Married to a Ruthless Mafia Lord

Isabella's fingers trembled as she stared down at the intricate lace veil draped over her lap, ivory silk that looked delicate enough to dissolve at her touch. She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on her, of the decision she hadn't made for herself. Today wasn't supposed to feel like this. It was supposed to be joyous, shared with someone who'd chosen her, someone who'd loved her. But instead, she was preparing to become Mrs. Isabella DeLuca, not out of love, but out of obligation.

Her stomach tightened. The DeLuca family was famous throughout Manila, known for their wealth and influence, their pristine public image masking the infamous underworld ties whispered about in shadowy circles. And Rafael DeLuca, her soon-to-be husband, was both feared and revered, the kind of man who could make or break empires with a single command.

"Isabella, you're not even dressed yet," Clara's voice broke into her thoughts, grounding her. Her best friend stood in the doorway, watching her with a concerned frown.

Isabella managed a shaky smile. "I was just...thinking."

Clara crossed her arms. "You're scared, aren't you?"

Isabella glanced away, biting her lip. "Wouldn't you be?" she whispered. "I don't even know him, Clara. And he-he thinks I'm just after his family's wealth. That's all he sees when he looks at me."

Clara's eyes softened, and she crossed the room, kneeling beside Isabella. "Then show him who you are. Make him see past his assumptions. You're stronger than he thinks, Bella. You know that."

Isabella let Clara's words sink in, gathering a spark of courage. Yet, just as quickly, she felt it wane under the crushing weight of reality. "I just don't know if he'll ever look at me like...like I matter."

Before Clara could respond, a firm knock echoed through the room. Both women turned, and Isabella's breath hitched as she caught sight of Rafael standing in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space, an unreadable expression on his face.

Rafael's gaze was cold, piercing as his dark eyes scanned over her. He looked every inch the powerful, untouchable man she'd heard rumors about, his tailored suit molding to his lean frame. There was a subtle tension in his stance, as though he were holding back the force of his presence, keeping something volatile in check.

"Isabella," he said, his voice low and unyielding. "A moment alone, if you don't mind?"

Clara shot Isabella a concerned glance before slipping out of the room, leaving them in tense silence. Isabella could feel her pulse quicken, her nerves sharpening as she tried to steady herself.

"You're nervous," Rafael observed, his tone detached, almost clinical. His eyes flicked to the dress, then back to her, as if assessing her suitability as an accessory rather than a partner.

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as she could muster. "I think that's understandable, given that I'm marrying a stranger," she replied, forcing her voice to remain steady.

Rafael's mouth curved in a sardonic smile. "A stranger with a considerable fortune, one might add."

Isabella bristled, feeling the sting of his accusation. "I don't care about your money, Rafael. I agreed to this marriage because it was my family's wish. Not for whatever wealth or power your name carries."

He regarded her with a look of cool skepticism, one brow raised in silent challenge. "Is that so?" he murmured, taking a step closer. She could feel the intensity of his gaze bearing down on her, stripping away her defenses. "Then tell me, Isabella, what do you want from this marriage?"

She hesitated, searching for an answer that would convey the truth without making her vulnerable. But all she could muster was, "I just want a chance."

He tilted his head, his expression hardening. "A chance for what?"

"To prove to you that I'm more than whatever assumptions you've made about me," she replied, the words spilling out before she could second-guess herself.

Rafael's eyes narrowed slightly, his silence stretching on as he studied her. She felt the weight of his scrutiny, the way he seemed to probe for weaknesses, for anything that might confirm his suspicions. But then, just as quickly, he dismissed her with a slight nod, as though he'd already made up his mind.

"Fine," he said curtly. "But let's get one thing straight, Isabella. This marriage is a formality. My grandfather wished for it, and I'll honor his request, but beyond that-there's nothing between us."

Her heart sank at the cold finality in his tone, but she fought to keep her composure. "I understand."

"Do you?" he challenged, his voice laced with quiet menace. "Because if you ever try to interfere with my life or make demands, this arrangement will end before it begins. I don't have time for childish games."

Anger flared within her, and she clenched her fists, struggling to maintain her calm. "I don't intend to interfere with anything, Rafael. But I won't be treated like some kind of accessory either."

His lips curved into a mocking smile. "Good. Then we understand each other."

With that, he turned, leaving her standing there, her chest tight with a mixture of fury and disappointment. She took a steadying breath, her gaze hardening. She wouldn't let him break her spirit, no matter how he saw her. She would prove herself-not for his sake, but for her own.

The wedding ceremony was a blur. She barely registered the priest's words, barely felt Rafael's hand as he slid the ring onto her finger. The weight of the vows felt hollow, their words spoken in a language foreign to the emotions they were supposed to hold. And when Rafael's lips brushed hers in the lightest, most perfunctory kiss, it was as though he'd merely brushed his lips against stone.

At the reception, Rafael was distant, polite but detached, and Isabella felt like an outsider in her own marriage. She could feel the curious stares from guests, the whispered speculations about their match, the subtle glances at Rafael's first love, Alessa Santiago, who stood by the corner, her gaze lingering a little too long on Rafael.

Isabella couldn't help herself. She approached him, her expression guarded but determined. "Rafael," she said quietly, drawing his attention.

He looked at her, his brow arching in mild surprise. "Yes?"

"I...I thought maybe we could talk," she said, feeling awkward under his cool gaze.

"About what?" he asked, his tone almost bored.

She hesitated, her heart pounding. "About us. About...this marriage."

Rafael glanced around, ensuring they were out of earshot, then looked back at her, his expression unreadable. "There's nothing to discuss, Isabella. We made a commitment. I intend to keep it. That's all."

She felt a pang of frustration, a spark of anger igniting. "Is that really all you have to say?"

His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you expected, Isabella. A fairytale? Love at first sight? You knew what this was from the beginning."

She swallowed, feeling a flush of anger rise to her cheeks. "I don't expect love, Rafael. But I did hope for respect."

He laughed, a cold, humorless sound. "Respect? For what? For being my grandfather's choice? For following orders?"

Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment and anger, and she glared up at him. "You know nothing about me."

He leaned in, his voice a dangerous murmur. "And I have no intention of learning."

Isabella felt her heart shatter, but she met his gaze head-on. "Then perhaps you'll regret that one day," she said quietly, her voice laced with a courage she barely felt.

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes, a flash of surprise or perhaps respect, but it vanished as quickly as it had come. He straightened, his expression closing off once more. "If you'll excuse me, I have guests to attend to."

And with that, he walked away, leaving Isabella standing there, feeling as though she'd just been punched in the gut.

The weeks that followed were a silent battle. They were civil to each other, polite in public, and indifferent in private. Rafael spent most of his nights away from home, either in his office or out at events. Isabella busied herself with her work, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy, of control over her own life.

But it was Alessa's presence that gnawed at her the most, the way she lingered around Rafael, their shared history evident in every glance, every word exchanged between them. Isabella felt like an intruder, an outsider in her own marriage, watching as Rafael's attention drifted towards the woman he'd once loved.

One evening, when Rafael finally returned home, she mustered the courage to confront him. "I want to talk about Alessa."

He barely glanced at her, shrugging off his coat. "Why?"

"Because she's always around you. People are starting to talk, Rafael," she said, her tone sharper than intended.

He looked at her, his gaze cold. "What they talk about is none of my concern."

"But it's my concern," she retorted, her frustration boiling over. "I'm your wife, Rafael. Or did you forget?"

He smirked, an infuriatingly dismissive expression. "A title, Isabella.