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"What gives you the right?" she demanded, her voice echoing in the nearly empty room. The vibrancy of her fiery spirit, typically displayed through her art, was now channelled into her words. "To trade me off like a commodity?"
Luciano's gaze on Bella did not waver. "Bella, this is about family. Our survival."
Bella shook her head, her chest rising and falling rapidly with the force of her suppressed fury. "My life is not a bargaining chip, Papa," she declared. The patriarchal family structure that had always felt like a stifling cloak seemed to tighten its hold, and Bella found herself desperately fighting for a breath of autonomy.
Luciano looked at his daughter, the silent tension hanging heavily between them. "This will be the only thing I'll ever ask of you, Bella," he said, his voice level. The veiled threat underlying his words was as unmistakable as it was chilling.
"Follow my orders, or you risk being ousted from the family," Luciano continued. His words weren't a mere warning, but a sentence - a stark choice between obedience or expulsion.
Bella’s heart pounded at the ultimatum presented to her. The struggle to retain her individuality in the face of an impending forced marriage and the threat of being disowned by her family amplified the rebellious spirit that defined her.
Once Bella stormed off, the heated remnants of her confrontation with Luciano lingered in the air. Dante, who had silently witnessed this clash of wills, found his own resolve hardening.
"Dante," Luciano called out, seemingly unperturbed by Bella's outburst, "We must discuss the arrangements."
Ignoring his remark, Dante took a step forward, the weight of his conflicted loyalties burdening his normally light stride. "How could you, Luciano?" he asked, his voice low but intense.
Luciano, taken aback by Dante's use of his first name, glanced at him with narrowed eyes. Dante hardly flinched under the penetrating gaze. His loyalty to Bella, his beloved cousin, wrestled with his obligation to the family he had sworn to serve.
"Bella is not a pawn to be traded off for peace," Dante argued, his words mirroring Bella's fiery spirit. The room, still pulsating with the tension from the earlier confrontation, seemed to hold its breath.
Luciano's gaze didn't waver. "This is our world, Dante," he said, his voice filled with a weariness that Dante had never heard before. "This is how we survive."
And Dante understood. He saw the weight of years of leadership on Luciano's shoulders, the lines on his face drawn by blood and betrayal. But he also saw Bella's teary eyes, her desperation for autonomy and choice.
Leaving Luciano standing in the center of the now-empty dining hall, Dante turned to leave. He had made his decision.
"I'll be there for her," Dante said, his voice firm. "Whether she marries Anton or not, I will protect her."
And with that, he walked away, leaving a stunned Luciano behind. The vow hung heavy in the air, solidifying Dante's determination to protect Bella.
Chapter 2
The setting sun painted the sky in hues of mauve and burnt orange, setting a striking backdrop for the secluded lake nestled in the city's forgotten corners. This tranquil oasis was Anton's hidden sanctuary, an escape from the relentless pace and demands of his life. And it was here, amidst the whispering wind and gently lapping waves, that Bella found him.
Anton stood like a silent sentinel by the water's edge, his broad figure silhouetted against the soft twilight. He turned as Bella's hesitant footsteps echoed on the stony path, and for a moment, his dark eyes softened at her approach, a stark contrast to the usual hard mask he wore.
"I suppose congratulations are in order," Bella said, her voice barely more than a whisper. The words tasted like vinegar on her tongue, souring the serene environment. The idea of their arranged marriage, a contract signed not in love but in blood and duty, gnawed at her heart.
Anton, his gaze never leaving her face, nodded slowly. "It wasn't my idea," he said, his voice as calm as the tranquil lake beside them. The frankness of his admission, devoid of pretense, struck Bella, piercing the bubble of assumptions she had built around Anton.
"And yet you agreed. Why?" Bella demanded, her heart pounding in her chest. His honesty warranted hers, and she could no longer mask her dread and curiosity.
A moment of silence stretched between them, an insurmountable void filled with questions and denials, hopes and disappointments. "I didn't favor it," Anton admitted at last, his dark eyes reflecting the twilight. "Until I saw you at the art gallery. You intrigued me."
His confession, straightforward yet layered with unspoken emotions, ignited something within Bella. But before she could respond, Anton looked away, his gaze lost in the distant city lights that twinkled like faraway stars. "The marriage... it's a political move. A path to peace."
Anton took a deep breath, his eyes briefly closing as if bracing himself. When he finally spoke, his voice was a mere whisper carried by the wind. "There are things about me, about my past that you ought to know."
His opening words hung heavy in the air, their gravity pressing down on Bella's heart. She nodded, her gaze locked on his face, searching for clues in his stony expression.
"I was born into this life," Anton started, his gaze fixated on the calming ripples spreading across the lake. "Born into bloodshed, obligations... a war I never asked for."
Bella said nothing, allowing him the space to express the demons he had held back.
"We are Bratva," he continued, his voice tight, his eyes haunted. "We're sworn into a brotherhood bound by loyalty, honor, duty. We don't get to choose our battles."
A harsh laugh ripped from his throat, void of mirth. "And the irony is that we fight wars not for ourselves, but for those we swear to protect. The innocents who get caught in the crossfire... and yet, they are the ones who pay the highest price."
