Isabella POV

I woke up with a scream tearing through my throat, my lungs gasping for air as if I were drowning in the grey sludge of the Chicago River.

My hands flew to my stomach, clawing at the silk nightgown. I expected to feel the hollow ache, the scar tissue, the emptiness where my son had been ripped away by a butcher in a back alley. But there was no pain. My skin was smooth, taut, and unbroken.

"Isabella? Miss Isabella?"

The door to my room burst open, and a maid—Elyse—rushed in, her face pale with worry. Sunlight, bright and mocking, streamed through the window. It wasn't the grey, filtered light of my prison apartment. It was the golden, hopeful light of morning.

"I'm fine," I choked out, though my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. "Just a nightmare, Elyse. ".

But it wasn't. As Elyse retreated, casting a worried glance over her shoulder, the memories of the last ten years—no, the *next* ten years—assaulted me. The smell of antiseptic. The dust on the velvet chairs. The silence. And at the very end, as the darkness had swallowed me in 1935, there had been a presence.

A man.

He had been a shadow in the corner of my deathbed, smelling of rain and gunpowder. He hadn't spoken, but as my heart stopped, I had felt his hand on mine—rough, calloused, and trembling. He had wept. While Jaret Frazier was likely toasting to his freedom, this stranger had cried for the wasted life of Isabella Wilder.

*Who are you?* I had tried to ask, but death had taken my voice.

I threw off the covers and stumbled to the vanity mirror. The face staring back at me was nineteen. My cheeks were flushed with life, not gaunt with starvation. My eyes were bright, not dull with a decade of unshed tears.

I was alive. I was whole. And Jaret Frazier was still just my fiancé, not yet my jailer.

A cold, hard resolve settled in my chest, freezing the lingering terror. I would not be the bird in his gilded cage. I would not be the *amante*(mistress) hidden away while he played house with a Mafia Princess.

I walked to my jewelry box, my fingers brushing over the velvet lining until they found the cold metal of the lock. Inside lay the Wilder family heirlooms, the fortune Jaret was so desperate to control. I lifted a heavy necklace—a teardrop sapphire surrounded by a halo of diamonds. *The Heart of the Lake*.

It was beautiful. It was expensive. It was *esca*(bait).

"You want a fortune, Jaret?" I whispered to the empty room. "I'll give you a war."

*

An hour later, I descended the grand staircase of the Frazier residence, a mask of sweet innocence plastered onto my face. I found my aunt, Cathy Frazier, and her daughter, Bethany, in the main sitting room.

The room smelled of stale potpourri and ambition. Cathy was lounging on a chaise, flipping through a fashion magazine, while Bethany was aggressively buffing her nails. They were the gatekeepers of my social life, the women who would eventually help Jaret erase me from the world.

"Good morning, Aunt Cathy. Bethany," I said, my voice light and airy.

Cathy looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You're up late, Isabella. A lady shouldn't sleep past nine."

"I was preparing these," I said, holding out two velvet boxes. "I felt so terrible about my headache yesterday, missing dinner. I wanted to apologize."

Greed is a universal language, and the Fraziers spoke it fluently. Bethany snatched the smaller box, popping it open to reveal a delicate pearl bracelet. Her eyes went wide.

"Oh! It's genuine!" Bethany squealed, slipping it onto her wrist. She turned it in the light, admiring the shimmer. "This will look perfect at Alexandria's party tomorrow! It matches my new dress exactly!"

The room went dead silent.

Bethany froze, her hand hovering in the air. She looked at her mother, realizing her mistake.

My smile didn't waver, though inside, I was sharpening my knives. "Alexandria? You mean Alexandria Kane? Is she having a party?"

Cathy cleared her throat, closing her magazine with a sharp snap. She stood up, smoothing her skirt, her face composing itself into a mask of fake sympathy.

"Oh, darling," Cathy said, her voice dripping with poisonous honey. "We didn't want to upset you. The invitation... it was very specific. The Kanes are so exclusive, you know. They only invited the *Famiglia* members. Bethany was just saying she felt awful that you couldn't go."

It was a lie. A clumsy, pathetic lie. The Kanes were hosting a gala for Alexandria's sixteenth birthday, a debutante ball for the criminal underworld. Jaret needed to be there to court her. And I needed to be absent so he could look like a bachelor.

"I understand," I said softly, lowering my eyes to hide the gleam of triumph. "I wouldn't want to intrude where I'm not wanted."

*But I will be there,* I vowed silently.

I had forced their hand. They could no longer pretend the event didn't exist. The battlefield had been revealed, and thanks to Bethany's vanity, I knew exactly when the first shot would be fired.

"Well," Cathy said, dismissing me with a wave of her hand. "Since you're up, make yourself useful and tell the cook we'll need a light lunch. We have fittings this afternoon."

"Of course, Aunt Cathy."

