Isabella POV

Julian’s desperate plea hung in the dead silence of the grand lobby, a pathetic echo of a life I had already burned to ash.

Behind me, the arm wrapped around my waist instantly turned into a band of unforgiving steel. I could feel the rigid, violent tension coiling in Damien’s massive frame. The heat of his chest pressed against my back, but the aura radiating from him was absolute zero. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

"He promises you a world of light, principessa," Damien murmured, his voice a low, chilling rasp meant only for me. "Are you tempted?"

It was a lethal test. His paranoid, brilliant mind was waiting for a single heartbeat of hesitation, a single flinch that would confirm his darkest suspicions—that my submission was a lie. My mind violently flashed back to the damp, freezing air of the speakeasy cellar. I remembered the stench of copper, the poison burning in my veins, and Damien’s blood soaking my hands as we died together because of misunderstandings and misplaced trust.

I would not let history repeat itself. I would not let this man doubt me again.

I didn't answer Julian. Instead, I turned in Damien’s iron grip, facing the Demon of Chicago fully. The violent storm in his deep blue eyes was terrifying, a predator ready to slaughter everything in the room if I took a step away.

I didn't step away. I reached up, my hands smoothing over the lapels of his custom suit, before my fingers boldly framed his jaw. He went completely still, his breath catching as I forced him to lower his head.

Right there, under the blazing crystal chandeliers, in front of my uncle, his Soldiers, and the man I was supposed to marry, I pressed my lips to Damien’s.

It wasn't a desperate kiss like the one in the penthouse. It was deliberate, deep, and dripping with absolute possession. I poured every ounce of my dark resolve into it, claiming him just as fiercely as he had claimed me. When I finally pulled back, his eyes were wide, the icy suspicion shattered by a raw, primal shock.

I kept my hands on his face, my voice ringing clear and unwavering through the lobby. "You took me from my engagement party, Damien. By our rules, I am already your property." I let my thumb brush over his lower lip. "Now, I am simply claiming my master."

The lobby erupted into a deafening, stunned silence.

Damien’s chest heaved. The rigid tension in his muscles melted into something far more dangerous—a dark, triumphant arrogance. A cruel smirk touched his lips as he pulled me flush against him, his eyes locking onto Julian with the lethal pride of a conqueror.

"Isabella..." Uncle Hector’s rough voice broke the spell. He stared at me, utterly bewildered, his custom Colt lowering slightly. "Tell me... is this true?"

I turned my head, meeting my uncle’s horrified gaze. I channeled every ounce of the Duke family pride into my posture. "Uncle Hector, you know my temper better than anyone. If I were truly being forced, do you think I would be standing here like this? I would have burned this hotel to the ground fighting him. I chose him. This is my decision."

Hector stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. He looked at the dark bruise on my collarbone, then at the unwavering certainty in my eyes. Slowly, the murderous rage drained from his weathered face, replaced by a heavy, reluctant acceptance.

"Castillo," Hector grunted, his voice thick with warning. "It seems I am interfering where I am not needed." He raised a hand, signaling his Soldiers. The lethal wall of Thompson submachine guns lowered. The bloodbath was averted.

But the humiliation was too much for the heir of New York.

Julian’s handsome face twisted into an ugly, venomous mask. The elegant Ivy League facade completely disintegrated. "You chose a monster, Isabella!" he spat, his voice trembling with rage. "You will regret this!"

Damien’s grip on my hip tightened possessively. "She is my woman now, Barron," he drawled, his tone laced with lazy cruelty. "You have no right to speak to her."

Julian’s eyes darted between us, burning with a hatred so pure it was almost palpable. "Fine. You want a war? You have it. This is a declaration against New York. I will make you watch as I drag everything you care about into hell!"

I looked at Julian’s flushed, furious face, and a cold, dead smile touched my lips. He spoke of hell, completely unaware that I had already been there. My mind drifted to the memory of my sweet, venomous sister, Sophia. I remembered the sickening truth I had learned too late—that she had been sleeping with Julian for months, that she had even carried his bastard child while plotting to murder mine.

