Chapter Fourty: Blood On Silk
Isabella didn’t sleep well after finding the note. The words ran through her head again and again: Leave him, or you won’t live to regret it.
Even when she closed her eyes, she imagined shadows slipping under the door, hands reaching for her throat. By the time sunlight spilled through the curtains, her head was pounding.
Dante was already awake, standing in front of the mirror as he buttoned his shirt. His reflection caught her tired face, and he turned slightly.
“You didn’t sleep.”
She sat up slowly, her hair messy. “How do you know?”
He smirked faintly. “You look like hell.”
She frowned. “What a sweet thing to say first thing in the morning.”
He crossed the room, brushing her hair back with his fingers. “What’s wrong?”
Her hand twitched toward the pillow where she’d hidden the folded note, but she stopped herself. If she gave it to him, someone in this house would die. Maybe a maid. Maybe a guard. She wasn’t ready for that blood on her hands.
“Nothing,” she whispered. “Bad dreams.”
He studied her carefully, clearly doubting her, but let it go. “We’re having a dinner tonight. Formal. Allies and business partners.”
“Dinner?” Isabella blinked. “Why do I have to be there?”
“Because you’re my wife,” he said simply. “And because you’ll sit beside me. Everyone will see it.”
She groaned. “You’re parading me like some prize.”
His lips brushed her ear as he murmured, “Not a prize. A warning.”
Her heart skipped. She shoved him back lightly. “You’re impossible.”
“I know.” He smirked before walking out, leaving her with the echo of his words.
\---
The day dragged. Isabella tried reading in the library, but the whispers from the staff followed her. Conversations stopped when she entered. Doors shut quickly when she passed. Even Giulia seemed tense when she came to her room later.
“Dante said to wear something elegant,” Giulia said, holding up gowns. “Something that shows you belong at his side.”
“Why do I feel like I’m preparing for a war, not a dinner?” Isabella muttered.
Giulia raised an eyebrow. “What do you think these dinners are?”
Isabella groaned and flopped onto the bed. “This whole thing is ridiculous.”
Giulia ignored her and held up a black silk gown. “This one. Simple, strong, and it will drive Dante insane.”
“Why would I want to drive him insane?”
“Because that’s what wives do,” Giulia said with a grin.
Despite herself, Isabella laughed.
\---
By evening, the mansion buzzed with activity. Guards lined the halls, servants carried trays of wine, and the dining room glowed with candles. Isabella walked in beside Dante, her arm looped through his. Heads turned immediately.
Dante didn’t flinch. His hand pressed firm over hers, like he wanted the whole room to see his claim.
The table stretched long, filled with men in dark suits and their wives dressed in glittering gowns. Isabella sat beside Dante at the head of the table. She could feel their eyes on her, measuring her, judging her.
Dinner began with wine and polite toasts. Business was discussed, deals mentioned, laughter forced. Isabella mostly listened, answering when someone spoke to her.
At first, it seemed tolerable—until one guest leaned across the table toward her.
“You are even more beautiful up close,” he said smoothly, his eyes roaming her face. “Dante is a lucky man.”
She shifted uncomfortably. “Thank you.”
He smirked. “If you ever grow tired of him—”
The sound of metal against porcelain made her flinch. Dante’s knife clattered onto his plate. His hand shot across the table, gripping the man’s wrist.
Before Isabella could react, Dante slammed the wrist down and drove his fork through it into the wood.
The man screamed, his voice echoing through the hall. Blood splattered the tablecloth.
Everyone froze.
Dante leaned forward, his voice calm but sharp as glass. “You think you can look at my wife like that? Speak to her like that?”
“Dante!” Isabella grabbed his arm, panic in her voice. “Stop it!”
The man begged, face white. “I-I meant no harm—”
“Every man who looks at her wrong bleeds,” Dante said coldly, pressing the fork deeper. “Do you understand?”
The guest sobbed, nodding desperately.
Finally, Dante ripped the fork free. Guards rushed forward, dragging the injured man away. Blood stained the white silk tablecloth, dripping onto the floor.
“Dinner is not over,” Dante told the stunned room, as if nothing had happened. “Eat.”
Slowly, the guests obeyed, though no one looked directly at Isabella.
She sat frozen, her hands trembling. Her heart pounded, torn between fear and a thrill she hated to admit. He had done it for her. Brutal, reckless, possessive—but for her.
\---
When the dinner finally ended, Dante escorted her back to their room. She stormed inside first, ripping off her earrings and slamming them on the dresser.
“You embarrassed me!” she snapped.
Dante shut the door quietly. “He embarrassed himself.”
“You stabbed him in front of everyone!”
“And now everyone knows what happens if they touch what’s mine.”
She whirled on him. “I am not some possession you can wave around, Dante!”
“Yes, you are,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re mine.”
Her chest rose and fell sharply. “You can’t just hurt every man who looks at me.”
“Yes, I can.” His voice was calm, deadly certain.
“That’s insane!” she shouted.
“Maybe,” he admitted, closing the distance between them. His eyes locked on hers. “But it’s the truth.”
Her back hit the wall as he leaned in, his hand pressing beside her head.
“Why?” she whispered, her anger tangled with something else she didn’t want to feel.
His breath brushed her ear, his voice low and cold.
“Because every man who looks at you should bleed. That’s what you do to me.”
Isabella’s lips parted, her body betraying her with heat, even as her mind screamed at her to resist.