Chapter 3

Isabella POV

The heavy oak doors of the Griffin Estate study slammed shut behind me, sealing me inside with the suffocating scent of stale cigars and my father's silent despair. I had barely taken off my coat after returning from Holy Trinity Cathedral when the summons came.

"Sit down, Bella," my father, Richard, muttered, staring blankly at his empty crystal glass.

My mother, Catherine, stood by the unlit fireplace, her posture rigid and her face devoid of its usual warmth. "Tomorrow morning, you and Francesca are getting married."

I froze, a nervous, breathless laugh escaping my lips. "Married? To whom?"

"The Moretti brothers," my father said, his voice hollow. "Frankie will marry Damien. And you will marry Leo."

The room spun violently. *Leo Moretti.* The degenerate. The notorious playboy who practically lived in Chicago's most depraved underground clubs.

"No," I gasped, backing away toward the door. "No! You can't do this! I won't marry that disgusting pig! I'll run away!"

"Run where?" Catherine snapped, her voice cracking like a whip. She crossed the room, her perfectly manicured fingers digging brutally into my shoulders. "Wake up, Isabella! The Griffin empire is crumbling. The Kramer family is circling us like vultures. Do you think your pink Bentley and your trust fund will magically protect you? Without the Moretti alliance, you will have absolutely nothing. You won't be a princess; you'll be a plaything for our enemies."

Tears blurred my vision, hot and humiliating. I looked at my father, begging for him to intervene, to protect me like he always did, but he couldn't even meet my eyes. They were selling me. I wasn't a beloved daughter anymore; I was a piece of collateral.

"Frankie will be with you," my mother added, her tone softening just a fraction, though her grip remained iron-tight. "You won't be alone in that house."

A sob tore from my throat. The only tiny mercy in this nightmare was my sister. Defeated by the terrifying reality of poverty and the monsters waiting outside our gates, I let my head drop. I had no choice.

*

Damien POV

The heavy, metallic taste of the chemical sedative still coated my tongue when I opened my eyes. The air was freezing, thick with the scent of damp earth, mold, and aging oak. The Moretti wine cellar.

"I'm going to kill them," a voice snarled from the shadows.

Leo paced like a caged animal between the racks of priceless vintages, his tuxedo jacket torn, his knuckles bruised and bleeding. He had clearly put up a fight when they dragged him from whatever club he'd been wasting his night in.

"We shoot our way out," Leo demanded, turning to me with wild eyes. "I am not marrying that spoiled Griffin brat."

I pushed myself up from the cold stone floor, my muscles heavy and uncoordinated. "Stand down, Leo."

"Damien, they locked us in a fucking cellar!"

"By the order of the Matriarch," I said, my voice a low, dangerous rasp that demanded immediate submission. "Elena invoked the Old Law. The Enforcers are loyal to the tradition. If we fight our way out tonight, we start a civil war within the *Famiglia*. I will not burn my own empire to the ground over two ruined women."

Leo dragged a hand through his messy hair, panic bleeding into his anger. "So what? We just roll over? I'm not being shackled to a wife."

"We play the game," I said coldly, leaning against the stone wall as my mind rapidly calculated our exit strategy. "We stand at the altar tomorrow. We say the vows. But we do not touch them."

Leo stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing in the dim, flickering candlelight.

"The marriages will be *non consummatum*," I explained, the plan solidifying in my mind with ruthless clarity. "We give Elena her public alliance to stabilize the territory. But behind closed doors, the girls remain untouched. When the time is right, and our power is absolute, we file for annulment. We send them away without a scratch, and the Old Law cannot bind us."

Leo let out a harsh breath, a dark, cynical smirk slowly forming on his face. "A sham marriage."

"Exactly." I adjusted my cuffs, the lingering effects of the drug completely replaced by a cold, calculated fury. The Griffin sisters thought they were securing their survival tomorrow. They had no idea their marriages were dead before they even began.