Julian thought he was declaring a Vendetta against Damien. He had no idea that the true Vendetta had already begun, and I was the one holding the match.

Isabella POV

Julian’s threat of hell hung in the dead silence of the grand lobby. I looked at his flushed, furious face, and a cold, dead smile touched my lips.

I stepped a fraction of an inch out of Damien’s iron embrace—just enough to stand on my own two feet, though his large hand remained a heavy, possessive weight on my hip.

"Regret?" I echoed, my voice carrying clearly across the gleaming marble floor. "My only regret, Julian, is not realizing sooner that you are nothing but a coward who hides behind women's skirts."

Julian’s face contorted. I thought of the poison, of the child I had lost, of the treacherous alliance he had formed with my sister in my past life. I let all that venom bleed into my words. "A man who doesn't even have the spine to admit his own desires, who relies on cheap schemes and deceit to get what he wants, doesn't deserve to stand in this room."

His elegant Ivy League facade shattered completely. His face flushed a mottled, ugly red, stripped of all its aristocratic grace. Behind me, Damien let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated against my spine. He was thoroughly enjoying the slaughter of his rival's pride.

But the amusement vanished from Damien's deep blue eyes as quickly as it came, replaced by the absolute, chilling authority of a Don.

"Silas," Damien commanded, his voice slicing through the tension. "Lock it down. Not a single fly leaves this lobby without my permission."

Instantly, the heavy brass doors were blocked by Castillo Soldiers. The ominous click of safeties being disengaged echoed from the shadows. Damien shifted his gaze to my uncle, his tone shifting to one of respectful finality. "Hector, this matter is settled. You and your men are free to go."

Hector gave me one last, long look before nodding curtly to Damien, signaling his men to stand down and exit the hotel.

Damien then turned his predatory stare back to Julian. "But you and your men, Barron... you are staying for a little 'talk'."

The New York men instinctively reached for their holsters, but they were hopelessly outgunned. Damien closed the distance between him and Julian with unhurried, lethal grace. He casually adjusted his bespoke tie, though the murderous aura radiating from him made the air in the room drop ten degrees.

"What happened today," Damien said, his voice dangerously soft, "did not happen once you walk out those doors. If I hear a single rumor about my future wife's reputation, I will personally collect the debt in Barron blood. You will swear Omertà on this right now."

Julian stared at the black muzzles of a dozen Tommy guns pointed at his chest. His jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth would shatter. Stripped of his power and his pride, he had no choice but to bow to the ruler of Chicago.

"I swear it," Julian forced the words out through gritted teeth.

Damien stepped back, dismissing him with a look of utter disgust. "Get out of my city."

Julian turned, his men falling in tightly around him. But just as he reached the revolving doors, he paused, throwing a venomous, desperate smirk over his shoulder.

"You think you've won, Isabella?" Julian spat. "Castillo can protect your body, but he can't protect your name. I took the liberty of 'inviting' your family. They should be arriving right about now to collect their disgraced daughter."

Right on cue, a pale, trembling concierge stepped forward from the desk. "Mr. Castillo... Capo Arthur Fleming and his family are here."

My heart plummeted, not out of fear, but out of a cold, sickening anticipation. Damien’s brow furrowed, his grip on my hip tightening protectively as the brass doors opened once more.

My father, Arthur, strode in, his face set in a mask of grave concern. Beside him was my mother, Eleonora, her beautiful, aristocratic face pale and etched with genuine terror. And trailing just behind them was Sophia.

She wore a pristine white dress, looking every bit the fragile, innocent angel. As soon as she saw me, she gasped, her eyes wide with fabricated horror. She rushed forward, reaching out to grab my arm.

"Sister!" Sophia cried, her voice trembling with perfect, sickening sweetness. "Are you alright? We were so worried about you!"

As I looked down at her delicate, concerned face, the opulent lobby faded away. All I could see was the damp cellar, the blood, and the agonizing pain of the poison she had slipped into my food day after day. My sweet, venomous sister. She thought she was playing a brilliant game, completely unaware that I remembered every single sin she had committed.