My Husband Sold Me to the Don

Isabella POV

The Higgins' drawing room was a suffocating monument to new money, paid for entirely by my dowry and my destroyed dignity. Heavy walnut furniture crowded the space, resting on Persian rugs whose colors were far too garish. The air was thick with the stench of Arthur's cheap cigars and my mother-in-law Eleanor's overpowering lavender perfume, a desperate attempt to mask the rotting core of their family.

I was on my knees.

"Filthy *puttana* (whore)," Eleanor spat, her face twisted in disgust as she looked down at me. "You are a disgrace to this family's name."

Arthur, my father-in-law, merely puffed on his cigar, enjoying the wealth my so-called "scandal" had brought them. But it was Karly, my sister-in-law, who delivered the killing blow. She stood near the doorway, her arms wrapped tightly around my five-year-old daughter, Josie.

"She can't stay with you," Karly sneered, her eyes gleaming with malicious triumph. "You're unclean. We won't let you contaminate the child with your filth. Mother will raise her properly."

"No! Please!" I sobbed, crawling toward them, my fingers clawing at the expensive rug. "She's my baby! You can't take her!"

Josie was screaming, her tiny hands reaching out for me, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. "Mama! Mama!"

The sound tore my soul into jagged pieces. I looked desperately toward the fireplace, where my husband stood. Hudson Higgins was a lowly Associate in the Chicago outfit, a man whose ambition far outweighed his competence. He watched the scene with dead, indifferent eyes.

When Karly finally dragged my screaming daughter out of the room, Hudson walked over to me. He didn't offer a hand. Instead, he leaned down, his voice a cold, dismissive whisper. "You've served your purpose, Isabella. Don't be a nuisance."

The weeks that followed were a blur of agonizing gray. The shame and the forced separation from her granddaughter were too much for my mother, Hermine. Her heart gave out, leaving me entirely alone in a world that had stripped me to the bone. My only remaining tether to sanity was the hope of seeing Josie again.

Then came the afternoon of the gala.

The Higgins family was busy preparing to flaunt their newly acquired status-status bought with my blood and body. They left Josie unattended.

I found her in the walled back garden. The ornamental Italian fountain, carved with laughing cherubs, was supposed to be a quiet sanctuary. Now, the water was murky, and my five-year-old daughter lay motionless on the cold stone edge.

I didn't scream. The grief was too absolute, too heavy for sound. I fell to my knees, pulling her freezing, soaking wet body to my chest, rocking her as violent tremors wracked my own frame.

"She was just too naughty," Karly muttered from a safe distance, adjusting her pearl necklace. "We told her not to play near the water."

"We had a party to organize," Eleanor added defensively, refusing to look at the dead child.

Hudson stepped forward, his hands casually tucked into his tailored trousers. He looked at his dead daughter, then at me. "Everyone has their fate, Isabella. Maybe this was hers."

The sheer emptiness in his voice triggered a memory. It was a memory from the dark, smoke-filled penthouse of Don Damien Falcone, the ruthless ruler of the Chicago underworld and the man I had been forced to bed. I remembered the Don's deep, dangerous voice rumbling against my ear in the dark: *"Your husband is a man who knows how to close a deal."*

The puzzle pieces violently snapped together, slicing my mind open. Hudson hadn't just turned a blind eye to the Don's interest in me. He had orchestrated it. He had actively traded his wife to the Devil for a seat at the table, and then let his family punish me for the sin he committed.

The sorrow in my chest evaporated, replaced by a scorching, blinding *Vendetta*.

I gently laid Josie back onto the cold stone. I leaned down, pressing my lips to her freezing forehead. "My baby," I whispered, the words meant only for her soul and the listening shadows. "Mama swears, next time, I will protect you."

Hudson crouched beside me, his hand reaching out to offer a sickeningly fake gesture of comfort. "Come on, Isabella. Let's get you inside-"

I didn't think. I became the violence they had bred in me.

With a feral, guttural scream, I lunged at him. I used every ounce of my body weight, my hands slamming into his chest. The sudden impact caught him entirely off guard. His eyes widened in shock as his polished shoes slipped on the wet stone. He tipped backward, his arms flailing wildly before he crashed heavily into the freezing, murky water of the fountain.