Isabella POV

The heavy thud of Dante's boots behind me was the only accompaniment to the rustle of my silk gown. The corridor of the Heir's Wing was a suffocating display of Moretti wealth. Thick Persian rugs swallowed my footsteps, and the oil portraits of past Dons stared down at me from the shadows, their painted eyes judging the unwanted bride.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I reached the heavy, carved oak door of Julian's suite and stopped.

Instead of using my knuckles, I raised the brass letter opener. I brought the heavy hilt down against the wood. Bang. Bang. Bang.

The rhythmic, metallic thuds echoed like gunshots in the dead quiet of the estate. It wasn't a plea for my husband to open the door; it was a death knell for their secrets. Within seconds, the shadows shifted. Soldiers stationed at the stairwell hurried over, their hands hovering near their holsters. Doors down the hall clicked open. The beast of the Moretti family was awake.

Ten minutes later, the private scandal had been dragged into the blinding light of the main study.

The room smelled of old money, leather, and impending violence. I stood in the center of the room, the picture of a wronged bride, while the power players of the family hastily assembled.

Don Antonio Moretti sat behind his massive mahogany desk, his face carved from granite. Beside him, his wife, Elvina, the Mafia Queen, was desperately trying to stitch the torn fabric of our alliance back together.

"Isabella, cara (dear), please sit," Elvina urged, her voice tight with forced warmth. "This is a terrible misunderstanding. Julian would never insult the Valdez family like this. He will give you a perfect explanation."

She gestured sharply to a Soldier by the door. "Go fetch my son. Tell him his mother demands his presence."

The room waited in a suffocating silence. Dante leaned against the towering bookshelves, his arms crossed. He was watching me, the drunken haze completely gone from his eyes, replaced by a dark, calculating intrigue.

The Soldier returned far too quickly. He looked pale, his eyes darting nervously toward the Don before settling on Elvina.

"Speak," Don Antonio commanded, his voice a low rumble.

"Signora," the Soldier swallowed hard. "Mr. Julian ordered that no one is to disturb him. The door is locked from the inside."

Elvina's face drained of color. Her promise of a "misunderstanding" shattered into a million humiliating pieces on the hardwood floor. I kept my face perfectly blank, suppressing the cold smile fighting to touch my lips. By the bookshelves, Dante's posture stiffened. He understood now. This wasn't just a man thinking with his dick; this was the Underboss deliberately spitting on his family's honor.

Don Antonio slowly stood up. The temperature in the study seemed to plummet to freezing. He didn't shout. A Don whose word was absolute law didn't need to raise his voice. He picked up his crystal whiskey glass and set it down with a sharp, definitive clink.

He turned his dead eyes to Marco Moretti, Dante's father and a feared Capo.

"Marco," the Don said, his tone devoid of any paternal warmth. "Break down the door. Bring my son to me. Now."

The wait was agonizing for them, but for me, it was the sweet anticipation of a trap snapping shut. We heard the distant, violent splintering of wood echoing from the Heir's Wing.

When Marco finally returned, he shoved them into the study.

Sofia stumbled forward. Her pale pink dress was wrinkled, her hair artfully messy, and her doe-like eyes were brimming with fresh tears. She looked exactly like the fragile, innocent victim she always pretended to be.

And then there was Julian. The Underboss. The man who had ordered my death in another lifetime.

His jaw was clenched, his expression entirely devoid of guilt. He didn't even spare me a single glance. Instead, his arm wrapped tightly around Sofia's waist, anchoring the bastard to his side in a blatant, possessive grip. He lifted his chin, staring directly into the furious eyes of his father, the Don, choosing his mistress over his bride, his duty, and his life.

Isabella POV

The silence in the study was absolute, thick enough to choke on. Julian's arm remained locked around Sofia's waist, a blatant declaration of war against his own blood. Don Antonio's knuckles turned white around the armrests of his leather chair, but before the Don could unleash his wrath, Sofia made her move.

She buried her face against Julian's chest, then peeked out at me from beneath her lashes. Her doe eyes swam with perfectly timed tears, playing the tragic heroine to perfection.

"Sister," she whispered, her voice trembling with a sickening mix of triumph and fake pity. "I... I am so sorry it had to be this way."

The word sister hissed through the air like venom. Julian shot me a dark, warning glare, silently commanding me to accept my humiliation and bow to his choice.

Instead, I smoothed the silk of my gown and closed the distance between us. My footsteps were measured, calm. When I reached them, I didn't hesitate. I raised my hand and struck Sofia across the face with every ounce of strength I possessed.

The sharp crack echoed off the mahogany walls like a gunshot.

Sofia shrieked, her knees buckling as she collapsed against Julian's chest. A bright red handprint bloomed instantly on her pale cheek.

"Don't you dare call me sister," I said, my voice dropping to a lethal, ice-cold whisper. "You are nothing."

Julian's head snapped up, his eyes blazing with a murderous fury. He shoved Sofia behind him, shielding her like a feral beast protecting its mate.

"Enough!" he snarled, his voice vibrating with rage. "You have no right. A Moretti wife should have dignity, not the manners of a street brawler."

A street brawler.

