Chapter 4 What is the use

Isabella POV

The ride back from the judge was a suffocating blur. The moment the door to my penthouse clicked shut, the dam broke. The humiliation of Julian's betrayal, the suffocating reality of the ink drying on my marriage certificate-it all erupted.

I grabbed the silver-framed photo of Julian and me from the console and hurled it against the marble floor. Glass shattered, scattering like my pathetic illusions. Next went the crystal decanter he had gifted me. Tears of pure, venomous rage spilled down my cheeks as I destroyed every trace of him.

Damien stood by the door, a silent, lethal shadow watching my breakdown. When I finally slumped against the wall, gasping for air, he moved. In two strides, he pinned me against the wall, his massive frame caging me in. He didn't wipe my tears; he lowered his head and captured them with his lips, the kiss tasting of salt and brutal punishment.

"This is the last time you shed a tear for a Falcone," he commanded, his voice a dark, absolute rumble. "From now on, your tears belong to me."

I shoved at his chest, my voice cracking. "I will never love you!"

"Love is irrelevant, principessa(princess)," he murmured, his grip tightening on my waist. "The man who possesses your body and soul is me."

My Blanchard pride flared. I screamed, driving my heel toward his shin. He didn't even flinch. With humiliating ease, he caught my leg, his large hand gripping my thigh, and hoisted me over his broad shoulder like a sack of flour.

I thrashed, pounding my fists against his solid back. "Put me down, you savage monster!" I shrieked.

He dumped me onto the velvet sofa. Before I could scramble away, he leaned over me, his face inches from mine, his eyes burning with dark intent. "A monster you woke up, tesoro(treasure)," he whispered, the threat wrapping around me like a physical weight. "Now, you have to learn how to feed it."

He didn't give me time to recover. Minutes later, I was dragged out of my sanctuary and shoved into the passenger seat of his armored G-Wagon, heading toward Moretti Tower.

The silence in the cabin was deafening. Desperate to claw back some power, I grabbed a sleek black box I had snatched from the entryway table-a custom silk shirt meant for Julian. I threw it onto Damien's lap.

Damien opened the box. A cold, terrifying smirk touched his lips. He didn't try it on. Instead, his large, calloused hands gripped the collar, and with a sickening rip, he tore the expensive fabric completely in half.

"You will learn my sizes, Isabella," he ordered, tossing the shreds aside. "From my shirts down to my briefs. Because you are Mrs. Moretti now."

I flushed hotly but lifted my chin, using the only weapon I had left. "What good are perfect sizes with such rotten skills?"

The air in the cabin instantly froze. The veins on the back of his hands bulged as he gripped the steering wheel, his jaw ticking with lethal restraint.

The tension held until the G-Wagon descended into the cavernous, brightly lit underground garage of Moretti Tower. As he parked the beast of a car and opened his door to step out, I realized this was my last chance. I couldn't walk into his domain as a prisoner.

I clutched the marriage document in my lap and forced a sultry, yielding smile. I leaned across the console, my lips brushing his ear. I felt his muscles tense, a momentary lapse in his iron control.

Without hesitation, I drove my knee upward, hard, right into his groin.

Damien let out a harsh grunt, doubling over. In a flash, I snatched the keys from his loose grip, shoved his heavy frame the rest of the way out the open door, and scrambled into the driver's seat. I slammed the door and locked it, the engine roaring to life.

I rolled down the bulletproof window just enough to meet his furious, pain-laced gaze.

"This contract makes me Mrs. Moretti, but don't you forget... I am still Isabella Blanchard," I declared, my heart pounding against my ribs. "You may be my husband, but you are still my Soldier. Know your place!"

I slammed my foot on the gas, the tires screeching against the concrete as I tore out of his garage, leaving my new master in the rearview mirror.