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Isabella Bella Moretti, the daughter of a rival mafia family, is forced into an arranged marriage to secure an alliance between two powerful crime syndicates. On the day of her wedding, she discovers her fiancé's brutal betrayal and flees, only to crash into the path of Viktor Sokolov, a ruthless Russian mafia boss with a reputation for being merciless. Viktor, intrigued by her defiance and beauty, offers her a deal: marry him instead, and he'll protect her from her enemies. But as their passionate and dangerous relationship deepens, Bella realizes Viktor's world is far more treacherous than she ever imagined. With enemies closing in and secrets unraveling, Bella must decide if she can trust the man who claims to own her heart-or if he's just another devil in disguise.
Chapter 1 The Runaway Bride
The cathedral was a gilded cage, its towering arches and stained-glass windows casting kaleidoscopic patterns across the marble floor. Isabella "Bella" Moretti stood at the altar, her hands clutching a bouquet of white roses so tightly that the thorns bit into her palms. The pain was a welcome distraction from the suffocating weight of the lace gown that clung to her like a second skin. She felt like a doll, dressed up and paraded for the amusement of others.
Her fiancé, Antonio De Luca, stood beside her, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. He was handsome in a way that was almost too perfect-his dark hair slicked back, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and his smile as cold as the diamonds adorning her fingers. But Bella knew better. She had seen the way his charm could turn to cruelty in the blink of an eye, the way his laughter never quite reached his eyes.
The priest's voice droned on, a monotonous hum that blended with the whispers of the guests. Bella's heart pounded in her chest, each beat a deafening reminder of the life she was about to lose. She glanced at her father, seated in the front row, his expression unreadable. He had always been a man of few words, but his silence spoke volumes. This marriage was not about love-it was about power, about securing an alliance between the Moretti and De Luca families. Bella was nothing more than a pawn in their game.
"Do you, Isabella Moretti, take Antonio De Luca to be your lawfully wedded husband?" the priest asked, his voice echoing through the cathedral.
Bella's breath hitched. The room seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing in until she could barely breathe. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Antonio's grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin like a warning.
"I..." she began, her voice trembling. "I..."
The sound of her own heartbeat drowned out everything else. She couldn't do this. She wouldn't.
With a surge of courage, she dropped the bouquet and stepped back, the sound of roses hitting the floor like a gunshot. "I can't," she whispered, then louder, "I won't!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd, but Bella didn't wait to see their reactions. She lifted the hem of her dress and bolted down the aisle, her sneakers slapping against the marble floor. The cathedral doors loomed ahead, a beacon of freedom, and she pushed through them with all her strength.
The cold night air hit her like a slap, but she didn't stop. She ran, her heart pounding in her ears, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors. The streets of New York were alive with the hum of traffic and the chatter of pedestrians, but Bella felt like she was drowning in the chaos.
She turned down an alley, her breath coming in ragged gasps, and collided with something solid. Strong hands gripped her arms, steadying her, and she looked up into the face of a man who could only be described as dangerous.
He was tall, his broad shoulders encased in a black leather jacket that did little to soften his imposing presence. His dark hair was tousled, his jaw shadowed with stubble, and his eyes-a piercing, icy blue-seemed to see straight through her. He was older, maybe in his late thirties, but his presence was magnetic, commanding.
"Well, well," he drawled, his voice low and accented. "What do we have here?"
Bella's heart raced as she tried to pull away, but his grip was firm. "Let me go," she demanded, her voice trembling.
The man raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "A runaway bride? How... cliché."
Before Bella could respond, the sound of shouting echoed from the street. Her fiancé's men. They had found her.
The man's smirk faded, replaced by a look of cold calculation. He glanced at Bella, then back at the approaching figures. "You're in trouble, little bird," he said. "And I don't like trouble on my turf."
Bella's breath hitched. "Please," she whispered. "Help me."
For a moment, he just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he pulled her deeper into the shadows. "Stay close," he said, his voice low. "And don't make a sound."
As the men approached, Bella pressed herself against the wall, her heart pounding. The man stepped forward, his presence radiating menace. "This is Sokolov territory," he said, his voice like steel. "You're not welcome here."
The men hesitated, clearly recognizing him. "We're just looking for someone," one of them said. "A girl. She's ours."
The man-Sokolov-smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "If she's on my turf, she's mine. Now get lost."
The men exchanged uneasy glances but didn't argue. They turned and left, their footsteps fading into the night.
Bella let out a shaky breath, her legs giving out beneath her. Sokolov caught her, his arms strong and steady. "You're safe," he said, his voice softer now. "For now."
She looked up at him, her eyes wide. "Why did you help me?"
He studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering on her face. "Let's just say I have a weakness for pretty things," he said. "But don't mistake this for kindness. You owe me, little bird."
Bella's stomach twisted. "What do you want?"
A slow smile spread across his face, and for the first time, Bella felt a flicker of fear. "Everything," he said. "Starting with you".
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