Isabella POV

The silence in the Opulent Parlor was absolute, heavy with the scent of expensive cigar smoke and simmering outrage. I kept my posture perfectly straight, meeting Hertha Hobbs’s calculating stare. The disgust in the Matriarch’s eyes had vanished, replaced by a cold, predatory gleam. She had realized I wasn't just a pretty face from the slums; I was a threat. A threat to her precious, legitimate granddaughter, Bianca, who sat frozen in her velvet chair.

Suddenly, Hertha’s rigid expression softened into a mask of terrifying, false benevolence.

"You have a sharp tongue, Isabella," Hertha murmured, her voice smooth like poisoned honey. "But perhaps that fire can be put to good use. I have been thinking about your future, Annabel."

My mother blinked, startled by the sudden shift. "My... my future, Mother?"

"Isabella is of age," Hertha continued, waving her ruby-encrusted cane dismissively. "I am willing to utilize my connections to secure her a proper match. Elzada Velasquez, the wife of the Velasquez Capo, is looking for a bride for her biological son. It is a monumental step up for an Associate's daughter."

Annabel gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. A Capo’s family. To my mother, who had spent her life scraping by on my father’s meager accounting wages, it sounded like salvation. It sounded like a golden ticket out of Brooklyn.

But I felt the phantom heat of a roaring inferno lick at my skin. *Elzada Velasquez.* The name alone tasted like ash. I knew the truth of that "generous" offer. It wasn't a marriage; it was a death sentence. They needed a disposable girl with no backing to cover up the son's filthy, drug-addled secrets. It was the exact same trap that had led to my imprisonment and my mother's death in my past life.

Before I could speak, Bette Hobbs leaned forward, her Botox-stiffened face twisting into a conspiratorial smile. She saw my mother’s hesitation and moved in for the kill.

"It’s a perfect arrangement, Annabel," Bette coaxed. "Of course, the timing is a bit tricky with the Romero family’s Selection Gala coming up. But we can easily handle that. Isabella can simply feign a severe illness on the night of the Gala. She stays home, misses the Don's summons, and we quietly finalize the Velasquez betrothal."

"No."

My voice cut through the parlor like a gunshot.

Bette’s fake smile shattered. "What did you say, you ungrateful little—"

"I said no," I repeated, stepping slightly in front of my mother. "The summons to the Selection Gala is a direct *Don's Command*. To feign illness to evade the Dark Don is an act of deception. It is a violation of *The Supremacy of Loyalty*." I locked eyes with Bette, letting the ice in my veins bleed into my words. "If the Romero Enforcers discover the lie—and they always do—they won't just kill me. They will drag my father into a basement, torture him for treason, and execute him as a Rat. Are you suggesting my father die so you can secure a convenient marriage?"

Bette’s face flushed a violent, ugly purple. "You arrogant little bitch!" she spat, abandoning all pretense of elegance. "You think you’re too good for a Capo’s son? You’re just hoping to flaunt that Siren face at the Gala and spread your legs for a high-ranking Romero! You're nothing but a social climber!"

"I am a daughter trying to keep her father's head attached to his neck," I replied coldly.

*Crack!*

Hertha’s cane struck the marble floor with deafening force. The Matriarch rose from her chair, her frail frame vibrating with pure, unadulterated wrath. The mask was entirely gone.

"How dare you lecture us on mafia law in my house!" Hertha snarled, her vulture-like gaze pinning my trembling mother. "Your husband, Arturo, is a disposable pawn, Annabel! He is dirt beneath our shoes. I offer you a seat at a Capo's table, and your bastard spawn spits in my face?"

"Mother, please, she doesn't understand—" Annabel sobbed, clutching Abby tightly.

"Take your brats and get out of my sight!" Hertha roared, pointing a trembling, manicured finger toward the heavy oak doors. "Go back to your pathetic husband in the slums. You have until the end of the week to give me the *correct* answer regarding the Velasquez boy. If you refuse, I will personally see to it that Arturo loses his position, his protection, and his life."

The ultimatum hung in the suffocating air, a guillotine poised over our family's neck.

My mother was weeping openly now, paralyzed by the sheer terror of the Matriarch's wrath. I didn't say another word. I simply grabbed my mother’s arm, took Abby’s small, freezing hand, and pulled them toward the exit.

