her. "There's something you must have." She placed a small brass key in Isabella's palm. "Your mother left this with me before she died. She told me to give it to you when the time was right." Isabella stared at the key. "What does it open?" Maria's eyes filled with tears. "I don't know. But your mother made me promise never to give it to your father." She closed Isabella's fingers around it. "And whatever happens, do not let Dante De Luca see it." A chill ran down Isabella's spine. Before she could ask another question, someone knocked sharply at the bedroom door. "Miss Isabella?" A man's voice came from the other side. "Mr De Luca wants a word with you." Isabella looked at the key in her hand. Then she heard Dante laugh quietly from the corridor. Her wedding was still weeks away. But the nightmare had already begun.