Five women had died, two of whom committed suicide rather than be married to him, a monster or a beast. Both nicknames followed him everywhere, and he’d earned those titles. He’d decided against marriage. There were whores out there to satisfy his needs, and well, at the time he didn’t need to worry about an heir.
Of course, all his life, he’d been ordered to pay attention, to consider an heir, a male who would need to be trained. His father’s demands were increasing, day by day, driving him mad with it.
He watched Isabella now, her cold glare sending every single male off who dared try to talk to her. The ice queen. He smiled.
Her father had shown him the tapes of her training, of exactly what she was capable of. The men here had no idea of the killing machine standing in a simple black designer dress and killer heels.
She didn’t have his body count, but her father had put her on his radar. Isabella was a beautiful woman. Long raven hair, soft pale skin, ocean-blue eyes. Her nose wasn’t perfect, from being broken. He’d been made aware she had a nasty fall during training that had snapped it. He believed one of her sparring lessons had gotten out of hand.
Watching her now, those curves… Some might say she was fat, but not him. The black dress didn’t hide those hips, the shape of her ass, or the full tits. He wanted her.
In fact, ever since her father had shown him every little detail, he’d found his obsession with her rivaled everything else going on in his life.
He wanted her. Simple as that.
The only way to have her was to put a ring on her finger. The minutes ticked by, turning into hours. One by one, people left, and he allowed himself to walk through the shadows, going undetected.
Even though he was large and tall, he’d learned the trick of hiding. It had saved his neck so many times, it was like second nature.
With the door finally shut, he watched her shoulders slump. Randy took a step toward her.
“No,” she said. Her voice sounding a little broken.
“Bella … don’t cry, please.”
“I’m not going to cry. I just need some time alone. You know they won’t give me what I need.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going to the gym. I’ll be there if you need me.”
“If you don’t pick a husband, they’ll try to take all of this from you,” Randy said. “Your father warned you.”
She stopped and he watched as she took a deep breath and shook her head. “I will pick a husband when I’m good and ready. No one is taking this from me, and if they think just because I’m a woman, they can, let them try. I’ll show them who they’re really dealing with.”
His cock hardened.
She was a fierce warrior.
Her spine ramrod straight, she made her way down the long hall, going toward the gym. This time, he stepped out of the darkness.
Randy went for his gun and stopped. “It’s you.”
“You need to take more care in protecting her.”
“I do what I can. Why are you still here?”
“You know why.”
“Does this mean you’ve accepted Drago’s offer?”
“I accepted his offer but I wonder if his daughter will agree.”
“Be careful, she’s … she’s hurting and when that happens, she tends to deal more in pain,” Randy said.
“You’re not going to take care of it?”
Randy shook his head. “I’ve caused that woman enough pain in the past ten years. Not tonight.”
Damon watched as Randy left.
Alone in Drago’s house, he could go hunting for all the necessary blackmail material he could use to put the Romano name on top and to keep Isabella down. Instead, he went in search of the woman.
He shouldn’t care what she was getting up to, or who she was hurting, but he wanted to.
Keeping to the shadows, he watched as she attacked a punching bag. She’d removed her dress and was now in a long pair of tight shorts and a sports bra.
He needed to get himself under control.
As he watched her, he saw her power. There was too much space between them, and he wanted to get closer.
She yelled, attacking the bag again, screaming her agony. He reached out to touch her and she spun around, landing a kick to his stomach and sending him back.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I came to admire your technique,” he said, getting to his feet.
She stood, hands clenched into fists, panting. Perspiration dotted her brow and her eyes were red, but there was no sign of tears. Isabella was the epitome of control.
“You don’t belong here. This is my house.”
“You see, your father believed you needed someone like me to help you out.”
“I don’t need you. I don’t need any man.”
He removed his jacket, rolling up his sleeves.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m getting ready. It’s fine hitting a punching bag, but how about someone who will fight back?”
“I’m not fighting you.” She turned her back on him and resumed hitting the bag.
He rolled his eyes and this time, she didn’t fight him as he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up. He pressed her to the ground, grabbed her hands, and locked them above her head.
“But I want to fight you.”
“Get off me.”
He tutted. “Your father told me he taught you better than that.”
“You don’t know the first thing about my father. Get off me.”
“No.” He kept her trapped with one hand. With the other, he stroked a finger down her cheek. “I’m a little disappointed.”
She somehow managed to wriggle her legs out, and she slammed her foot against his thigh. It was enough to get her free. This time, she wrapped her fingers around his neck, pushing him to the mat, straddling his waist.
He had no problem with her pussy being directly over his dick. Grabbing her hips, he held her still.
“Stop it.”
“No. Be careful with the men you play with, Isabella.” He pushed against her so she’d know exactly what she was doing to him.
She slapped him around the face and pulled away. He let her go.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“Tomorrow morning, meet me at a café.” He gave her the name of a private place.
“And why would I come to see you?”
“So we can talk about our wedding and dealing with everything that has been handed to you today.”
“I’m not marrying you.” She put her hands on her hips and stared at him, almost defiantly.
“You think they’re going to let you run things? Even if you were to take a place at the meetings, you’re a woman. I imagine they’d plot your death within a matter of days.”
“I can do this,” she said. “It’s what I’ve been trained to do.”
“I know everything, Isabella, you can trust me.”
“I trust no man.”
“Yet, you trust your bastard outcast bodyguard upstairs and he let me come down here. I’m not the enemy. Don’t treat me like one or you’re going to get yourself killed. A lot of people will want you dead.”
“You really expect me to believe you’re not like the other men? You don’t want me out of the way?”