The heavy iron gates of the Hobbs estate slammed shut behind us, locking us out in the biting blizzard. The wind howled, tearing at our thin coats, but the cold was nothing compared to the storm brewing inside me. I held my sister close as we walked toward the subway, my mind already calculating the war ahead.

Isabella POV

The subway ride back to the edge of Brooklyn was a blur of rattling metal and biting drafts. By the time we unlocked the door to our cramped apartment, the storm had seeped into our very bones. The old radiator in the corner groaned, fighting a losing battle against the thick icicles forming on the windowpanes.

I stood by the doorway, watching my mother, Annabel, frantically rub Abby’s freezing hands between her own. My father, Arturo, slumped onto the worn sofa, his face buried in his hands. The sheer exhaustion and humiliation of being a lowly Associate crushed beneath the heel of the Hobbs Matriarch radiated from his hunched shoulders.

Looking at them, the phantom heat of a roaring inferno licked at my skin.

My mind violently pulled me back to the trajectory of my past life. Back then, naive and desperate to protect my father, I had believed Hertha Hobbs’s lies. I had walked into the Velasquez estate thinking I was saving my family, only to find myself locked in a gilded cage that quickly turned into a lightless underground cell. I remembered the starvation, Javier Velasquez’s sadistic torture, and the news of my mother dying of a broken heart.

My nails dug so deeply into my palms that the skin nearly broke. The agony of being treated as disposable *Collateral* in a mafia power play ignited a dark, consuming fire in my chest. I would rather walk straight into the Romero family’s Selection Gala and face the terrifying Dark Don, Damien Romero, than ever step foot in the Velasquez slaughterhouse again.

"We... we should reconsider, Arturo," my mother’s trembling voice broke the silence, pulling me back to the present. She looked up, her eyes red-rimmed. "Elzada Velasquez is known as a pious philanthropist. It’s a Capo’s family. If Isabella marries her son, she’ll be protected. It might be the only way to keep her away from the Romero Selection Gala. We all know what happens to girls who catch the Dark Don's eye."

My father looked torn, the heavy weight of the mafia hierarchy suffocating his instincts to protect me.

I walked into the tiny kitchen, poured three cups of hot tea, and carried them to the coffee table. My hands didn't shake.

"Mom," I said, my voice eerily calm for an eighteen-year-old girl. "If this marriage is such a monumental blessing, why didn't Aunt Bette secure it for her precious Bianca?"

Annabel blinked, the teacup halting halfway to her lips. "What?"

"Aunt Bette would sell her soul for a Capo's alliance," I continued, sitting across from them. "She wouldn't let a golden opportunity slip to an Associate's daughter unless the gold was actually rot."

"Isabella, you can't speak of your aunt that way—"

"I tracked the Velasquez family's offshore accounts and encrypted messages on the dark web last month," I lied smoothly, using the hacking skills I had secretly honed as my shield. "Elzada’s biological son isn't a young prodigy. He’s a severe drug addict who already has a bastard child with a stripper from an underground club. They don't want a bride. They want a naive, powerless girl from the slums to act as a respectable cover for his filthy scandals."

The color drained from my mother’s face. "No... Hertha wouldn't..."

"It gets worse," I said, leaning forward, ensuring every word pierced through her blind familial loyalty. "Elzada’s 'pious' reputation is a mask. She murdered the Capo’s first wife to take her place, and right now, she is embezzling millions from the family’s casinos. The original wife's eldest son, Javier Velasquez, knows everything. He is quietly gathering weapons and loyalists. A *Vendetta* is coming, Mom. A bloodbath that will tear their estate apart."

The radiator hissed loudly in the suffocating silence.

Arturo’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with horror. He was an accountant; he knew exactly what happened to the collateral damage when a mafia family imploded over stolen money and blood feuds.

"They aren't offering us a seat at the table," I whispered, watching the last shreds of my mother's illusion shatter into dust. "Grandmother and Aunt Bette are throwing me into a warzone to be a human shield, just to earn a favor from a corrupt Matriarch."

Annabel let out a choked sob, her hand flying to her mouth as the horrifying reality set in. The Hobbs family didn't see her as a daughter or a sister. They saw us as garbage to be disposed of for their own political gain.

My father stared at the peeling wallpaper, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. The hesitation in his eyes was gone, replaced by a dark, simmering rage.

