Isabella POV

The silence in Nonna Maria's sitting room was absolute. Kandi’s face remained a mottled, ugly plum, her mouth still working soundlessly like a dying fish. I didn't offer them another syllable. They simply weren't worth the breath.

With deliberate slowness, I looked down and smoothed an invisible wrinkle from my pale silk skirt, treating the mundane gesture with far more importance than the people sitting before me. Then, I turned my back on Nonna Maria—the ultimate disrespect in our world—and walked toward the heavy oak doors.

My spine was steel; my steps were measured and unhurried. Behind me, I could almost feel the shift in the room's atmosphere, the arrogant assumption settling back over them. They thought this was merely a woman's hysterical tantrum. They thought I would freeze in the cold reality of having nowhere to go, and eventually come crawling back to my golden cage. Let them enjoy their delusion. It would make their fall that much sweeter.

The moment the heavy doors of my private suite clicked shut behind me, Cressie’s composure shattered.

"Miss Isabella," she gasped, tears spilling over her pale cheeks as she wrung her hands. "What have you done? When Mr. Angelo becomes a Made Man... when he takes his seat in the Outfit, they will destroy you! You have no protection without the Riggs name!"

I walked past her panic, moving straight toward my vanity. "I am not leaving to become a target, Cressie. I am leaving to be free."

"Free?" Cressie choked out, her voice trembling. "There is no freedom for a Mafia wife. Only death or the Don's mercy."

"Exactly," I murmured. I reached for my velvet jewelry box, my fingers bypassing the diamonds my own money had bought, and pressed a hidden latch at the very bottom. A false panel clicked open.

I withdrew a heavy, cold piece of metal and held it up to the light. It was a tarnished bronze medallion, stamped with the fierce, unmistakable crest of a predatory eagle.

Cressie gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

"My mother, Sofia Cantrell, did not leave me defenseless," I said softly, my thumb tracing the sharp edges of the eagle's wings. "This is a Blood Chit. A life debt owed to the Cantrell bloodline by the Falcone family."

I felt a bitter sting in my chest. My mother had bled for this token, meant to be used to build an empire, and I was forced to use it to scrape a cheating rat off my shoe. But I pushed the disappointment down. Survival came first.

"I am going to the new King of Chicago," I told Cressie, my voice hardening into a vow. "I am going to Damien Falcone, and I am going to demand an Annulment."

Before Cressie could process the sheer magnitude of that name, a violent crash shattered the quiet of my sanctuary.

The heavy bedroom door was kicked open, slamming so hard against the wall that the plaster cracked. Angelo stood in the threshold, his chest heaving, his handsome face twisted into an ugly, feral mask of rage. He had clearly just rushed back from the streets; his overcoat was unbuttoned, his tie loosened and askew.

He didn't look at me as his wife. He looked at me as a subordinate who had dared to strike him.

"Isabella Vaughn!" he roared, the hatred in his voice vibrating through the floorboards.

Cressie let out a terrified whimper. Driven by blind loyalty, she threw her arms wide and stepped directly between me and her towering, furious master.

I didn't flinch. I reached out, my hand resting gently on Cressie’s trembling shoulder, and firmly pulled her behind me. I lifted my chin, letting the cold, dead calm in my eyes meet the violent inferno in his.

Isabella POV

Angelo’s chest heaved as he glared at me, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. I kept Cressie safely tucked behind my back, my posture perfectly straight, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.

"Is that your grand plan?" he spat, stepping further into my sanctuary, his heavy boots tracking street dirt onto the pristine Persian rug. "You think throwing the ledgers at my mother is going to bring me to my knees? You think you can embarrass me in front of the entire Chicago Outfit with a petty tantrum?"

He let out a harsh, ugly laugh, running a hand through his dark hair. "You merchant daughters are all the same. No sense of honor, just cheap calculations. You think you can hold my own family's money hostage to get your way?"

*His family's money?* The sheer audacity of his delusion almost made me laugh out loud. Every tailored silk thread on his back, every bribe that had paved his way to becoming a Made Man, was paid for by the Vaughn fortune. But I didn't waste my breath correcting him. I simply offered him a slow, chilling smile.

He took my silence as submission, his chest puffing out as he misread the room entirely. The last shred of guilt he might have harbored for breaking our vows vanished, replaced by the arrogant certainty of a tyrant.

"Listen to me, Isabella," he commanded, his tone shifting to a sickeningly patronizing drawl. "My union with Cecelia is happening. It is done. And if you even think about using your dirty little tricks to harm her, I will make you regret it."

He paced a few steps, acting the part of a benevolent king. "But I am not an unreasonable man. You have a head for numbers. I’ll allow you to remain as the Family's Advisor. You can continue managing the businesses you're so fond of. It’s the best arrangement for you. Let’s face it—without the Riggs name protecting you, you’re nothing but a target on the streets."

He actually believed he was doing me a favor. He thought my lack of a powerful mafia bloodline made me a desperate, clinging thing who would swallow his infidelity just to keep a roof over my head.

