Seraphina POV

The metallic click of the lock echoed in the Formal Dining Hall, sealing the room like a vault. Isabella stood frozen in the center of the wreckage, the reality of her cage finally settling over her.

I picked up my porcelain coffee cup, the rim still warm, and glided toward her pale, trembling form.

"Welcome to your new home, Isabella," I murmured, my voice a velvet whisper meant only for her ears. "The Starks' most expensive prisoner."

The words snapped the last fragile thread of her sanity. She lunged at me, though the Stark guards instantly restrained her by the arms.

"You think this will hold me?!" she shrieked, her voice tearing through the heavy silence, pointing a manicured finger at the entire Stark family. "If I am ruined, I swear to God I will drag this entire family to hell with me! I'll tell the Falcones! I'll go to the FBI! Your laundered accounts, the smuggling at the docks—" She whipped her wild, venomous eyes toward her cowering fiancé. "And you, Marco! I'll tell them exactly how we orchestrated your bitch of a wife's 'accidental' drowning!"

The threat of breaking Omertà—the ultimate, unforgivable sin in our world—sucked the oxygen straight out of the room. Marco violently flinched, his face turning the color of ash. Lena Stark's jaw clenched so hard I thought her teeth might shatter. Isabella's madness had struck the Starks' most vulnerable nerve.

"Take her to the east wing guest room," Don Silas ordered, his voice a deadly, flat rumble. "Lock her in."

As Isabella's hysterical screams faded down the corridor, Lena rounded on me, her eyes flashing with pure hatred. "Look what you've done! For your pathetic Vendetta, you've dragged this entire family to the brink of war!"

I didn't flinch. I took a slow sip of my coffee, letting the bitter liquid coat my tongue. "You are wrong, Lena. The Morettis will not start a war. At least, not right now."

The room stilled. I met Don Silas's heavy gaze, laying out the intel Enzo 'The Ghost' had secured for me. "Their youngest daughter is currently finalizing a marriage contract with the heir of the New York Falcone family. That alliance is the only way the Morettis can secure the East Coast weapon routes. They will absolutely not let Isabella's scandalous out-of-wedlock pregnancy ruin that deal." I set my cup down, the clink sharp against the saucer. "A Don always sacrifices a princess to save his kingdom."

Silence stretched across the remnants of breakfast. Don Silas tilted his head, his dark eyes assessing me not as a nuisance, but as a calculated asset. Beside him, Aunt Francesca offered a faint, approving smirk. Lena opened her mouth to argue, but found she had no ammunition left.

By late afternoon, the anticipated Moretti retaliation arrived—not with an army, but with a single black SUV. Carmela Moretti, Isabella's mother, was escorted inside by two heavily armed Soldiers.

I remained in my suite, letting my loyal maid, Sofia, act as my eyes and ears. When Sofia returned, her voice was a hushed whisper as she recounted the brutal meeting in the guest room.

"Isabella threw herself at her mother, crying to go home," Sofia reported, folding my evening shawl with trembling hands. "But Donna Carmela slapped her. Hard. She told Isabella her stupidity had jeopardized the entire family's future. She ordered her to stay here, to have the child, and act as a hostage to buy the Morettis time."

A cold satisfaction bloomed in my chest. Isabella had finally realized she was nothing but a disposable pawn.

"But there is more, Signora(Madam)," Sofia added, her eyes darkening with worry. "Donna Carmela held her and made a promise. She said, 'Endure, my daughter. I promise you, before this child is born, I will let you watch that Valeriano bastard return to the hell she belongs in.'"

I stared at my reflection in the vanity mirror. Isabella hadn't been soothed by the promise. According to Sofia, she had screamed that she didn't want to be a breeding mare—she wanted to kill me with her own hands, so Marco could propose to her over my dead body.

The blood pact was sealed. The Morettis' intent to assassinate me was no longer a shadow; it was a certainty.

