Bound by Blood, Forged in Fire

The Deal

Manhattan, The De Luca Estate, 9:32 PM

The chandelier above the long mahogany table glittered like a constellation, casting sharp shadows across the faces of the men who held New York's underworld in their fists. Luca De Luca stood at the head of the room, his emerald-green eyes scanning the gathered dons with the precision of a predator. At 6'2", he cut an imposing figure in his tailored black suit, the fabric hugging his broad shoulders and tapering to his lean waist. His jet-black hair, slightly wavy and swept back, caught the light, but it was the faint scar above his right eyebrow that hinted at the violence beneath his polished exterior. His jaw was set, lips a hard line, as he waited for his father, Don Carlo De Luca, to speak.

Across the table, Isabella Moretti slouched in her chair, her leather jacket creaking as she crossed her arms. Her hazel eyes, flecked with gold, glinted with defiance, daring anyone to comment on her presence in a room full of suited men. At 5'7", she was tall enough to hold her own, her athletic frame lean and wiry from years of street fights and motorcycle races. Her dark brown hair, with its subtle auburn highlights, was pulled into a messy ponytail, strands escaping to frame her heart-shaped face. A small freckle on her right cheek stood out against her lightly tanned skin, and the silver cross pendant at her throat gleamed faintly. Her combat boots, scuffed and practical, tapped an impatient rhythm under the table. She didn't belong here, and she made sure everyone knew it.

Don Carlo, his silver hair gleaming under the chandelier, cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, we're here to end a war." His voice was smooth, like aged whiskey, but carried the weight of a man who'd buried enemies and allies alike. "The De Luca and Moretti families have bled enough. Tonight, we forge peace."

Isabella snorted, loud enough to draw every eye. Luca's gaze snapped to her, his green eyes narrowing. She met his stare, her lips curling into a smirk. Go ahead, pretty boy, try me.

Don Vincenzo Moretti, Isabella's father, shot her a warning look. His deep olive skin was etched with lines, his dark brown eyes hard as flint. "Isabella," he growled, his voice low but sharp. She rolled her eyes but leaned back, her boots still tapping.

Carlo continued, undeterred. "The only way to ensure peace is through unity. A marriage between our families." He gestured to Luca, then to Isabella. "My son, Luca, and Don Vincenzo's daughter, Isabella."

The room went still, the air heavy with the weight of the announcement. Isabella's smirk vanished, her hazel eyes widening. "You've got to be kidding me," she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. She stood, her chair scraping against the hardwood. "I'm not some pawn to be traded, Papa."

Vincenzo's jaw tightened, his scar pulling taut across his cheek. "Sit down, Isabella. This isn't a discussion."

Luca's expression remained unreadable, but his fingers tightened around the silver signet ring on his right hand, the De Luca crest glinting. He'd known this was coming-his father had warned him-but seeing Isabella in the flesh, all leather and attitude, made his stomach twist. She wasn't the docile mafia princess he'd expected. She was a wildfire, and he wasn't sure whether to douse her or let her burn.

"You think I'm thrilled about this?" Luca said, his voice low and controlled, each word clipped. "This is business, Moretti. Not personal."

Isabella's laugh was sharp, bitter. "Business? You're tying me to him?" She jabbed a finger at Luca, her eyes raking over his polished suit, his broad chest, his infuriatingly handsome face. "He looks like he'd rather be at a board meeting than a street fight."

Luca's lips twitched, a smirk threatening to break through. "And you look like you just rolled out of a biker bar. We all have our burdens."

The room tensed, a few capos shifting uncomfortably. Isabella stepped closer, her boots thudding on the floor, her hazel eyes blazing. "Say that again, De Luca, and I'll show you what this biker chick can do."

"Enough!" Vincenzo slammed a hand on the table, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "This marriage will happen. The Russos are circling, and we can't afford to fight each other. You two will make this work."

