Isabella POV

The silence in the study was heavier than the scent of spilled whiskey and shattered crystal.

My father's broad chest heaved with every breath. The Butcher of Chicago was not a man who made idle threats, and the lethal promise of a Vendetta hung thick in the air. Yet, Dante stood his ground. He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit, his posture radiating an unearned, arrogant certainty. He truly believed his knowledge of our past life made him untouchable.

"I am doing us a favor, Don Marco," Dante said, his voice steady but laced with a foolish condescension. "A marriage without love will only breed resentment. I am saving us both from a miserable future. Eva is the one I want."

The sheer audacity of his words made my blood run cold. He was using the tragedy of our past—a tragedy he helped orchestrate—as a convenient excuse to claim his treacherous prize. He thought I was still the naive girl who would weep and cling to his legs. He thought he was the only one playing the game.

It was time to break his illusion.

I slowly pulled away from my mother's protective embrace. I let my shoulders straighten, wiping the fake, trembling tears from my cheeks. The devastated princess vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating daughter of a Don.

Dante's eyes softened as I stepped toward him. He mistook my composure for resignation. "Izzy," he murmured, his tone dripping with a sickening, rehearsed pity. "Please understand, it's better this way. Don't hold on to something that—"

My palm connected with his cheek before he could finish the sentence.

The crack of the slap echoed through the mahogany room like a gunshot. I had put the entire weight of my body into it, channeling every ounce of the phantom pain from the stiletto he had driven into my heart in our past life.

Dante's head snapped to the side. A stark red handprint bloomed instantly across his pale skin. He froze, his eyes wide with absolute, unadulterated shock.

"The betrothal between the Moretti and Falcone families is dead," I declared, my voice ringing out like striking steel, devoid of any warmth. "I will make sure all of Chicago knows that you, Dante Falcone, are a traditore(traitor) who breaks blood oaths. We are done."

He stared at me, his jaw working silently. This wasn't in his script. The Isabella he remembered would never have struck him, let alone discard him with such icy disdain. Looking at his bewildered face, a dark thought surfaced in my mind. In our past life, his father, Don Vincent, had died under highly suspicious circumstances, paving the way for Dante to seize the Falcone throne. Seeing his ruthless selfishness now, I was almost certain that tragedy had been a calculated patricide.

"You..." Dante breathed, his shock rapidly morphing into a defensive, ugly sneer. He realized he had lost control of the narrative. "Fine. If that is how you want it. But I am not leaving without Eva. I am taking her with me tonight."

"You will not touch a single hair on her head," I hissed, stepping directly into his path. I channeled the fierce, territorial instinct of my bloodline. I wasn't protecting Eva; I was trapping her. But to Dante and my parents, I looked like a fiercely loyal sister defending her kin.

"She belongs with me!" Dante snapped, taking a threatening step forward.

"Get out of my house," my mother, Sofia, intervened, her voice a lethal whisper. She moved to stand beside me, her eyes blazing with maternal fury. "You will leave this estate immediately, Dante, or you will leave in a body bag. You do not get to insult my daughter and then demand to steal my ward."

Dante clenched his fists, glancing between my father's murderous glare and my mother's icy wrath. He was cornered.

"Wait, Mama," I interjected softly, letting a trace of feigned anxiety slip into my voice. "If we throw him out now, he will only spread lies. He will taint Eva's reputation in the streets, claiming she agreed to this madness. She is too timid to defend herself."

My father frowned, the protective patriarch instantly considering the honor of his household. "What are you suggesting, Isabella?"

"We bring Eva here," I said smoothly, looking my father dead in the eye. "Let her face him. Let her tell this traditore(traitor) to his face that she wants nothing to do with his dishonorable schemes. We end his delusions tonight, permanently."

My mother nodded slowly, a fierce, approving light in her eyes. "A brilliant idea. We will crush this insult right here." She turned her head toward the shadows near the door, where my loyal bodyguard stood silently. "Bianca, go fetch Miss Eva."

Isabella POV

Bianca nodded, turning toward the heavy mahogany door. The study was still vibrating with my father's lethal rage and Dante's arrogant defiance. I needed a weapon, a physical proof to shatter the illusion Eva had so carefully woven around my parents. I caught Bianca's eye just as her hand touched the brass doorknob. A subtle tilt of my head. She paused.

I stepped closer to her, keeping my back to the room. "Vai prima nella sua stanza," (Go to her room first,) I murmured in rapid, hushed Sicilian, a language Dante barely understood. "Prendi il portagioie d'argento intagliato sotto la sua toeletta. Non farti vedere da nessuno." (Take the carved silver jewelry box under her vanity. Don't let anyone see you.)

Bianca's dark eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but her training as a Moretti soldier kicked in. She gave a curt, imperceptible nod and slipped out of the room. I turned back to my mother, letting my features soften into a mask of sisterly concern. "I just reminded Bianca to be gentle with her, Mama. We don't want to frighten Eva."

Ten minutes later, the door creaked open. Eva Chen stood on the threshold, looking like a fragile lily battered by a violent storm. Her almond eyes were rimmed with red, her pale face a canvas of perfect, rehearsed sorrow.

Dante exhaled her name like a prayer. "Eva." They exchanged a look so thick with illicit longing it made my stomach churn.

Eva rushed past him, coming straight to me. She reached out with trembling hands to grasp mine. "Izzy," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I am so sorry you have to endure this."

