Seraphina POV

Damien's grip was a vice on my arm as he hauled me up the stone steps from the basement. We stepped into the Stark estate's library-a suffocating, cavernous room built of dark mahogany, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and the heavy, masculine scent of aged whiskey and Silas's cigars.

The core of the Stark family was already gathered. The moment I was shoved into the light, Isabella lunged.

"She's a ghost! A liar!" she shrieked, her ruined wedding dress dragging across the Persian rug like a dirty rag. She pointed a trembling finger at me, her eyes wide with a manic, terrified energy. "She is dead! Arabella is dead! I know she is!"

The room froze.

I know she is.

It was a fatal slip of the tongue, born of pure, unadulterated terror. Marco, pale as a corpse, reached out to calm her, but she shoved his hands away violently. I shrank back against the nearest bookshelf, playing the traumatized, fragile victim to perfection. But even as I kept my eyes downcast, I could feel Damien's pitch-black gaze burning into the side of my face. He wasn't looking at a victim; he was dissecting a puzzle, his dark eyes stripping away my layers.

Silas silenced Isabella with a single, glacial look that commanded absolute obedience.

Aunt Francesca stepped forward, her pragmatic eyes sweeping over the room. "If we kill her now, the Gallos and Falcones will eventually ask questions," she stated, her voice devoid of emotion. "We cannot risk a war over a botched wedding. We need a narrative, Silas." She folded her hands neatly. "Arabella has returned, her mind fractured by trauma. The Stark family welcomes her home. The Moretti union is indefinitely postponed."

Silas gave a slow, heavy nod. The Don had spoken. I had won my title back, but the heavy oak doors of this estate had just become my permanent prison walls.

Isabella let out a sound that was half-sob, half-scream. "You're going to let this... this whore from the gutter ruin everything?"

From a high-backed leather chair by the fireplace, Aunt took a slow sip of her sherry. "The Moretti girl should learn gratitude," the older woman drawled, her voice dripping with aristocratic disdain. "You are merely a replacement, Isabella. Be glad you still have a pulse, let alone a postponed engagement."

Isabella's face mottled with rage. She whirled on Marco, her chest heaving. "Are you going to let them do this? My father will crush your family for this insult! He will burn Chicago to the ground!"

Marco flinched. The cowardice radiated from his pores as he stood paralyzed between his father's decree and his fiancée's wrath.

"Get out," Silas ordered, waving a dismissive hand. "All of you."

Damien lingered for a fraction of a second, his gaze promising we weren't done, before stalking out of the room. I slipped out into the dimly lit corridor, the thick carpet muffling my steps.

Before I could reach the main staircase, a hand clamped over my wrist, yanking me roughly into a shadowed alcove beneath a portrait of a dead Stark patriarch.

It was Marco. His breath smelled of stale champagne and rising panic.

"Arabella," he whispered, his voice trembling with a sickeningly fake affection. "God, I missed you. I loved you, you know I did."

I stared at him, my face a blank, unreadable mask.

"But you have to understand," he rushed on, his grip tightening painfully on my wrist. "The alliance with the Morettis... it's too important. For me. For the family's future." He swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the empty corridor. "You need to tell my father your mind is gone. Tell him you need to go to a convent, or a sanitarium in Switzerland. I'll make sure you're taken care of. You'll have money, comfort. Just... disappear."

The sheer audacity of his betrayal extinguished any lingering doubt I had. He was willing to throw his "beloved wife" into an asylum just to secure his political power and his mistress. This was the man my sister had died for.

I looked into his pathetic, desperate eyes and let a cold, razor-sharp smile touch my lips.

"No, Marco," I whispered softly, pulling my wrist from his grasp. "I am home."

His expression shattered. The pleading mask melted away, replaced by pure, venomous hatred. He realized I wasn't going to be his sacrificial lamb. Panic overtaking his reason, Marco lunged forward and grabbed my arm again, his fingers digging brutally into my flesh.

If he couldn't manipulate me in the shadows, he was going to force my hand in the light. Without another word, he dragged me out of the alcove, pulling me forcefully down the corridor toward the Grand Foyer.

