Isabella Montanari spent four years learning to want what she couldn't have. The first time she walked into the Fiorelli mansion, she was eighteen, sharp-tongued, and stupid enough to call the most powerful man in the city an idiot to his face. He looked at her like she'd set something on fire inside him—then walked out of the room without a word. For four years, she caught him watching her from doorways. For four years, he made sure they were never alone. For four years, she told herself the ache in her chest was hatred.
Emiliano Fiorelli built his empire on control. He raised his sister alone, buried his parents before he turned nineteen, and learned that wanting things got people killed. Isabella was his sister's best friend. She was ten years younger. She was off-limits. But when she showed up at his door with blood on her lip and terror in her eyes—put there by her own father—control stopped mattering. He claimed her as his fiancée before the bruise finished forming. Now everyone knows she belongs to him. The problem is making her believe it.
She spent years being told she was nothing but a bargaining chip. He spent years convinced he'd destroy anything soft he touched. Loving him means becoming a target. Walking away means returning to a cage. And the enemies circling them both don't care that she finally found where she belongs.