Page 2 of Twisted Vows

Nico’s face was stone, but his eyes—those traitorous eyes—held something she couldn’t name. Regret? Guilt? Weakness? But he didn’t stop. He tightened his grip, dragging her forward. “I’m sorry, Isla.”

Leonardo simply watched, expression unmoved, his cold indifference cutting deeper than any blade. “Enough.”

One word. Sharp, final. The guards tightened their grip.

Isla’s breath came in ragged bursts. She was losing this fight, and she knew it. Desperation curled around her heart, squeezing it until she could hardly breathe. “I will never forgive you for this,” she spat, locking eyes with Nico one last time.

His expression faltered for just a second before he looked away.

And Isla was pulled into the darkness, toward a future she would fight tooth and nail to escape.

Leonardo exhaled, his patience wearing thin. “Then fight. But it will not change your fate.”

Her stomach twisted. The realization hit her like a bullet to the chest—there was no escape. No bargaining, no mercy. Her father had made his choice, and she was nothing more than collateral damage in his war.

The men started dragging her toward the door, her heels scraping against the hardwood floor. Isla thrashed, her heart pounding in her ears, the sheer force of her rage barelycontained. “I will never forgive you for this,” she spat, locking eyes with her father one last time.

For the first time, something flickered in his gaze—regret? Guilt? But it was gone as fast as it came. He turned away.

And Isla was pulled into the darkness, toward a future she would fight tooth and nail to escape.

****

The black SUV waiting outside was sleek, polished, a vehicle meant for transport but also intimidation. The back door was thrown open, and Isla was shoved inside, landing hard against the leather seats.

The doors locked with a heavy click, trapping her inside.

Breathing heavily, she twisted around, her gaze landing on the man sitting across from her.

He was darkness and control, his presence an unshakable force that sucked the air from the space between us. Matteo DeLuca. His dark eyes studied her with an unreadable expression, his posture relaxed yet radiating lethal energy.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, slowly, Matteo tilted his head. "You fight too much."

Isla’s pulse slammed against her throat. "And you kill too easily."

A ghost of a smirk played at his lips, but there was nothing amusing about it. "That is why we are here."

She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to sit straighter, to meet his gaze without flinching. "If you think I’m going to be your obedient wife, you’re mistaken."

Matteo reached for a glass of whiskey resting beside him, swirling the amber liquid before taking a slow sip. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously soft. "Obedience was never what I wanted from you, Isla."

Something cold slid down her spine. "Then what do you want?"

He leaned forward, his presence suffocating, his eyes locking onto hers like he could see every defiant thought racing through her mind. "To win."

The car rolled forward, taking her away from the only world she had ever known.

Away from her freedom.

Away from everything except him.

Chapter Two

The private jet cut through the sky, leaving behind the smog-filled skyline of Los Angeles. Isla sat rigid in her seat, wrists still aching from the bruising grip of her father’s men. They had forced her onto this plane without a second thought, dragging her into the hands of the enemy as if she were nothing more than a bargaining chip.

Matteo DeLuca sat across from her, dark eyes assessing her with a sharp, quiet intensity. Isla was a fighter, and he could see it in the way she held herself, back straight, chin lifted in defiance, despite the circumstances. She was beautiful, but not in the delicate way he had expected. Her rich brunette hair cascaded in waves over her shoulders, framing a face with olive-toned skin that glowed even under the dim cabin lighting. There was a rawness to her beauty—wild, untamed. The full lips pressed into a stubborn line, the fire that hadn’t dimmed in her gaze, even now.

He should have been irritated by her resistance, but instead, he felt something far more dangerous—a slow, simmering attraction that coiled low in his gut. It was inconvenient, unwanted. He had no use for desire when it came to Isla. This marriage was a move in a game far bigger than either of them, and he would not be swayed by something as trivial as lust.

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