Seraphina POV

Marco's fingers dug brutally into my flesh as he dragged me out of the shadowed alcove and back into the blinding light of the Grand Foyer. The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut behind us, drawing the immediate, suffocating attention of the Stark family core.

Marco shoved me forward slightly, putting on a sickeningly perfect mask of sorrow. He looked at his grandfather. "Don Silas, Arabella is unwell. The trauma of the lake... her mind is completely fractured. For the sake of the Stark reputation, she has agreed to be transferred to a sanitarium in Switzerland. She will be cared for, but she must relinquish her title."

I let out a cold, echoing laugh that sliced through the heavy silence.

"So, Marco," I projected my voice, ensuring every syllable bounced off the black-and-white marble walls, "your love for my 'resurrection' is just asking me to make room for you and your mistress, and then disposing of me like trash?"

Marco turned ashen, his jaw working soundlessly. Don Silas's face darkened like a thundercloud, the sheer disrespect of Marco's transparent cowardice offending his ruthless sensibilities.

Isabella sneered. Shoving Marco's pathetic frame aside with absolute disgust, she marched right up to the head of the family.

"A Stark bride does not share her home with a ghost," she spat, her chin raised in arrogant defiance. "You choose, Don Silas. The Moretti alliance, or this... thing."

The air in the foyer turned to ice. It was a blatant, unforgivable challenge to a Don's authority.

Before Silas could unleash his wrath, Aunt Francesca glided across the room. She stepped into Isabella's personal space, leaning in close. I strained to hear the matriarch's venomous whisper.

"The doctors in our family are very discreet, but not deaf. A baby conceived before the wedding... what a scandal that would be for the proud Moretti family."

The blood instantly drained from Isabella's face. The arrogant mafia princess deflated, trapped by her own reckless sin. Trembling with suppressed rage, she pivoted and stalked toward me.

"I don't know what game you're playing," Isabella hissed, her voice a lethal thread meant only for my ears, "but I know how to make people disappear for good. Leave, or you'll end up back at the bottom of the lake."

There it was. The confession.

I looked at her twisted, hateful face, and leaned in, my voice a soft, venomous caress. "You had to murder an innocent people to get this far, and you still ended up as a replacement bride, carrying another man's bastard in your belly."

Isabella's sanity snapped.

"Arabella is dead! She deserved to die!" she shrieked, her voice tearing through the foyer like shattered glass. She pointed a trembling finger at me, commanding her personal bodyguard. "Shut her mouth! Permanently!"

The hulking man lunged at me. I didn't freeze. Years of surviving in the shadows, of bleeding for every ounce of my strength, took over. I pivoted, dodging his meaty hands, grabbed his wrist, and twisted sharply. With my free hand, I slipped the heavy dagger from his belt. I kicked the back of his knee, sending him crashing to the marble floor with a sickening thud.

I stood over him, twirling the stolen blade effortlessly. In the periphery, I saw Damien step out of the shadows, his dark eyes flaring with a dangerous, consuming intrigue. He wasn't looking at a broken wife anymore; he was looking at a weapon.

I didn't stop. I marched toward the grand fireplace. With one vicious swipe of the dagger, I slashed the massive, oil-painted engagement portrait of Marco and Isabella. The canvas tore with a satisfying rip.

Isabella screamed. I closed the distance between us, grabbing the heavy diamond necklace—the Stark bridal gift—around her throat. I yanked. The clasp snapped, and dozens of diamonds rained down on the cold marble like frozen tears. I shoved her hard by the shoulders, sending her sprawling into the mess of her ruined dress and scattered jewels.

"Enough!"

Don Silas's roar shook the crystal chandelier. Two Stark Soldiers materialized instantly, grabbing my arms and forcing me to my knees. The cold marble bit into my skin. Don Silas towered over me, his eyes devoid of mercy.

"She is no longer a Stark. For dishonoring this family, for her madness, she is cast out. Take her away."

Take her away. The universal mafia code for execution. Marco exhaled in relief. Isabella smiled a bloody, triumphant smile from the floor.

The Soldiers hauled me up, their grips like iron. But before they could drag me toward the basement, the heavy double doors of the foyer burst open.

The estate's butler stood there, breathless and pale, his eyes wide with unprecedented terror.

"Don Silas! A messenger from New York! He says he's from the Chairman of The Commission!"