I turned to leave, clutching the remaining jewelry box—the diamond earrings for Cathy—tightly in my hand. I didn't give them to her. Why waste good diamonds on a corpse?

As I walked into the hallway, the ghost of my future self whispered in my ear: *Burn them all, Isabella. Burn them before they bury you.*

Isabella POV

The invitation sat on the polished mahogany table like a declaration of war printed on heavy cream cardstock. The embossed crest of the Kane family—a roaring lion entangled in vines—shimmered under the chandelier's light, mocking me.

It was the following morning, and the air in the Frazier sitting room was thick with the scent of stale coffee and desperate ambition.

"It's addressed to the *Frazier Family*," Bethany said, tracing the gold lettering with a manicured fingernail. She looked up, her eyes gleaming with a hunger that made her pretty face look predatory. "That means me. Alexandria finally realizes that we belong in the inner circle."

I sat across from her, sipping tea that tasted like ash. "It means Jaret," I corrected softly, my voice devoid of the venom coursing through my veins. "The Kanes don't invite minor families to their private galas unless they want something. They want an alliance. They want Jaret for Alexandria."

Bethany’s smile faltered, replaced by a sneer. "You're just jealous, Isabella. You know you don't belong there. A merchant's daughter among the *Cosa Nostra* royalty? You'd be eaten alive."

"Perhaps," I murmured, lowering my gaze to hide the cold calculation in my eyes. "Or perhaps I just know that cattle don't usually celebrate when they're being taken to market."

"Watch your mouth," Aunt Cathy snapped from her chaise lounge, though she didn't look up from her ledger. "Bethany is right. You should be grateful we even let you stay in this house, considering your... mixed heritage."

I didn't flinch. I had heard these insults a thousand times in my past life. They used to make me cry. Now, they were just noise.

I shifted in my seat, deliberately letting the morning light catch the heavy sapphire resting against my collarbone. *The Heart of the Lake*. The deep blue stone, surrounded by a halo of blinding diamonds, flared with brilliance.

Bethany’s eyes snapped to my neck instantly. Her pupils dilated. Greed, pure and unadulterated, washed over her features.

"Is that... the Wilder heirloom?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"It is," I said, fingering the cold stone. "I thought I might wear it to dinner tonight. It feels heavy, though."

"It's magnificent," Bethany breathed. She looked from the necklace to the invitation, connecting the dots in her shallow mind. If she wore this to the gala, she wouldn't just be a guest; she would be a queen. She would outshine everyone, even the birthday girl.

"Let me wear it," she demanded, extending her hand. "For the gala. It matches my eyes better than yours."

I hesitated, feigning reluctance. I pulled the silk collar of my dress tighter. "I don't know, Bethany. This necklace is... very recognizable. My mother said it carries a history. It might attract too much attention."

"Attention is the point, you idiot," she spat. "Give it to me. Unless you want me to tell Jaret how ungrateful you've been lately."

I let out a shaky sigh, unclasping the heavy chain from my neck. The metal felt cool against my fingertips as I handed it over. "Fine. But please... be careful. Don't wear it outside the estate until the gala. A piece this famous... it could be dangerous."

It was the perfect bait. By warning her, I had ensured she would wear it with pride. She snatched the necklace, draping it over her own neck and rushing to the mirror, preening like a peacock unaware of the fox in the room.

"My freedom depends on it," I thought, the silent words echoing in the hollow chamber of my chest.

"I have a headache," I announced, standing up. "I'll be in my room."

Neither of them looked at me. They had what they wanted.

I walked out of the sitting room, my heels clicking softly on the marble floor. But I didn't go to the stairs. Instead, I slipped into the shadows of the hallway, pressing my back against the cool wall just outside the heavy oak door.

I waited.

For a moment, there was only the sound of Bethany giggling. Then, Cathy’s voice cut through the air, low and sharp.

"Stop playing with the jewelry, Bethany. Focus."

"But look at it, Mama! It's worth a fortune. Why does she get to keep it?"

"She won't keep it for long," Cathy said, her tone dripping with ice. "Once Jaret secures the engagement with Alexandria Kane, the Wilder fortune will be under our control. Isabella's father is too weak to stop us."

"But what about Isabella?" Bethany asked. "Jaret can't marry two women."

I held my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. This was it. The confirmation of my nightmare.

"He doesn't need to marry her," Cathy replied, her voice matter-of-fact, as if discussing the dinner menu. "Jaret will marry the Kane girl for power. But he'll keep Isabella as his mistress. We'll keep her here, hidden away. She's pretty enough to keep him entertained, and her dowry pays for our debts. It's the best of both worlds. We get the crown, and we keep the gold."

A chill that had nothing to do with the drafty hallway settled into my bones.

*mistress.* The word hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

In my past life, I had been too blind to see it. I had thought Jaret loved me. I had thought my aunt cared. But they were just vultures circling a dying animal, waiting to pick the bones clean.

