Isabella

Isabella Moore was 19, and it was her first time in Italy. A literature student in England, she had come to Rome on a summer scholarship. Her hair was long and red, like fire at sunset, her blue eyes as clear as the Tuscan sky, and she had a presence that never went unnoticed. Petite, with a provocative figure and a brilliant mind, Isabella could effortlessly captivate any room she entered. On a hot summer night, at her friends’ insistence, Isabella agreed to go out to an exclusive club in the heart of Rome. The music was intense, the lights dim, and the atmosphere thick with luxury, mystery, and desire. As she danced, she suddenly felt watched. Not just watched—guarded. From a dark corner of the club, Luca Moretti was observing her. He was 25 and known in the shadows as the eldest son of one of the most powerful mafia families in southern Italy. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sun-kissed skin, ice-blue eyes, and effortlessly styled chestnut hair, Luca wore a black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a subtle tattoo on his clavicle. He was dangerous, charismatic, and used to being feared—until he saw her. Isabella had no idea who he was. But Luca already knew everything about her within hours. He had learned her name, her university, her hotel. Not because he wanted to scare her, but because, in a way he couldn’t explain, he needed to be near her. To protect her. To have her. In the days that followed, Isabella began seeing him everywhere. At the morning café. On the crowded streets of Rome. In a museum, standing quietly in the background, saying nothing. Until one evening, when he finally approached her.