Isabella POV

"I am not defying you, Don Luciano," I said, keeping my voice steady despite the terrifying weight of his glare. "I am protecting the honor of your original decree."

Luciano’s eyes narrowed, a silent warning that I was treading on thin ice.

"Leo Gallo intends to parade his mistress, Angelica Russo, as the true head of his household," I continued, the words tasting like ash but necessary for my survival. "He plans to publicly dishonor me, and by extension, the Don who arranged the union. To marry him now would be a stain on both the Falcone and Moretti names. Marrying your eldest son—a man of true royal blood—is the only way to salvage that honor."

"Luciano, please," Gabriella Moretti suddenly spoke, her voice trembling with a mother's fierce desperation. She stepped forward, her hands clasped. "She is offering Damien a loyal wife. A chance to rebuild. The other families whisper that our son is a lost cause. Let this girl prove them wrong."

The Don stared at his wife, his jaw clenching at her emotional outburst, before his cold, calculating gaze snapped back to me. He saw the political advantage instantly. By tying the last Falcone to his crippled son, he secured my family's lucrative Brooklyn docks without rewarding the arrogant Leo Gallo.

"You wish to tie your fate to a useless man, Isabella?" Luciano sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Fine. The decree is made. You will marry Damien. But know this—when you drown in the mess you have chosen, do not expect me to mourn at your funeral."

"Thank you, Don Luciano," I murmured, bowing my head to hide the dangerous spark of triumph in my eyes.

By the time I returned to the Falcone estate, the rain had stopped, leaving behind a bitter, biting chill. The moment I stepped into the overgrown courtyard, I knew something was wrong.

Guido, the loyal old Soldier who had served my father for decades, was pacing the cobblestones, his hand resting dangerously on the grip of his holstered pistol. Beside him, Chelsea was wringing her apron, her face flushed with indignation.

At their feet sat two small crates wrapped in cheap, gaudy pink silk.

"What is this?" I asked, my blood running cold.

"A gift from Mrs. Gallo," Guido spat, his voice shaking with raw fury. "A mistress's dowry. They sent it to mock you, *Signorina*. To tell the world that a Falcone without a powerful husband is nothing but a whore. Give me the word, and I will go to their townhouse and demand satisfaction in blood."

I stared at the pathetic pink silk. The Gallos thought I was broken. They thought I was a powerless orphan they could humiliate before stealing my inheritance.

"No, Guido," I said, my voice eerily calm.

"But *Signorina*—"

"Take them inside and store them," I ordered, my eyes locking onto the old Soldier's. "On the day Leo Gallo marries his precious Angelica, we will have these crates returned to them. Delivered by a brass band, for all of New York's Five Families to see."

Guido paused, the anger in his eyes slowly shifting into a dark, understanding respect. He nodded once and picked up the crates.

I walked past them and entered the shadowed study. Luca was still curled in the leather armchair beneath our father's portrait. I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the hardest part of my plan.

"In ten days," I announced to the room, "I am marrying Damien Moretti."

Chelsea gasped, dropping the silver tray she had been holding. Luca let out a terrified sob and scrambled toward me, burying his face in my skirt.

"No, Bella! Please!" Luca cried, his small frame shaking. "He's a monster! They say he's going to die!"

I dropped to my knees, ignoring the dampness of my dress, and took his face in my hands. "Listen to me, *mio piccolo leone* (my little lion)," I whispered fiercely, forcing him to look into my eyes. "I will not die. I swear it on our parents' graves. I will live, and I will thrive, and I will hold our enemies at bay until you are old enough to take your rightful place as the head of this family."

I stood up and turned to Guido and Chelsea. "Until the Don makes the announcement, absolute Omertà. If the Gallos learn I am taking the docks to the Morettis, they will try to slaughter us before the wedding."

I smoothed down my mourning dress, my mind already calculating the next move. "Tomorrow, we go to the tailor shop on Fifth Avenue. Luca needs a new suit for the wedding, and we must show the city that the Falcones are not hiding in the shadows."

Isabella POV

The scent of cedar and rich wool in the Fifth Avenue tailor shop was a stark contrast to the decaying dampness of my family's estate. I held a swatch of navy blue cashmere against Luca’s small shoulders. He looked up at me, his dark eyes wide, trying so hard to be the brave man of the house I needed him to be.

Looking at his innocent face, my mind slipped into the dark, suffocating abyss of my past-life memories. I knew exactly what had transpired last night in the stuffy, over-decorated living room of the Gallo townhouse. I could almost smell Mrs. Gallo’s cloying perfume and the stale cigar smoke.

They had feasted on the idea of the Falcone legacy like starving vultures. Old Man Gallo had salivated over my mother’s $100,000 trust fund and her rare diamonds, while his wife gleefully suggested using Luca as a hostage to keep me obedient. And Leo? He had sat there, indifferent to my existence, caring only about claiming my father’s Brooklyn docks to pay off his massive gambling debts and secure his Caporegime status. His plan was to lock me away in a gilded cage while he elevated his mistress, Angelica Russo, to rule his home.

That was why I had to strike first.

I glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the shop. It was just past noon. Right now, across the bridge in Brooklyn, the Gallos were throwing a lavish party at their Social Club. They had gathered their Soldiers and Associates, foolishly expecting Don Luciano to publicly reward them with my family's territory.

