Four

Leaning against the balcony railing in the Valenti's estate, Dominic Valenti cut a striking figure in the moonlight, his sharp suit accentuating his broad shoulders. He took a long drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing like a tiny beacon in the darkness.

Behind him, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses drifted from the grand ballroom. The party was in full swing, a celebration of his latest “business venture.” But Dominic had little interest in the festivities. His mind was elsewhere—on the deal his father had struck, the alliance that would change everything.

“She’s a Lombardi,” Dominic muttered, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Of all the families, it had to be them.”

The name carried weight—Lombardi. For generations, the Lombardis had been rivals to the Valentis, locked in an unspoken cold war that often turned violent but rarely simmered beneath the surface. And now, in a move that felt like betrayal to Dominic, his father had brokered a union between the two families.

His father’s voice echoed in his mind, calm and unyielding. This is bigger than you, Dominic. Bigger than all of us. You’ll do your duty.

Duty. The word tasted bitter on his tongue. It was a concept Dominic had built his life around—doing what was necessary, what was expected, no matter the cost. He had climbed his way to the top of the Valenti empire with blood, sweat, and a ruthless cunning that had become his trademark. He thrived on control, thrived on bending situations and people to his will. But this marriage felt like something else entirely. It wasn’t control; it was surrender.

He ground the cigarette beneath his heel, the embers snuffed out as decisively as his patience. His jaw tightened, his hands gripping the railing as if to steady himself.

I don’t need peace, he thought bitterly. I need power.

Dominic Valenti was the kind of man who made an impression, whether you wanted him to or not. Tall and broad-shouldered, he exuded a polished refinement that was at odds with the ruthless reputation that preceded him. His dark, neatly combed hair framed a face that might have belonged to a Renaissance statue—strong jawline, high cheekbones, and piercing green eyes that seemed to look straight through you. A faint scar near his right eyebrow added an edge to his otherwise flawless features, a subtle reminder that he wasn’t merely a businessman but a man who thrived in power and peril.

He adjusted the cufflinks on his tailored black suit with an air of nonchalance, but his mind was far from idle. He would meet Isabella formally for the first time, and he intended to make it clear that while their union was arranged, the power in their relationship would belong to him.

As he descended the sweeping staircase of the Valenti estate, his father, Lorenzo Valenti, waited for him near the entrance to the dining room, a glass of champagne in hand and his expression as unreadable as ever.

“The Lombardi's are here,” Lorenzo said, his tone low and measured.

Dominic nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”

As the doors opened, Dominic stepped inside and immediately spotted her. Isabella Lombardi stood stiffly near the far end of the room, flanked by her father, Giovanni. She was striking, he’d give her that. Her long dark brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her sharp hazel eyes burned with a mix of defiance and unease. Dressed in an emerald-green gown that hugged her figure, she looked every bit the Lombardi heiress—elegant and untouchable.

But what intrigued Dominic most wasn’t her beauty. It was the fire in her eyes, the challenge in her posture. She wasn’t happy to be here, and she wasn’t hiding it.

Dominic smirked. This might be more interesting than I thought.

“Dominic,” Lorenzo said as he approached, his tone firm but not unkind. “Come. Meet your future wife.”

Giovanni turned, his smile polite but strained. “Dominic, this is my daughter, Isabella.”

Dominic extended a hand, his expression unreadable. “Isabella.”

She hesitated for a split second before placing her hand in his. “Dominic,” she said, her voice steady despite the undercurrent of tension.

The moment their hands met, Dominic studied her intently. Her grip was firm, her chin held high—a subtle challenge that didn’t escape his notice. She was proud, determined. This wasn’t a woman who would bend easily, and he couldn’t decide if that annoyed him or intrigued him.

“It’s an honor,” Dominic said, his voice smooth. His words carried no trace of sarcasm, but the slight quirk of his lips hinted at something deeper—an unspoken game already unfolding between them.

“I’m sure it is,” Isabella replied, her tone cool and measured.

Dominic’s smirk widened. Oh, this one has claws.

“We should sit,” Lorenzo interjected, gesturing toward the dining table.

As they moved to their seats, Dominic observed her closely. Her movements were graceful, but there was tension in her shoulders, a silent rebellion in every step.

The conversation over dinner was formal, filled with talk of business alliances and family legacies. Dominic played his part, charming and attentive, but his focus rarely strayed from Isabella. Something about her intrigued him.

Later that evening, the four of them moved to the ballroom, where the party was in full swing. The room buzzed with energy, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Guests danced to the rhythm of a live band, their faces glowing with champagne and celebration.

Isabella walked alongside her father, her head held high despite the turmoil inside. She had barely escaped the suffocating dinner conversation, and now she was being paraded into the Valentis’ celebration like a trophy.

Dominic watched her enter the room, his lips curving into a faint smile. She was already learning how to mask her discomfort—an essential skill for someone in their world.

“Enjoying the party?” he asked as he approached her.

Her eyes darted to him, her expression guarded. “Not particularly.”

Dominic chuckled. “Honesty. I like that.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I wasn’t trying to impress you.”

“I didn’t say you were,” he replied, his tone amused. “But you should know that this... union will benefit both of us. Whether you like it or not.”

Her gaze hardened. “You think this is what I want?”

“I think,” he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, “that what you want doesn’t matter. Not to your father, not to mine, and certainly not to me.”

Her grip tightened on the glass, but she didn’t look away.

Dominic straightened, his smile returning. “But I’ll tell you this, Isabella. I don’t lose. Not in business, not in negotiations, and certainly not in marriage. You’d do well to remember that.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone, her thoughts swirling with anger and defiance.

She couldn’t let this happen—not without a fight. If Dominic thought he could break her, he was wrong.

For the first time, she began to consider the unthinkable.

What if Alessandro and I ran?