I looked at him, truly looked at the pathetic, arrogant man I had once sworn to obey, and let the ice in my veins freeze over my words.

"I refuse."

The words were quiet, but they cracked through the room like a gunshot. Angelo stopped pacing. His brow furrowed in genuine confusion, his arrogant mask slipping for a fraction of a second. "What did you say?"

"You're being hysterical," he muttered, shaking his head as if dealing with a stubborn child. "Think about what you're doing. You have nowhere else to go. This arrangement—"

"Let's get an Annulment, Angelo," I cut in, my voice devoid of any emotion. "There's nothing more to say."

For a second, absolute silence reigned. Then, Angelo threw his head back and barked out a loud, mocking laugh. It echoed off the high ceilings, harsh and grating.

"An Annulment?" he sneered, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. "You think you can just walk up to the Don and demand an Annulment because you're jealous? You'll make a fool of yourself, Isabella. They'll brand you a crazy, bitter woman. You have no grounds, no proof, and no power."

He took a step closer, trying to use his sheer size to intimidate me. But I didn't shrink back. I held my ground, my fingers lightly brushing the hidden pocket of my skirt where the heavy bronze Blood Chit rested.

"You should be more concerned with what the Don calls a man who breaks a Blood Vow," I said, my voice dropping to a lethal, silken whisper. "They have a word for that, Angelo."

I paused, letting my eyes lock onto his, ensuring he saw the absolute void where my wifely devotion used to be.

"Rat."

His jaw tightened, a flash of pure indignation crossing his handsome features. Before he could formulate another insult, I turned my back on him, walking slowly toward the large bay windows overlooking the estate.

Angelo POV

Isabella's back was to me, her slender frame silhouetted against the large bay windows. The word *Rat* hung in the dead air of the suite, a venomous little thing that should have enraged me. Instead, the sheer, unadulterated absurdity of her threat washed over me, replacing my anger with cold amusement.

An annulment? Because of a bruised ego?

I let out a harsh bark of laughter, shaking my head at her rigid spine. "You're delusional, Isabella," I said, my voice dripping with the kind of pity one reserves for a mad dog. "You think the Don cares about the tears of a merchant's daughter? Without the Riggs name, you are a lamb in a city of wolves. Your own father would sell you to the highest bidder before the ink on your little annulment even dried."

I adjusted my cuffs, feeling the satisfying, heavy weight of my own authority settle back over my shoulders. She was throwing a tantrum, using the only weapon she thought she had—empty threats.

"I'll leave you to your hysterics," I declared, my tone final. "Take a few days to cool off. Think about your position, and remember who keeps a roof over your head."

I turned on my heel and strode out of the room, completely ignoring the murderous glare of her little maid, Cressie. I had won. The queen had tried to play a pawn's game, and I had effortlessly put her in check.

My blood hummed with victory as I descended the grand staircase. It was time to stop indulging my wife's jealousy and start solidifying my real future. I pushed open the heavy oak doors to my mother's sitting room. The cloying scent of her cheap floral perfume hit me instantly, masking the stale, suffocating air of the overly decorated space.

Carlene looked up from her teacup, her eyes wide and frantic. "Angelo? What happened? Did you fix it?"

"It's handled," I announced smoothly, walking over to the crystal decanter and pouring myself a generous glass of bourbon. "She's throwing a fit, but she'll fall in line. She has no other choice. Now, onto more important matters."

I took a sip, the amber liquid burning pleasantly down my throat. "We need to officially announce my union with Cecelia. I want the biggest engagement party Chicago has ever seen. Book the grand ballroom at The Drake. Hire that jazz band from New York everyone is talking about, and make sure the menu is strictly top-tier French cuisine. I want the entire Outfit to know that the Riggs family is untouchable."

I expected my mother to beam with pride, to immediately start making lists. Instead, the color drained from her face so fast she looked like a freshly embalmed corpse. Her teacup rattled violently against the porcelain saucer.

"Angelo..." she whispered, her voice trembling so badly I could barely hear her. "How... how do you plan to pay for all of this?"

I frowned, profoundly irritated by her sudden lack of vision. "What kind of question is that? With the family accounts, obviously. Isabella's dowry put four hundred thousand dollars into the communal trust. That's more than enough to cover a party at The Drake and secure my new position within the Family."

I ran a hand through my hair, pacing the ugly floral rug. "I've already drained my personal funds greasing palms to get the Pearsons on board. It's time the family money did its job."

Carlene shrank back into her armchair, her hands shaking so violently she had to put the tea down. She looked terrified, not of the Outfit, but of me.

"Angelo," she choked out, her voice dropping to a pathetic, reedy whisper. "The communal account... there's only three thousand dollars left."

The glass of bourbon slipped from my fingers, shattering against the hardwood floor. The amber liquid bled into the rug, but I couldn't feel my hands. The world simply stopped spinning.

"What did you just say?"