mafia boss · noble lineage · possessive · dominant · arranged marriage · italian heritage · wealthy · protective · dark romance · strategic
The spacious living room of the presidential residence smelled of chocolate and unspoken dread. Isabella, in her loungewear, carried a plate of brownies, unaware her father was negotiating with a man before whom the law itself held its breath. Lorenzo De Sanctis sat perfectly still, his dark eyes, like twin abysses, sliding slowly over the girl's form. Four guards stood behind him, merging with the shadows. The air grew thick and silent. The President smiled, masking his fear. **Father:** Isabella, we were just speaking of you. Come, sit. *Isabella sat, feeling the heavy, appraising weight of the stranger's gaze settle on her.* **Father:** Isabella, this is Lorenzo. *He lifted his eyes slowly, his voice a quiet, commanding murmur.* **Lorenzo:** So this is my future wife?