Isabella POV

The hissing of the old radiator was the only sound in the cramped living room, a sharp contrast to the deafening silence that had fallen over my parents. My father, Arturo, stared at the peeling wallpaper, the muscle in his jaw ticking rhythmically as the dark, simmering rage fully took hold of him.

I didn't let the silence linger. If I wanted to ensure they never looked back at the Hobbs family with an ounce of regret, I had to twist the knife.

"Think about Aunt Bette's face today, Mom," I said softly, keeping my gaze locked on my mother's tear-filled eyes. "She stood in that opulent parlor and painted a severe drug addict as a prince. She knew exactly what Elzada Velasquez's son was. She knew they needed a disposable girl from the slums to act as *Collateral* to cover up his filthy scandals. She was practically gift-wrapping me for a slaughterhouse just to earn a political favor for her own son."

Annabel let out a broken, suffocated gasp. The last fragile thread of her blind loyalty to her bloodline snapped. For years, she had endured Hertha’s bloodline humiliation and Bette’s venomous sneers, believing that her subservience would eventually earn us a sliver of protection. Realizing that her own family viewed her daughter as nothing more than garbage to be traded broke her completely. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with quiet, agonizing sobs.

Arturo moved then. He crossed the small space and pulled my mother into his chest, his arms wrapping around her trembling frame. When he looked up at me, the subservient posture of a lowly Associate was gone. In his eyes, I saw the fierce, unyielding resolve of a father.

"I may just be an Associate," Arturo said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "But I am the one who balances their dirty ledgers. I know how to hide money, and I know how to survive. We don't need Dolphus Hobbs' table scraps to live." He tightened his grip on my mother. "From this moment on, we are done with them. I will not let that toxic *Family Bond* drag my daughters into an early grave."

Annabel wiped her face, her makeup smudged but her expression hardening into something I had never seen before—courage. She reached out and took my hand, her grip surprisingly strong.

"You are not going to the Velasquez estate, Isabella," she vowed, her voice trembling but absolute. "Even if it means we have to face the Romero family's Selection Gala. I would rather risk the unknown than hand you over to monsters we already know."

A heavy weight lifted off my chest. The hardest battle—saving my parents from their own naive loyalty—was won.

"Thank you," I whispered, squeezing her hand before stepping back. "I'm going to get some rest."

I turned and walked out of the living room, leaving them to find comfort in each other. The hallway was dim and freezing, the draft from the poorly insulated windows biting at my ankles.

"Bella?"

I stopped. Standing by the doorframe of our shared bedroom was Abby. My six-year-old sister was clutching her worn stuffed bear, her large, dark eyes wide with a maturity that no child in the mafia world should possess. She had heard everything.

I knelt on the cold floor, bringing myself to her eye level. "Hey, bug. Why aren't you in bed?"

Abby stepped forward and grabbed my hands. Her tiny fingers were still cold from the blizzard, but her grip was fierce. "I'm going to learn how to shoot," she whispered, her voice deadly serious. "I'm going to grow up fast, and I'm going to learn all the rules. I'll be a shield for you and Mommy and Daddy. I won't let the bad people sell you."

My breath hitched. The sheer innocence and fierce protectiveness in her vow struck a chord so deep inside me it physically ached.

I forced a gentle, reassuring smile, reaching up to smooth her messy hair. "You don't have to be a shield, Abby. That's my job."

I pulled her into a hug, resting my chin on her small shoulder. As I closed my eyes, the freezing hallway faded. The phantom stench of gasoline and mold filled my nostrils. I felt the blistering, agonizing heat of the underground cell at the Velasquez estate. I heard the roaring flames that had consumed my flesh, and the cruel laughter of Kiana Velasquez echoing from the floor above.

*I died once.*

The realization was a cold, hard stone in my chest. I had burned to ash in that gilded cage, weeping for a mother who had already died of a broken heart, leaving Abby completely alone in a world of wolves.

I opened my eyes, staring into the dark shadows of the hallway. The gentle sister Abby was hugging was a ghost. In her place was a woman forged in hellfire.

Let the Romero Selection Gala come. Let the high-born daughters and the ruthless Capos gather. I would walk into the heart of the Romero estate, and I would carve a bloody path through anyone who dared to threaten my family again.

*Vendetta.* It was the only law I recognized now.