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beautiful, and you have shown much courage." She reached past Isabella, grasped the ornate doorknob, and twisted it.
    Isabella had no choice. She entered the room slowly. Her heart was beating so loudly, she feared he might hear it. She tried not to look intimidated or stiff with anger. She needed to be humble. She repeated that to herself several times. She had to be humble, not speak her mind or allow her wayward tongue to run away with her. She couldn't afford to be the wild girl-child breaking every rule in her father's house, running free in the mountains when no one was looking, playing tricks on her beloved brother at every turn, continually earning her father's disapproving frown as he turned away from her in disappointment.
    She held tightly to her memories of her brother, Lucca. He had often aided her in her rebellious ways, her best friend and confidant despite their father's pleading that she act the part of a lady. She knew she would have been wed long before now if her father had had his way, sold to some older don to aid the war chest. Lucca wouldn't hear of it. Several times she had dressed as a boy and accompanied him on hunting expeditions. He had taught her to wield a sword and a stiletto, to ride as well as a man, even to swim in the cold waters of the rivers and lakes. Long after their father died, her brother had protected her, loved her, and watched over her. Even when they were desperate for money, he had never once thought of selling her to one of the many suitors. And she would never, ever abandon Lucca in his hour of need.
    Isabella lifted her chin. Lucca had taught her courage, and she wouldn't fail him now in her last, desperate attempt to save him. She moved into the darkened interior of the room. A fire blazed on the hearth, but it couldn't compete with the heavy draperies blocking out every vestige of light from the windows. She saw two high-backed chairs in front of the fire, but the room was huge, with high, vaulted ceilings and so many alcoves and archways an army could have been hiding. Even the blaze in the large fireplace had no hope of shedding light into the shadowy recesses.
    For a moment she thought herself alone as the heavy door swung closed, locking her in the room. Then she felt him. She knew it was he. The don. Mysterious. Aloof. She sensed him there in the darkness, the weight of his stare. Intense. Calculating. Burning. Afraid to cross the wide expanse of marble floor to one of the high-backed chairs, Isabella shivered in spite of her determination not to show her fear.
    Then she froze, standing perfectly still, her gaze riveted to the deepest shadows, a darkened alcove where she made out the shape of a man. He stood tall, and on his forearm perched a falcon, a raptor with a wicked beak and talons that could pierce, rend, and shred delicate skin. Its round, beady eyes were fixed on her intently. The bird stirred as if it might fly at her face, but the man spoke softly to it, his voice so low she couldn't make out the words. He stroked the falcon's neck and back, and it settled down, though it never took its gaze from Isabella.
    No matter how hard she tried to pierce the darkness to see the man clearly, she could not.
    When he turned slightly to touch the bird, he appeared to have long hair, swept back from his face and secured at the nape of his neck with a leather tie, yet it was still wild and shaggy, looking like a mane in disarray. But the cloak of darkness shielded most of him from her so that she couldn't tell what he truly looked like. His face was completely hidden, so she had no idea of his age or features. But as she continued to stare, the flames from the fireplace seemed to leap into his eyes, and for a moment she could see the reflection shimmering through the darkness.
    His eyes glowed a fiery red, and they were not human. Cold gripped her, and Isabella wanted to turn and run from the room.
    "You are Isabella Vernaducci," he said from the dark alcove. "Please be