Dangerous Love

Camilla's POV

Six moons had passed since my departure from the United States to Italy alongside Papa. The experience had been unbearable; Papa made me improve my combat skills each day, a sacrifice that now seemed useful.

While Camillo thrived in college with Ivy, excelling in football as he had promised Papa and I. The unavoidable day arrived sooner than anticipated—Papa had arranged a union for me.

I had no interest in marriage; I avoided relationships entirely, damaged by Dante's betrayal. The thought of being married off to a random, bald, older man with a stomach overshadowing his cranium disgusted me.

Regardless of my feelings, the inevitable was emerging—a pact struck with Papa upon my arrival in Italy. In Papa's office, we awaited the late arrival of the future groom. Papa glanced at his watch for the sixth time.

An hour had gone, and I was becoming so impatient. "Perhaps he won't come. If he does, inform him he wasted your time and call off the arrangement."

During my stay in Italy, I discovered the threatening side of Papa, a horror beyond the strict father dealing with Camillo. The citizens here were dangerous, often armed, and our residence was filled with armed guards—a stark contrast to our American abode.

"Princess, the man we are dealing with is difficult. Despite your irritation at his delay, comport yourself when he arrives. He is ruthless and won't hesitate to harm either of us."

"Why must I marry him?" I objected. "Is this the future you planned for me? A lunatic ending my life over ineffectively cooked eggs?"

Papa attempted to speak, but a guard's announcement interrupted. "Firmino is here!"

Papa adjusted himself, a level of dedication I had not witnessed before. I turned towards the entrance, prepared to confront the man to whom I am unintentionally committed to.

Contrary to Papa's descriptions, he strolled in confidently, perfectly dressed in all black, with silky hair neatly brushed. He appeared strangely younger than expected—no more than twenty-eight.

His physique showed attraction; muscles defined beneath his undershirt. His countenance, however, remained solemn, devoid of a hint of a smile. Upon reaching us, I extended my hand with a

courteous smile.

"Lucas, I presume. I am Camilla." I said.

He looked me up and down and then bypassed me, directing his attention to Papa. "Do you have it?"

A pang of rejection struck me. Papa laughed nervously, "Yes, sir, right here."

Attempting to hide the document, Lucas was not impressed by Papa's movement. "With all due respect, Mr. Firmino, I cannot surrender my title deeds without assurance of your commitment to marrying my daughter."

He glanced at me and then preceded, he sighed. "I will take her."

Anger took over me. Was I an object he could simply claim? "No! I refuse to marry him, Papa. He couldn't even arrive on time," I responded as he turned away.

Papa dismissed my objections, dismissing them as jokes. "I'm not marrying him."

Finally acknowledging me, Lucas approached me, his towering figure casting a shadow over mine. "You have no say. I will marry you to secure your father's title deeds," he stated harshly.

My fists clenched, and I sought Papa's involvement. "Will you allow him to talk to me this way?"

Ignoring my plea, Papa directed Lucas to take the documents, highlighting their significance. "Once wed, I expect her protection."

Papa reluctantly surrendered the papers. With a final glance, Lucas left the room, leaving me angry. "What was that!?" I demanded from Papa, who avoided eye contact.

"Papa, please," I pleaded, dropping to my knees. "He is already cruel to me. Did you witness his nonchalant attitude to me when I introduced myself?"

Papa's forceful hand on the table made me flinch. "You will wed him. End of discussion!"

2 weeks later

Things were moving fast. The wedding was scheduled for the upcoming week. Standing in front of a bridal shop, I held a simple note from him instructing me to try on my dress for the impending ceremony. His lack of communication irked me, especially after leaving me hanging the other day. He hadn't given me the opportunity to contribute to the wedding

planning.

Checking the back of the note for additional information, I hoped for a contact number or email, but it was blank. Frustrated, I sighed and decided to enter the bridal shop with a forced smile. I am Camilla Rocco, and I refuse to let my fiancé bring me down. Smiles are my usual demeanor, except when I'm genuinely angry. I hadn't even informed Camillo or anyone from my dance crew about my engagement.

"May I help you?" a polite worker asked as I entered. "Yes, I'm here to try on a dress. I'm Camilla Rocco."

She raised an eye