But I knew the Don's cruel sense of humor. His loyal butler, Donny, would be arriving right about now, not with deeds or cash, but with two small boxes. For Leo, a Bible and silver cutlery engraved with the words *Loyalty* and *Humility*. For Angelica, a heavy antique book on female chastity. It was a public execution of their pride—a lethal warning from the Don that their greed had overstepped his command.

The bell above the tailor shop door didn't just ring; it violently chimed as the heavy glass door was shoved open. The roar of a red Duesenberg engine echoed from the street outside.

"Isabella Falcone!"

The scream shattered the elegant quiet of the shop. I turned slowly, dropping the cashmere swatch.

Leo Gallo stood in the doorway, his tailored suit rumpled, his face flushed with a manic, humiliated rage. Angelica Russo hovered just behind him, her usually composed features tight with barely concealed fury.

Luca flinched, but before I could push him behind me, my brave six-year-old brother stepped forward, spreading his small arms wide to shield me from the man who was supposed to be my husband.

Leo didn't even look at the boy. He closed the distance between us in three long strides, his hand shooting out to wrap around my wrist in a bruising, vicious grip.

"You vicious *puttana* (whore)," Leo spat, his voice trembling with a wrath that bordered on madness. "You think you're clever? You think you can spread your legs for the Don to steal my territory and humiliate me in front of my own men?"

I didn't flinch. I didn't pull away. I simply stared into the eyes of the man who had once planned to destroy my family, letting the ice in my veins freeze the air between us.

Isabella POV

Leo's grip tightened on my wrist, his nails digging into my skin. "You vicious *puttana* (whore)," he repeated, his breath reeking of stale liquor and wounded pride.

I looked down at his trembling hand, then up into his bloodshot eyes. I didn't flinch. "The Don didn't humiliate you because of me, Leo," I said, my voice a deadly calm. "He humiliated you because you are incompetent. You lost the docks the moment you thought you could outsmart Luciano Moretti."

Leo raised his free hand, his face twisting into a violent snarl. Luca let out a sharp breath, pressing his small body harder against my legs, his tiny arms still stretched out to protect me.

"Leo, enough!" Angelica’s sharp voice cut through the tension. She stepped forward, her manicured hands wrapping around his raised arm. "Not in public. You are making a spectacle of the Gallo name."

Leo hesitated, his chest heaving, before shoving my arm away with a disgusted scoff.

Angelica smoothed her pristine skirt and turned to me. Her eyes gleamed with a predatory, calculating light that completely betrayed her peacemaker act. "We are willing to be reasonable, Isabella," she said, her tone dripping with fake pity. "To compensate for the public embarrassment you've caused Leo today, we will assume control of the Brooklyn docks and your mother's trust fund. It is the least you owe him."

"She owes me everything," Leo spat, adjusting his lapels.

I watched them storm out of the shop, the heavy glass door slamming behind them. My pulse hammered, but not from fear. Angelica’s behavior was entirely contradictory. She had stopped Leo from hurting me, yet she was obsessively fixated on my family's assets. A woman as selfish as Angelica didn't care about Leo's bruised ego. She wanted something specific hidden within the Falcone legacy.

*

That night, the Falcone study was suffocatingly quiet. I bypassed the velvet boxes of my mother's diamonds and spread my father's shipping routes, warehouse deeds, and my mother's pharmaceutical contracts with the Rossi company across the mahogany desk.

I studied the documents until my eyes burned. What was Angelica looking for? A hidden smuggling route? A secret ledger detailing the Five Families' black-market trades?

The papers offered no immediate answers. But as I gathered the files and locked them inside my father's heavy iron safe, a cold certainty settled over me. Whatever secret lay buried in my family's empire, Angelica Russo would never touch it.

*

Enzo POV

The air in Damien Moretti’s room was a stagnant pool of whiskey, iodine, and despair. Heavy velvet curtains suffocated the moonlight, leaving the space in perpetual twilight.

I stood beside his wheelchair, a silent shadow fulfilling my duty. Damien sat motionless, his hollow eyes fixed on the dark wall. He looked like a corpse waiting for a casket, but he was still my Underboss.

My voice was a low, emotionless monotone as I delivered the day's report. I spoke of Don Luciano’s decree, the humiliating gifts delivered to the Gallo Social Club, and the confrontation on Fifth Avenue.

Damien didn't blink. He hadn't reacted to a single word in months.

"Leo Gallo cornered her in the tailor shop," I continued, keeping my posture rigid. "He was violent. But the boy, Luca Falcone, stood to protect his sister. He is six."

Silence stretched, heavy and absolute.

Then, a millimeter of movement. Damien’s index finger, resting on the armrest, twitched.

The sound that followed was like dry leaves scraping against stone—a voice destroyed by disuse and agony.

"Isabella..." Damien rasped, his chest rising with a shallow, painful breath. "Did she kneel?"

I stared at the man I had sworn my life to, feeling a strange, unfamiliar tightness in my chest.

"No, Underboss," I answered softly. "She never did."

In the suffocating darkness, the faintest ghost of a smile touched Damien Moretti’s lips.