I didn't pull away. Instead, I squeezed her hands, my gaze locking onto hers with a chilling intensity. "I believe you, Eva," I said, my voice ringing clear and cold across the silent study. "Now, prove it. Swear it before my father, the Don of the Moretti family. Swear on the soul of your dead father—the man who took a bullet for mine—that you and this traditore (traitor) are completely innocent."

The trap snapped shut. Eva's innocent mask froze. A tiny, frantic twitch betrayed her left eyelid. She was cornered, forced to gamble the very loyalty that kept her under my father's roof. The silence stretched, heavy and lethal. My parents watched, mistaking my calculated cruelty for the desperate grief of a betrayed bride.

But Eva was a master manipulator. Realizing she couldn't swear the oath, she gasped, pressing a delicate lace handkerchief to her mouth. A series of harsh, breathless coughs wracked her frail frame. She swayed, looking as though she might collapse.

"Eva!" My mother rushed forward, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders, instantly distracted from the oath. My father's stern face softened with misplaced guilt.

Eva looked up, tears spilling over her lashes. "Don Moretti... Sofia..." she choked out, her voice trembling with a sickeningly perfect blend of sorrow and resolve. "I will marry him."

The room went dead still. "What?" my father growled.

"I will do it," Eva wept, looking like a tragic martyr. "To save the alliance. To protect the honor of the Moretti family. I cannot let Don Marco face a war because of me. I will sacrifice myself."

Dante looked at her with awe. My parents stared at her, utterly moved by her profound, selfless devotion. They were ready to burn the world down to protect this treacherous snake. I watched the sickening display, my blood running ice-cold.

Then, the heavy mahogany door swung open. Bianca stepped into the study, her face an unreadable mask. In her hands, catching the dim light of the fire, rested a carved silver jewelry box.

Isabella POV

The intricate silver metal of the jewelry box gleamed in the dim firelight.

The moment Eva's tear-filled eyes locked onto it, the blood drained completely from her face, leaving her a sickly, ashen white. She knew exactly what was inside. Before my father could even question Bianca's sudden intrusion, Eva let out a ragged, desperate gasp. She doubled over, a violent fit of coughing tearing through her fragile frame as if her lungs were collapsing. Her knees buckled, and she swayed dangerously toward the stone hearth.

"Eva!" My mother, Sofia, cried out. She caught the girl just before she hit the Persian rug, pulling her tightly against her chest.

The maternal panic in my mother's eyes instantly morphed into lethal annoyance as she snapped her head toward the door. "Are you blind, Bianca?" my mother hissed, her voice dripping with the icy, unforgiving authority of a Mafia Queen. "Can you not see we are dealing with family matters? Who gave you the nerve to barge in here? Take whatever that is and get out!"

Bianca froze, her dark eyes darting to me for instruction. I kept my face perfectly blank, offering no help. Eva needed to feel she had won. She needed to climb to the very top of her pedestal before I kicked it out from under her.

Gasping for air, Eva gently pushed out of my mother's protective embrace. With trembling legs, she crawled forward and threw herself directly at my father's feet.

"Don Moretti," she wept, her voice a masterpiece of breathless desperation. "My father gave his life for yours. Today, I am willing to use my marriage to defend the Moretti onore (honor). If it stops a war, if it saves this family, I will do anything."

Dante didn't miss a beat. He stepped forward and dropped to one knee beside her on the rug, taking her delicate, trembling hand in his. "I, Dante Falcone, swear before God," he declared, his dark eyes burning with a sickeningly earnest light, "that I will love only Eva for the rest of my days. I will never betray her. I beg you, Don Moretti, give us your blessing."

I watched them from the shadows, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. A vow from Dante Falcone was worth less than the dirt on my shoes. I remembered the future—I remembered how easily he had sacrificed this "true love" when the Commission offered him a taste of real power. But my father didn't know that. Don Marco's jaw clenched, his massive fists trembling at his sides. He was a man bound by the old ways, trapped between the ghost of Eva's father and the heavy weight of Dante's supposed devotion.

It was time to push my parents over the edge.

I stepped forward, letting a single, perfectly timed tear slip down my cheek. I forced a tragic, forgiving smile onto my lips, playing the part of the broken but noble Mafia Princess.

"Father... Don Moretti," I whispered, my voice thick with feigned heartbreak. "If sacrificing my betrothal is what it takes to keep the peace... I don't care about the whispers in the streets. I don't care about the humiliation. Please... grant their wish."

"Oh, my sweet girl," my mother sobbed, rushing to pull me into a crushing embrace. She stroked my hair, her heart breaking for the daughter she thought was sacrificing her own pride for the survival of the family. My father closed his eyes, a look of profound agony crossing his weathered face.

Over my mother's shoulder, I saw it. A fleeting, triumphant smirk passing between Dante and Eva. They thought they had outsmarted the Butcher of Chicago. They thought the game was over and they had won the prize.

I shifted my gaze to Bianca, who was still standing rigidly by the heavy mahogany door, the silver box clutched tightly in her hands. I gave her a single, imperceptible nod.

Bianca stepped forward, her boots clicking sharply against the hardwood floor.

"With all due respect, Don Moretti, Ma'am," Bianca's voice rang out, loud and unwavering, shattering the solemn atmosphere of the study. "You are all being deceived! Miss Isabella should not have to suffer for their lies!"