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."

Isabella POV

The blade of my *stiletto* gleamed inches from Leo Gallo's chest. Enzo Romano stood beside me like a shadow of death, his mere presence paralyzing the Capo. Leo swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the Enforcer, but his wounded pride made him reckless.

"He started it!" Leo snarled, pointing a shaking finger at my six-year-old brother. "The little bastard was spreading lies about Angelica. I was just teaching him respect. He needs to learn his place."

Angelica stepped forward, her face a mask of fake concern. "Isabella, please," she sighed, playing the voice of reason. "Don't escalate a simple misunderstanding into a family war. Have the boy apologize, and we can forget this ever happened."

My blood boiled. I didn't lower my blade. But before I could speak, Luca stepped out from behind my skirt. His lip was bleeding, and his small suit was covered in dirt, but his posture was rigid, echoing the proud stance of our late father.

"I am not a liar!" Luca's high, clear voice rang across the manicured courtyard. He didn't cry. He stood tall, his dark eyes blazing. "I demand to see the Don! Let him decide who is lying!"

The silence that followed was deafening. Leo and Angelica paled instantly. In our world, taking a dispute to Don Luciano meant a death sentence for whoever was proven wrong. They knew they couldn't survive the Don's judgment.

Before Leo could formulate another lie, the heavy crunch of tires on gravel broke the tension. A black Cadillac had pulled up to the wrought-iron gates. Giovanni Valenti, the Moretti family *Consigliere*, stepped out. He leaned heavily on his silver-headed cane, but with his other hand, he was dragging his seven-year-old grandson, Leo Valenti, by the ear.

The air in the courtyard turned to ice. The Elder's presence demanded absolute submission.

Giovanni pushed his weeping grandson forward. "Speak," the old man commanded, his voice a low rumble of absolute authority.

Little Leo sniffled, avoiding Luca's eyes. "I... I said the bad things about Miss Angelica. And when Mr. Gallo came, I got scared and hid. I let Luca take the blame. I'm sorry."

Giovanni turned his piercing, ancient gaze to Leo Gallo. The Capo looked as if he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

"My grandson spoke the truth, perhaps... a little too loudly," Giovanni said, his tone polite but laced with lethal warning. "If you still feel wronged, by all means, take your complaint to the Don."

Leo Gallo's jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth would shatter. He lowered his head, utterly humiliated. "No, *Consigliere*. It was a misunderstanding."

Giovanni nodded once. He gave me a brief, unreadable look—a silent acknowledgment of my stance—before leading his grandson away.

The immediate threat was neutralized by the Elder's law. But as Leo Gallo and Angelica turned to leave, my eyes caught the torn fabric of Luca's jacket and the scraped, bleeding skin on his small shoulder. The *Consigliere* had delivered justice, but he hadn't delivered Vendetta.

I moved before they could take three steps. I blocked their path, my *stiletto* still gripped tightly in my hand.

"What more do you want, you bitch?" Leo snarled, though he instinctively took a step back.

I didn't answer. I looked at Luca's bleeding shoulder, then locked my eyes on Leo's tailored suit. With a flick of my wrist, the blade flashed.

Leo gasped as the razor-sharp steel sliced through his expensive wool jacket and bit deep into the flesh of his shoulder—the exact same spot, the exact same length as my brother's wound.

"This is for Luca," I whispered, my voice colder than the October wind. "A debt paid in blood."

Leo clutched his bleeding shoulder, his eyes wide with shock and pain. He couldn't comprehend that I had actually drawn his blood in broad daylight.

"You will pay for this, Falcone. I swear it," Leo hissed, stumbling away and leaning heavily on a terrified Angelica.

I stood my ground, wiping the blood from my blade. Let them plot. Let them rage. They had touched my blood, and I would not stop until their entire empire burned to ashes.