I stood up, smoothing the dark, expensive fabric of my dress. Carmela Moretti's visit was concluding. I walked out of my suite and headed toward the Grand Foyer to watch the Moretti matriarch depart.

Seraphina POV

I descended the sweeping marble staircase just as the heavy front doors of the grand foyer clicked shut. Through the narrow glass panes, the taillights of Carmela Moretti's town car faded into the gathering dusk, leaving behind a suffocating silence.

Isabella stood frozen in the center of the black-and-white marble floor. She was pale, trembling violently as the reality of her abandonment finally sank in. She was no longer a princess; she was a pawn left on enemy territory.

Marco stepped forward, his face a pathetic mask of guilt and fear. He reached out, attempting to take her hand. "Isabella... I'll protect you. You and the baby. I promise."

Isabella violently snatched her hand away, her eyes flashing with pure, unadulterated revulsion. She looked past his shoulder, her gaze locking onto mine as I reached the bottom step.

The hatred in her eyes was a living, breathing thing. Slowly, deliberately, she mouthed the words: I put you in the lake once, Arabella. I can do it again.

I offered her a chilling, microscopic smile. The confession I needed. The war inside these walls had officially begun.

By the time the formal family dinner commenced, the atmosphere in the Formal Dining Hall was thick enough to choke on.

I bypassed my usual seat and took the chair to Don Silas's immediate right—the seat traditionally reserved for the woman of the house. The silence in the room deepened, but no one dared to correct me.

A servant approached with a bottle of vintage red wine, reaching for my crystal glass. I raised a hand, stopping him.

I turned my gaze to the far end of the long mahogany table, where Isabella sat staring at her untouched plate.

"Isabella," I said, my voice smooth and carrying easily in the dead silence. "Be a dear and pour me a glass of wine."

The room froze. Marco jumped to his feet, his chair scraping harshly against the floorboards. "Are you insane? She's pregnant! She shouldn't be waiting on you."

I didn't even look at him. Before I could speak, Don Silas's voice cut through the air, cold and absolute.

"Marco, sit down," the Don commanded. "She is the wife of the heir. Her word is law at this table."

Marco paled, the fight draining out of him instantly, and he sank back into his chair. Isabella's face contorted with profound humiliation. Trembling, she stood up, walked the agonizing length of the table, and took the bottle from the servant. Her shaking hands managed to pour the dark liquid into my glass, her eyes burning holes into the tablecloth.

As Isabella retreated to her seat, Eloise Stark slammed her silver fork down.

"You're being cruel," Eloise snapped, her voice shrill with indignation. "A Moretti princess shouldn't be treated like a maid, especially when she's carrying a Stark heir!"

I didn't lose my temper. I picked up my linen napkin, elegantly dabbing the corner of my mouth. I turned to her with a soft, lethal smile.

"At least I entered this family with my honor intact," I said, my tone gentle but dripping with poison. "Some people bring nothing but shame and a bastard in their belly."

Eloise's face flushed a deep, mottled red. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Across the table, Aunt Francesca took a slow sip of her water, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips.

Dinner concluded in suffocating silence. I stepped out into the dimly lit corridor, the heavy oak doors closing behind me.

"Arabella."

I turned to see Lena Stark stepping out of the shadows, her eyes narrowed into furious slits.

"You think you've won something tonight," Lena hissed, stepping into my personal space. "She may be a prisoner, but she is still a Moretti. Her father is a Don. You need to tread carefully." She pointed a manicured finger at my chest. "Focus on giving Marco a true heir, instead of playing these pathetic, low-class games."

I didn't flinch. I looked down at her finger, then met her furious gaze with dead calm.

"My place is as the wife of your eldest son, a position affirmed by The Commission," I said, my voice a quiet, unyielding blade. "I suggest you remember that, Lena."

I held her gaze for one long, suffocating second before turning on my heel. The sharp click of my stilettos against the marble floor was the only sound in the corridor as I walked away, leaving the matriarch alone in the shadows.