Four Kings of Darkness

Isabella Hart POV

Four men stand before me like they stepped out of a dark fairy tale—each devastatingly handsome and absolutely terrifying. The air in the room shifts as they entered, like predators catching the scent of prey. My survival instincts scream at me to run, but there's nowhere to go.

The first man wheels himself forward in a custom wheelchair, but there's nothing weak about him. Marco Romano commands the room without saying a word. His dark eyes assess me like I'm a chess piece, calculating my value and potential moves. When he speaks, his voice carries absolute authority despite his disability.

"So you're the miracle worker Vincent promised us," Marco says, extending his hand toward me.

I stare at his outstretched palm. Every rational part of me knows I shouldn't touch him, shouldn't give them proof of what I can do. But Vincent's words echo in my mind: three weeks. Mom has three weeks.

The moment our skin touches, the world explodes into sensation.

Pain slams into me constant, burning agony that radiates from his spine through every nerve in his lower body. Three years of unrelenting torture that he's learned to hide behind calculated expressions and strategic thinking. But underneath the physical pain is something worse: rage at his limitations, determination to prove his worth despite his disability, and a loneliness so profound it takes my breath away.

Then something warm flows out of me, traveling down my arm and into his body. The pain doesn't disappear entirely, but it recedes like a tide going out. Marco's eyes widen in shock, and he stares down at his legs like he's seeing them for the first time in years.

"I can feel them," he whispers, voice cracking slightly. "Not much, but... tingling."

I try to pull my hand back, but his grip tightens. Not painful, but possessive.

"How long?" I ask quietly.

"Three years, two months, sixteen days." The precision tells me he's been counting every single one. "Sniper's bullet during a territory war."

The vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard. This isn't the calculating strategist Vincent described, this is a man trapped in his own body, leading a criminal empire while fighting battles no one else can see.

"Isabella." The second brother's voice cuts through the moment like silk over steel. "My turn."

Marco reluctantly releases my hand, and Dante steps forward. He's breathtakingly beautiful, the kind of face that probably breaks hearts and ruins lives. But his blue eyes are calculating, stripping away layers of my psyche like he's reading a book.

"Fear, curiosity, anger, and..." Dante circles me slowly, noting details that make my skin crawl. "Attraction. How delightfully complex you are."

When he takes my hand, I brace for pain like I felt from Marco. Instead, something far more invasive happens—he doesn't just touch me physically, he seems to reach into my mind. I feel him reading my thoughts and emotions with terrifying accuracy.

"You're thinking about your mother right now," he says softly. "Wondering if we're telling the truth about her condition, calculating whether you can trust anything we say. You're also wondering why Marco's touch felt... intimate."

I jerk my hand back. "Stay out of my head."

Dante's smile is razor-sharp. "I can't help what I sense, Isabella. Your emotions are written across your face, in your posture, in the way your pulse jumps when I speak." He leans closer. "You felt something when you healed Marco. Connection. Power. It excited you as much as it terrified you."

"Stop analyzing her like a lab rat," the third brother says quietly. His voice is rough, like he doesn't use it often. He's massive, easily six-foot-four, with the kind of build that comes from violence rather than gyms. Scars cross his hands and disappear under his shirt collar.

But when Luca Romano looks at me, his eyes are unexpectedly gentle.

"May I?" he asks, holding out his hand with careful politeness.

His touch is incredibly gentle for someone who could probably crush my skull without effort. The moment we connect, I'm flooded with something unexpected—not physical pain like Marco's, but emotional agony. Deep, crushing guilt over people he's hurt, a desperate need to protect those he cares about, and underneath it all, a tenderness he's afraid to show because gentleness is weakness in this world.

"You don't want to hurt anyone," I whisper, surprised.

"But I do," Luca says simply. "When they threaten my family. When they threaten people under my protection." His thumb brushes across my knuckles. "I won't let anyone hurt you, Isabella. Not even my own father."

The promise in his voice makes something inside my chest flutter dangerously.

The fourth brother bounces forward with barely contained energy. Nico grins at me like I'm the best present he's ever received, all manic enthusiasm and dangerous charm.

"Nico Romano," he says, practically vibrating with excitement. "And you, Isabella Hart, are way more interesting than Vincent led us to believe."

When he grabs my hand, I'm hit with a rush of adrenaline so intense it makes me dizzy. His need for speed, for danger, for anything that makes him feel alive. But underneath the reckless energy is something heartbreaking—a crushing need for approval from his older brothers, a desperate desire to prove he's not just the useless youngest son.

"You understand," he says, eyes lighting up. "The need to feel something real, something that cuts through all the bullshit pretending. You've been living half-alive, working yourself to death, and you didn't even know why until tonight."

He's not wrong, and that terrifies me.

Vincent watches this display with the satisfaction of someone whose plan is unfolding perfectly. "As you can see, each of my sons offers something unique. Marco's strategic mind, Dante's psychological insight, Luca's protection, Nico's... vitality." He settles back in his chair. "You'll have time to explore these connections while you work on healing Marco's condition. Eventually, you'll choose one as your husband."

"I'm not choosing anyone," I snap, finding my voice for the first time since they entered. "I'm not property to be bartered, and I'm not breeding stock for your supernatural genetics program."

The brothers exchange glances. Marco looks intrigued, Dante fascinated, Luca protective, and Nico excited by my defiance.

"You are whatever I decide you are," Vincent says coldly. His pleasant mask slips, revealing something predatory underneath. "Your cooperation ensures your mother receives treatment. Your rebellion ensures she dies alone and in agony."

He signals to his guards, who produce photographs from inside jackets. Recent pictures of my mother in her hospital bed, looking frail and so much worse than when I saw her three days ago. Tubes and monitors that weren't there before. The evidence of her rapid decline.

"Three weeks without the experimental treatment," Vincent continues. "Perhaps two if she has another episode like the one she suffered yesterday while asking the nurses why her daughter hadn't called."

The guilt hits me like a physical blow. Mom thinks I abandoned her.

"The choice, Isabella, is entirely yours," Vincent says. "Marry one of my sons, become part of this family, use your gifts in service to our interests, and your mother begins treatment tomorrow. Or maintain your principles while she suffers for them."

I look at each brother in turn. Marco, still staring at his legs with wonder and calculation. Dante, watching my psychological breakdown with scientific interest. Luca, whose protective instincts war with family loyalty. Nico, who radiates barely contained chaos but looks at me like I might be his salvation.

They're all dangerous. They're all criminals. And touching each of them felt like coming alive for the first time in my life.

But they're not the real enemy here.

I meet Vincent's pale eyes directly. "If I stay, I stay on my terms. And the first term is that I speak to my mother tonight, or this miracle worker becomes your worst nightmare."