Mafia king and demon, Noah Gabriel is everyone's fear, and the very mention of his name makes one shudder.
Everyone adores Isabella Rose Robinson, who is known as an angel, and she has her unique style of speaking.
After they meet, Noah forces her...
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Isabella's POV:
I woke up feeling the softness of an unfamiliar bed beneath me. The room smelled of tropical fruits, a stark contrast to the vanilla-scented familiarity of my own space. The colors around me were creamy and beige, completely different from the grey I was used to. My head throbbed, and I felt dizzy, my ears plugged as if they were still adjusting to the aftermath of the night.
The last thing I remembered was resting on Noah's rough chest, seeking comfort after the harrowing ordeal. I stood up, my legs feeling unsteady as I made my way out of the room. To my shock, I wasn't in a house. Instead, I found myself in an airplane. My eyes widened as I took in the luxurious interior—this wasn't the cramped space I was used to.
"Good morning," came Noah's rough voice from behind me.I spun around, my heart racing. "I need an explanation. Why am I here?" My voice rose at the end, betraying my panic. I felt like I was being kidnapped.
"No need to raise your voice," Noah's tone was low and husky, meant to intimidate, but I wasn't easily cowed.
"And what is secondly?" I interrupted him, unable to contain my anxiety. His annoyance was palpable.
"Sit down, and I'll explain," he said, gesturing to the seat opposite him.
I had no choice but to comply. I sat down, trying to steady my breathing as I faced him.
"Okay, so yesterday, after you fell asleep, we drove you to my mansion," he began.
Mansion. That word rang in my ears. Did that mean he was involved in something illicit, like a mafia? My imagination ran wild with thoughts of a dark, dramatic narrative straight out of a Wattpad story.
"Do you run a mafia?" I blurted out before he could continue.
"Let me finish," he said, clearly irritated.
I nodded, and he continued, "I placed you on my bed and went to my office. I received a threatening call from my father. He said if you didn't accompany me to the ball event, you'd be in danger."
I was left speechless, processing the gravity of what he was saying. Ball. Threat. Killed. This wasn't the romantic storyline I'd daydreamed about; this was real, and it was terrifying.
A heavy silence settled between us until I managed to stutter, "Where are we going?"
"What about my university, bakery, and medicine? And Ava?" My panic was escalating. "You can't just uproot my life like this."
"We're going to Italy," he replied, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Italy? I blinked, trying to comprehend. The thought of Italy was overwhelming. My father and I had always planned to visit Italy together someday. The dream seemed almost too surreal now."What's wrong?" Noah's confusion was apparent.
"You wouldn't understand," I muttered, lost in the memory of my father.
"What about my life in New York?" I asked desperately.
"You won't be there forever. Just for two weeks," he said nonchalantly.
Just two weeks. He made it sound so simple, but it wasn't. My life was in New York, and this sudden detour was more than I could handle.
A woman appeared then—strikingly beautiful with blonde hair and a stunning figure, dressed in a purple bodysuit with a white shirt underneath. She spoke to Noah, "We will land in 45 minutes, boss," and then left with a smirk.
Noah gestured towards the window. "If you want, you can look outside."I glanced outside and was greeted by the stunning landscape of Italy. The morning sky was clear, the beauty of the view momentarily distracting me from my distress.Returning to my seat, Noah was absorbed in his phone. "So, what's the plan?" I asked as he looked up at me.
"We'll pretend to be engaged, attend the ball together, and then you'll stay for another week or so before flying back to America," he said, his tone matter-of-factly.
"When is the ball event?" I asked.
"Next Tuesday," he replied.
"I'm not doing anything until you tell me who you really are," I said, my voice wavering.
"See, Isabella, I don't have much patience. Don't test my anger; you won't like it," he warned. His voice sent shivers down my spine, but I wasn't backing down.
"Or else?" I challenged, though my fear was palpable.
He was about to answer when the pilot's voice came over the intercom, announcing our imminent landing. Noah stood up, coming closer to me. He fastened my seatbelt with a touch that made my breath catch. His face was inches from mine, his gaze intense. "You're safe," he said softly before retreating to his own seat.
The plane touched down smoothly, and we disembarked. Outside, a black Range Rover waited. A man in a sharp suit opened the door for us. Noah entered first, and I followed, feeling the cold weight of my situation.
The driver, speaking in heavily accented English, asked, "Should I go to the mansion or company, sir?"
"Per fare colazione, ormai deve aver avuto fame," Noah replied in Italian. I didn't understand the words, but the message was clear: breakfast was on the agenda.
As the car drove away from the airport, I took in the beautiful scenery of Italy, trying to come to terms with the whirlwind of events that had landed me in this surreal situation.