Seraphina POV

The heavy oak doors stood wide open. The messenger stepped into the Grand Foyer, his impeccably tailored suit a stark contrast to the blood and shattered diamonds scattered across the marble. The two Soldiers gripping my bruised arms hesitated, their eyes darting nervously toward Don Silas.

"A decree from the Chairman, Don Antonio Rossi," the messenger announced, his voice cutting through the suffocating tension.

Isabella's lips curled into a cruel, triumphant smile. Marco puffed out his chest. They thought this was the final judgment on my crimes, the ultimate validation of my execution.

The messenger unrolled a thick parchment, his gaze sweeping over the room before landing on me. "In recognition of the bravery of Arabella Valeriano, who rescued Eleonora Rossi from a tragic fire in Philadelphia, The Commission hereby declares the Valeriano name to be under our direct and absolute protection. Any hostility directed at its members will be considered a direct provocation against the Chairman himself."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Isabella's vicious smile froze, then shattered completely. Don Silas's face drained of all color, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. He had been seconds away from executing a woman the highest power in our world had just declared untouchable.

The messenger stepped forward, extending the parchment toward me. "Signora Valeriano. The Chairman's grace."

I didn't move. I stayed on my knees, letting the heavy silence stretch. I looked up at the messenger, my voice trembling just enough to sound like a terrified, broken victim. "I am deeply honored. But I fear I cannot accept."

The messenger frowned. "Why is that?"

"Because just before you walked through those doors, Don Silas Stark announced I was no longer a part of this family. He ordered his men to take me away." I let a single, perfectly timed tear slip down my cheek. "How can a ghost, cast out and condemned, accept the Chairman's grace?"

Don Silas choked on his own breath. If word reached New York that he had attempted to murder the Chairman's protected saint, the Stark family would be wiped off the map by morning.

"Release her!" Don Silas roared at the Soldiers. They dropped my arms as if my skin had caught fire. The Don rushed forward, his hands trembling as he reached out to help me up. "A misunderstanding. A terrible, internal misunderstanding. Arabella is, and always will be, the rightful eldest daughter-in-law of the Stark family."

As I stood, I caught movement in the shadows near the grand staircase. Damien. His dark eyes were locked onto me, no longer just observing, but burning with a dangerous, predatory fascination. He saw right through my act, and the lethal calculation in his stare told me he was utterly captivated by it.

I smoothed down my ruined dress and turned my attention to the trembling Don. "I am confused, Don Silas," I said, my voice losing its fragile tremor, replaced by cold steel. "If I am Marco's wife, then what exactly is Miss Moretti's position in this house?"

Marco swallowed hard, stepping forward with his hands raised. "Arabella, please, let's just—"

"Quiet," I snapped, my gaze never leaving Isabella. "Valeriano women do not share their husbands. I am the wife. Anyone else is not even fit to be a mistress."

Isabella lunged, but her own massive bodyguard caught her. "You bitch!" she shrieked, her pristine facade entirely gone.

Before Don Silas could fumble through an excuse, Aunt Francesca stepped into the light. Her sharp eyes had already calculated the immense value of the Commission's protection against the liability of the Moretti alliance.

"The Stark family honors its vows," Francesca declared, her voice ringing with absolute authority. She looked at Isabella with thinly veiled disgust. "Effective immediately, the Stark-Moretti engagement is suspended indefinitely."

Isabella thrashed against her guard, her face purple with rage.

I finally reached out and took the parchment from the messenger, offering him a flawless, aristocratic bow. I picked up an untouched glass of champagne from a nearby overturned tray.

"What a pity, Miss Moretti," I purred, raising the crystal flute toward her. "It seems your wedding celebrations are canceled. Let us toast to your failed alliance."

The messenger nodded approvingly. "The Chairman will be very pleased to hear the Starks made the wise choice to uphold the sanctity of marriage. He despises betrayal above all else."

That was the final blow. Isabella let out a blood-curdling scream, violently shoving Marco out of her way. Her guards had to practically drag her out of the foyer toward the guest wing, her curses echoing down the corridors like a rabid animal.

I stood amidst the shattered diamonds and ruined canvas, holding the Chairman's decree against my chest.