1: The Debt of Flesh
Isabella’s POV
The moment I stepped into that underground club, I knew my life was over.
The air was thick with smoke and sin, the scent of whiskey and bloodlust curling through my senses like a slow, suffocating noose. Every inhale carried the weight of something dark, something dangerous. My heels clicked against the marble floor, a delicate, almost fragile sound in a place that pulsed with raw power. Men in tailored suits lined the booths, their hushed voices weaving deals made in blood and betrayal.
And at the center of it all sat him.
Luca Devereaux.
His presence was a force in itself—effortless yet undeniable. He didn’t have to command attention; he owned it. He lounged in an opulent leather chair, one arm draped over the back, a cigarette burning lazily between his fingers. The dim lighting cast sharp shadows over his inhumanly perfect features—chiseled cheekbones, a strong jawline, and silver eyes that gleamed with something darker than amusement.
He was beautiful in the way fire was—hypnotic, all-consuming, and destined to leave only destruction in its wake.
I swallowed hard, my pulse an uneven staccato against my ribs.
Beside me, my father trembled. His entire body quaked, a pathetic shell of the man I once knew. He was begging, voice cracking under the weight of his desperation.
“Please, Luca, just give me more time,” he whispered, his words barely audible over the soft hum of the club’s music. “I can get the money—”
Luca exhaled a slow breath before flicking his cigarette into an ashtray with practiced ease. His movements were controlled, effortless. A man who had never known uncertainty a day in his life. Then, he stood.
Every inch of him commanded submission.
He was dressed in a tailored black suit, the kind that was made to fit power, not just wealth. It clung to the sharp lines of his frame, refined but lethal. He didn’t need to raise his voice or lift a hand to strike fear. His presence alone was enough.
“You had time, Marco,” he murmured, slipping his hands into his pockets. “And now?” He tilted his head slightly, as if considering. “Now you have nothing left to gamble with.”
My father choked on a sob, his frail body curling inward. “Please—”
Luca’s gaze flicked to me.
And then, he smiled.
A slow, dark thing that sent a shiver down my spine.
“That’s not entirely true,” he murmured, stepping forward.
His fingers brushed my jaw, tilting my chin up, forcing me to meet his silver, predator’s eyes.
“He still has you.”
My breath hitched. The weight of those four words sent ice lacing through my veins.
“I’m not his to give,” I hissed, jerking my head away, but it was a lie, and we both knew it.
Luca chuckled, the sound rich and dark, like silk over steel. “A pretty sentiment, bella. But your father signed a contract, and now?” He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear, a cruel whisper of what was to come. “You belong to me.”
I shoved at his chest, fury and fear twisting inside me, but he didn’t move. He was unshakable, a wall of muscle and hunger that didn’t so much as flinch at my resistance.
“I won’t—”
“You will.” His voice was smooth, a velvet promise laced with something far more dangerous. His thumb dragged across my lower lip in a touch that felt more like a claim than a gesture.
Behind him, my father took a step forward, a broken man trying to grasp at the last fraying edges of hope.
“Please, she’s all I have left—”
Luca’s eyes darkened, the last glimmer of amusement vanishing like a candle snuffed in the wind. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have gambled her away.”
My father faltered. His lips parted, but no words came.
And then he turned.
Walked away.
Didn’t even look at me.
Coward.
A burning mix of anger and betrayal curled in my chest, but I forced myself to meet Luca’s gaze once more. “I’m not some piece of property for you to own.”
Luca’s smirk deepened, slow and deliberate.
“Everything in this world is owned by someone, dolcezza.” His hand slid lower, fingers curling around my throat—not squeezing, just resting there, feeling the frantic beat of my pulse beneath his palm. The intimacy of it made my skin prickle. “And you?” His voice dipped, rough silk against my nerves. “You’re mine now.”
I sucked in a sharp breath.
The proximity. The touch. The power radiating off him in waves. It suffocated and electrified me all at once.
I wanted to run.
I wanted to fight.
And worse, a dark, treacherous part of me wondered what it would feel like to lose.
No. No, I can’t let him win.
I dug my nails into his wrist, trying to pry his hand away, but it was like trying to bend iron. “I’d rather die.”
Luca chuckled, a low, sinful sound that sent heat curling through my stomach.
“Such fire,” he mused. “But I don’t kill beautiful things.”
Before I could snap at him, he moved.
Faster than human. A blur of darkness.
One second, I was standing. The next, I was caged.
His body pressed against mine, pinning me to the cold marble pillar behind me. I struggled, my hands pushing against his chest, but it was like fighting against a mountain.
“Let me go!” I spat.
Luca’s grip tightened—just slightly. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind me who was in control.
“Struggle all you want, bella.” His lips brushed the shell of my ear, the heat of his breath sending an involuntary shudder down my spine. “I enjoy it.”
I hated the way my body reacted to him. Hated the way my skin burned where he touched me.
His gaze flickered to my throat, where my pulse hammered violently beneath fragile skin.
His silver eyes darkened.
“You smell divine,” he murmured, voice lower now, rougher. “I wonder…”
He dipped his head, his breath fanning over my skin.
“…if you taste just as sweet.”
My heart stopped.
His lips barely grazed my throat—a whisper of contact, a cruel tease. But I felt the barest graze of something sharper against my skin.
No. No, no, no—
I gasped, panic clawing up my spine. “You wouldn’t—”
Luca chuckled.
And then—
Pain.
Pleasure.
Fire.
His fangs sank into my throat, and the world exploded.