The sheer hypocrisy of his words tasted like ash on my tongue. In my past life, I had been the perfect, dignified wife. For decades, I had swallowed his insults, turned a blind eye to his infidelities, and ultimately died for my blind obedience. He wanted a silent martyr. He wanted the broken girl who would quietly accept his scraps while he paraded his puttana (whore) in front of the world.

The cold, suffocating hatred of a stolen lifetime surged through my veins, drowning out any lingering fear. I rubbed my stinging palm, my eyes locking onto his.

Then, I took another step forward.

Before he could even register the movement, I swung my arm and backhanded the Underboss of the Moretti family.

The sound was deafening. It was a blow meant to shatter his untouchable ego. Julian stumbled back half a step, his jaw slack with absolute shock. The future Don, publicly struck by his unwanted bride.

Elvina let out a sharp gasp, her hand flying to her throat in horror. Don Antonio remained frozen in his chair, his eyes darkening to pitch black. Yet, neither of them uttered a single word to stop me. They couldn't. Julian had broken the regola (rule) first; he had publicly spat on our families' onore (honor). Punishing me meant acknowledging his unforgivable failure.

Through the suffocating tension, my gaze flicked to the shadows by the towering bookshelves. Dante was still leaning there, but the bored, drunken indifference was entirely gone. A slow, dark smirk curved his lips, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous, predatory approval.

The ringing silence stretched across the room, heavy with the weight of a shattered alliance, waiting for the true master of the house to pass judgment.

Isabella POV

The ringing silence immediately following my slap to Julian hung in the main study of the Moretti Estate, thick and suffocating. The only movement in the room was the flicker of the fireplace, casting long, distorted shadows across the mahogany walls. Shards of Dante's shattered whiskey glass glittered dangerously on the expensive Persian rug, a silent testament to the violence simmering just beneath the surface.

Julian stood frozen, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with a mixture of absolute shock and a violent, brewing rage. But I didn't give him the satisfaction of my fear. I didn't even look at him.

Instead, I turned my back on the Underboss—a deliberate, calculated insult—and faced the man who truly held our lives in his hands.

Don Antonio Moretti sat in his leather chair, his face as dark and unforgiving as a thundercloud. I dipped into a shallow, perfectly executed curtsy, my voice ringing out cold and clear.

"Don Moretti," I said, holding his lethal gaze. "A daughter of the Valdez family was promised to your heir. I was delivered. The alliance was sealed in the eyes of the Commission. What happens here tonight is not just an insult to me, but to my father, my family, and our name. This is a matter of onore(honor). The Valdez family requires satisfaction."

The word satisfaction dropped like an anvil. In our world, it meant blood.

The Don's eyes shifted. The furious father vanished, instantly replaced by the ruthless ruler of the Chicago Outfit. He was calculating the cost of a war with my family. Behind me, I heard Julian draw a sharp, ragged breath, the color draining from his face as he realized I wasn't throwing a hysterical tantrum. I was invoking the absolute laws of our world to put a noose around his neck.

Before the Don could pass his judgment, Elvina Moretti stepped forward. The Mafia Queen's face was a mask of strained, artificial sorrow. She reached out, taking my hands in a grip that felt more like a shackle.

"My dear Isabella," she murmured, her voice dripping with a sickeningly sweet poison. "You are, and always will be, the future lady of this family. Julian has been a fool."

She didn't look at her son. Instead, she cast a look of utter revulsion at Sofia, who was still cowering behind Julian.

"As for this... inconvenience," Elvina continued, her tone reducing my half-sister to dirt beneath her expensive heels. "She can be kept. A man has needs. But she will never be acknowledged. She will be his Comare(mistress), nothing more."

Sofia let out a choked gasp. The color vanished from her cheeks as her grand delusion of becoming the Underboss's wife was violently crushed into the shameful reality of a hidden whore. Julian opened his mouth to protest, but Elvina silenced him with a single, blistering glare.

The room waited. Elvina squeezed my hands, expecting me to bow my head, swallow my pride, and accept this ultimate humiliation for the sake of peace.

I calmly pulled my hands free from hers and took a deliberate step back.

"A Valdez woman does not share her husband," I stated, my voice echoing in the dead quiet. "Our blood is not so cheap."

Elvina's face hardened into a mask of pure fury, but I was already turning back to the Don.

"But," I continued, my tone unwavering, "the alliance must be honored. A Valdez bride was promised, and a Valdez bride is here. The wedding feast is over, the guests are gone. To send me back now would be a declaration of war."

I let the threat hang in the air for a fraction of a second before I shifted my gaze. Past Julian's pale face. Past Elvina's trembling rage. My eyes landed on the shadows by the bookshelves.

Dante Moretti was still leaning against the wood, but he was no longer relaxed.

I gave him a slow, shallow nod, then looked dead into Don Antonio's eyes.

"There is another son of the Moretti family in this room," I said, the words sealing my fate and igniting a match in a room full of gasoline. "To honor the alliance, I will marry him. I will marry Dante Moretti."

The air was sucked out of the study. Julian let out a sound that was half-snarl, half-disbelief. But my eyes remained locked on Dante.

The dark, predatory smirk that had been playing on his lips completely vanished. His jaw tightened, his dark eyes widening in profound, absolute shock as he realized the quiet, obedient bride had just dragged him straight into the center of the slaughterhouse.