They didn't just want to kill me; they wanted to erase me. They wanted to turn me into a ghost in my own life, a secret kept in the dark while they basked in the light of my stolen inheritance.

I stepped away from the door, my movements silent and precise. I didn't need to hear anymore. The sadness that had lingered since I woke up was gone, incinerated by the white-hot flames of rage.

They wanted a mistress? I would give them a monster.

I turned toward the stairs, my hand brushing against the velvet wallpaper. The necklace was in Bethany's hands. The trap was set. And now that I knew the depth of their depravity, I wouldn't hesitate to snap the jaws shut.

*Burn them,* the voice in my head whispered. *Burn them all.*

Isabella POV

The door to my guest room clicked shut, but the silence offered no sanctuary. The Art Deco wallpaper, with its sharp geometric patterns in gold and black, felt like a cage closing in. This room was a masterpiece of Frazier hospitality—expensive, polished, and utterly soulless.

"Miss Isabella? You look like you’ve seen a ghost," Elyse whispered, rushing to my side. She was a small, bird-like girl with eyes too large for her face, the only person in this den of vipers who didn't look at me like a ledger entry.

"I haven't seen one, Elyse. I’ve just realized I’m living with them," I said, my voice sounding brittle even to my own ears. I sank onto the edge of the heavy mahogany bed. "They plan to make me Jaret’s *amante*(mistress). While he weds Alexandria Kane, I am to be the secret kept in the attic, funded by my own dowry."

Elyse gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "That’s... that’s a sin! We must write to your father, Mr. Wilder. Surely Albin wouldn't allow such a desecration of your honor."

I let out a short, jagged laugh. Albin Wilder. My father was a brilliant merchant, a man who had clawed his way up to become a trusted *Associate* of the Chicago Outfit. But in the world of the *Cosa Nostra*, an associate is just a high-end servant.

"My father didn't send me here for a summer holiday, Elyse. He sent me as a payment," I explained, the cold clarity of my situation settling in my gut. "He needs the Frazier family’s muscle to protect his shipping routes. In exchange, he gave them his daughter and a mountain of gold. To Albin, I am a commodity. If Jaret keeps me as a mistress instead of a wife, my father will simply negotiate a discount on the protection fees. He won't save me. He’ll just adjust the balance sheet."

Elyse’s face fell, the harsh reality of our world stripping away her innocence. "Then what will we do?"

"I need a *coltello affilato*(sharp knife)," I murmured, looking toward the window where the Chicago skyline loomed in the distance. "And the sharpest blade in this city belongs to the Kanes. If the Fraziers want to play with fire, I’ll make sure they’re the ones who burn."

A soft knock at the outer courtyard gate startled us.

"Isabella? Are you awake?"

Jaret’s voice. It was smooth, like aged bourbon, carrying a warmth that used to make my heart flutter. Now, it made my skin crawl.

I motioned for Elyse to stay quiet. She moved to the window, peering through the screen. "It’s Mr. Jaret, Miss. He looks... concerned."

"Tell him I’m unwell," I commanded, my voice a frozen blade.

I watched from the shadows as Elyse spoke to him through the mesh. Jaret stood in the moonlight, looking every bit the tragic hero. "Izzy? I heard you had a headache. I wanted to check on you."

"She needs rest, sir," Elyse said bravely.

"I understand," Jaret replied, his tone dripping with a sickeningly sweet tenderness. "Tell her I’m thinking of her. I thought perhaps we could visit the cathedral outside the city this Sunday. To pray for your health, *cara*(dear)."

*To pray for my silence,* I thought, my teeth grinding together.

"She says no to all invitations for now, sir," Elyse repeated my silent instruction.

There was a long pause. Jaret didn't leave. I could feel his gaze lingering on the window, a heavy, possessive weight. Finally, he reached into his pocket and placed something on the stone sill.

"A gift," he whispered. "I carved it myself. Goodnight, Isabella."

Only when his footsteps faded did I approach the window. On the sill sat a small wooden songbird, its wings spread as if to fly, yet its feet were carved directly into the heavy base. It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship—and a terrifying metaphor.

I picked it up, the wood smooth and cold. In my past life, I had cherished his carvings. I had held a similar bird while my child lay dying in my arms, the life bled out of him because Alexandria Kane decided a mistress’s brat had no right to the Frazier name. Jaret hadn't demanded a *Vendetta*(blood feud) then. He had simply told me to be quiet, to not upset the alliance.

He hadn't been a coward. He had been a partner in my destruction.

I gripped the wooden bird until the sharp edges of its wings bit into my palm. I didn't need his prayers or his wooden toys. I needed the gala. I needed the sapphire. And I needed to watch the look on Alexandria’s face when she realized she wasn't the only predator in the room.