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.

Damien POV

The ghost of a smile felt entirely foreign on my ruined face.

*She never did.*

Isabella Falcone, a twenty-one-year-old girl with nothing left but a six-year-old brother and a blood-soaked legacy, had stared down a Capo and refused to bend. In the suffocating darkness of my room, her defiance was a blinding spark. But sparks were easily crushed by men like my father, or suffocated by cowards like Leo Gallo.

If my body finally gave out, Isabella and the boy would be devoured. My father would use her as a pawn, and the Gallos would slaughter them for the Brooklyn docks. I could not let that happen. I was her husband-to-be. I was still a Moretti.

"Enzo," I rasped, the sound tearing at my dry throat. "Paper. Pen."

Enzo moved silently, retrieving a heavy fountain pen and a sheet of parchment from the desk. He placed them on the tray across my lap.

My right hand was stiff, the muscles atrophied and trembling as I gripped the pen. Agony flared up my arm, but I forced my shattered nerves to obey. I wrote a *testamento* (will). It was a direct, undeniable order. If I died, Enzo was to immediately unlock my hidden Swiss accounts—two hundred thousand dollars the Don didn't know about—and mobilize my remaining loyal Soldiers. Their only mission: escort Isabella and Luca Falcone out of New York to a safe house in Europe, ensuring their absolute safety for the rest of their lives.

I finished the signature, my chest heaving from the exertion, and pushed the paper toward my Enforcer.

"My final Underboss command," I told him, my voice dropping to a lethal gravel.

Enzo took the paper. He didn't read it. He simply folded it and placed it over his heart. "I will defend this order with my life, Underboss."

I leaned back against the pillows, the darkness of the room no longer feeling like a grave. I was no longer just waiting to die. I was setting the board.

*

Isabella POV

The frantic phone call from my driver shattered the quiet of the following afternoon. I barely remembered the cab ride to St. Ignatius Academy. I burst through the wrought-iron gates of the school courtyard, my heart hammering violently against my ribs.

And then I saw him.

Leo Gallo. He had my six-year-old brother pinned to the cobblestones near the statue of the Virgin Mary. Luca’s lip was split, blood trickling down his pale forehead, but his dark eyes blazed with pure Falcone defiance.

"Tell them the truth, you little bastard!" Leo roared, his face purple with a manic, humiliated rage. He shook Luca by the collar. "Tell them your whore sister started the rumors! I am no *cornuto* (cuckold)!"

Angelica Russo stood a few feet away, her arms crossed, watching the assault with cold satisfaction. The rumors of her infidelity had already reached the Five Families, and Leo, too cowardly to confront the real threats, was taking his emasculation out on a child.

Luca spat a mixture of blood and saliva at Leo's polished shoes. "You are a coward who doesn't deserve honor."

Leo snapped. He reached into his tailored jacket and pulled a switchblade, pressing the steel toward Luca's small throat.

I screamed, sprinting across the manicured grass, but a shadow moved faster than I ever could.

Enzo Romano materialized like a demon from the ether. He didn't shout. He didn't hesitate. With a sickening crack, Enzo’s heavy boot connected with Leo’s wrist. The knife clattered across the stones as Enzo shoved the Capo backward, sending Leo crashing into the dirt.

I dropped to my knees, pulling Luca into my chest. He was shaking violently, his small hands gripping my coat, but he refused to cry. I kissed his bloody forehead, a lethal, freezing calm washing over my panic. Enzo stood between us and the Gallos, an immovable wall of black suit and silent violence.

I stood up, my hand slipping beneath the slit of my skirt to the thigh holster. The *stiletto* (dagger) slid free, the six-inch blade catching the late afternoon sun.

Leo scrambled backward, clutching his rapidly swelling wrist. "Isabella, be reasonable," he stammered, his bravado vanishing the moment he faced actual steel. "I was supposed to be your brother-in-law. The boy was disrespecting—"

"Shut your mouth," I cut him off, my voice dropping to an icy whisper that carried across the courtyard. I stepped around Enzo, the tip of my blade pointed directly at Leo's chest. "This is not over, Leo. This is a Vendetta. You touched my blood. I will burn your family to the ground."