Luca held Isabella's gaze, his emerald eyes unyielding. She didn't back down, her chin lifting, her freckle catching the light. The air between them crackled, a storm brewing in the space where their worlds collided.

Before anyone could speak, the windows exploded.

Glass shattered, spraying across the room as gunfire erupted from the courtyard. Luca dove for cover, pulling his father down behind the table. Isabella was already moving, her Beretta drawn from the holster under her jacket. She crouched beside a column, her eyes scanning the darkness beyond the shattered windows.

"Russos!" a capo shouted, his voice drowned by the staccato of automatic weapons. Bullets tore through the room, splintering wood and pinging off metal. Luca pulled his Sig Sauer from his shoulder holster, his movements fluid, precise. He caught Isabella's eye across the chaos, and for a split second, they understood each other-no words, just survival.

"Stay low!" Luca barked, but Isabella was already vaulting over a fallen chair, her boots crunching on glass. She fired into the courtyard, her shots steady, dropping a shadow that had been aiming at Vincenzo. Luca cursed under his breath, torn between annoyance and grudging respect.

"Cover the left!" Isabella shouted, her voice sharp but steady. Luca moved to flank her, their positions instinctive, like they'd trained together for years. He took out two gunmen with clean headshots, his green eyes cold as he scanned for more.

The room was a warzone-capos returning fire, blood staining the polished floor. Vincenzo and Carlo were ushered to the back by their men, but Isabella stayed in the fight, her lean frame darting between cover. A bullet grazed her arm, tearing through her leather jacket. She hissed but kept moving, her hazel eyes fierce.

Luca saw the blood and felt a jolt of something he didn't want to name. "Get back!" he snapped, grabbing her wrist and pulling her behind a marble statue. Her skin was warm under his calloused fingers, and she yanked free, glaring.

"I don't need saving, De Luca," she spat, but her voice wavered as their eyes locked. His hand lingered a moment too long, the heat of her pulse under his thumb sending a spark through him.

"Then stop bleeding all over my floor," he shot back, but his smirk was strained. Another burst of gunfire forced them to duck, their shoulders brushing. The contact was electric, and Luca hated how it made his blood hum.

The shooting stopped as suddenly as it began, the Russo attackers retreating into the night. Sirens wailed in the distance, too late to matter. Luca stood, his suit dusted with glass, his gun still in hand. Isabella rose beside him, her jacket torn, a thin line of blood trickling down her arm. Her hazel eyes met his, defiant but shaken.

"You good?" Luca asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

She wiped the blood with her sleeve, smirking. "Better than you, pretty boy. Your suit's ruined."

He glanced down at the torn fabric, a rare chuckle escaping him. "Worth it to see you shoot."

Her smirk faltered, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. Before she could respond, Vincenzo stormed over, his face thunderous. "Isabella, what the hell were you thinking? You could've been killed!"

She holstered her gun, her posture stiff. "I was thinking I'm not useless, Papa. Unlike some people who hid under tables."

Luca's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Carlo approached, his green eyes-so like Luca's-calculating. "This was a message from Giovanni Russo. He knows about the alliance. We move forward with the marriage. Now."

Isabella's fists clenched, her freckle stark against her flushed skin. "You're insane if you think I'm signing up for this after that."

"You will," Vincenzo said, his voice final. "For the family."

Luca watched her, his emerald eyes unreadable. She was a liability-reckless, mouthy, dangerous. But the way she'd moved in the fight, the fire in her eyes, stirred something in him. Something he'd have to bury if he was going to survive this.

"Get cleaned up, Moretti," Luca said, his voice low, almost a challenge. "We've got a wedding to plan."

Isabella's lips curled, her hazel eyes flashing. "Over my dead body, De Luca."

He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Careful what you wish for."

She pulled back, her smirk defiant, but her pulse raced where his words lingered. The room cleared, the families retreating to strategize, but Luca and Isabella stood frozen, two storms circling each other, bound by a deal neither wanted but couldn't escape.