Chapter 6 No.6

Isabella POV

For a heartbeat, the only sound in the armored Cadillac was the hum of the engine and the ragged edge of Vincenzo's breathing. His accusation hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Your heart has already been given to someone else.

He expected fear. He expected a tearful denial or a stuttered confession. He didn't know who I was. He didn't know that a Falcone does not cower before a Moretti, even when stripped of her name.

A cold, humorless smile touched my lips. I didn't pull away from his grip; instead, I leaned into it, forcing him to feel the steel beneath my skin.

"You think my heart is so cheap, Vincenzo?" I asked, my voice steady, cutting through the thick tension like a blade. "You think I would give my soul to a man who sings for his supper on a wooden stage? You overestimate him. And you woefully underestimate me."

Vincenzo's eyes narrowed, the storm within them darkening. His thumb pressed harder against my jaw, a silent warning, but I didn't blink.

"My heart is my own," I continued, dropping my voice to a whisper that was more dangerous than a scream. "It is the one thing you cannot take with violence, and you certainly cannot win it with these childish tantrums. Though, I must admit... seeing the King of Chicago reduced to a jealous lover is almost entertaining."

The insult landed. His pupils dilated, swallowing the iris. For a second, I thought he might snap my neck. The violence in him was a living thing, coiling tight, ready to strike.

"Careful, Topolina (Little Mouse)," he growled, his voice vibrating against my skin. "Do not mistake my restraint for weakness."

He released me abruptly, shoving himself back into the corner of the leather seat. He adjusted his cuffs with jerky, angry movements, then turned his gaze out the window, effectively dismissing me. The rest of the ride was spent in a silence so cold it could have frozen hell over. He was seething, convinced that my defiance was merely a shield for a secret love. Let him think what he wanted. His ignorance was my only armor.

The Drake Hotel was a fortress of gilded excess. Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto the polished marble floors, and the air smelled of expensive perfume and old money. Vincenzo had left my side the moment we entered the Grand Ballroom, disappearing into a circle of gray-haired men who looked at him with a mixture of fear and reverence.

I took the opportunity to escape to the ladies' powder room, needing a moment to reassemble the mask that Vincenzo had nearly cracked.

As I stepped out of the restroom, the corridor was quiet, the muffled sounds of the orchestra drifting from the ballroom. I wasn't alone.

Alida Savage was leaning against the wall, waiting for me.

She was beautiful in a sharp, predatory way-platinum blonde hair, a dress of emerald silk that clung to her curves, and eyes that held the cold shine of a reptile. As the daughter of the Savage Syndicate's Don, she walked with the arrogance of someone who had never been told 'no'.

"Isabella," she purred, pushing off the wall. She didn't offer a hand; she offered a look of pitying disdain. "You look... quaint. Like a doll dressed up for a game she doesn't understand."

I smoothed the skirt of my dress, my expression bored. "Is there a point to this ambush, Alida? Or do you just enjoy hearing your own voice?"

Alida's smile didn't waver. She opened her crocodile-skin clutch and pulled out a small, black velvet pouch. With a theatrical flick of her wrist, she upended it into her palm. Three diamonds, the size of pigeon eggs, tumbled out, catching the light with a brilliant fire.

"I know why you're here," she said, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You're a poor girl from New York looking for a golden ticket. Vincenzo is a predator, honey. He will chew you up and spit you out before the wedding cake is cut."

She held out the diamonds. "Take these. They are worth more than your entire life. Leave Chicago. Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of and live like a queen. Let the adults handle the business here."

I looked down at the stones in her hand. They were flawless, likely D-color, worth a small fortune. To a girl from the streets, they would be a miracle.

To a Falcone, they were pocket change.

A laugh bubbled up in my throat, genuine and dark. Alida's smile faltered as I reached out and picked up the largest diamond between two fingers. I held it up to the light, inspecting it with the critical eye of someone who had grown up playing with gems in her father's vault.

"Live like a queen?" I repeated, my tone dripping with amusement. "Oh, Alida."

I met her eyes, letting my mask slip just enough to show her the abyss beneath. "In New York, we use stones like this to tip the doorman."

I opened my fingers.

The diamond hit the marble floor with a sharp clack, bouncing once before rolling to a stop near her expensive heels.

Alida stood frozen, her mouth slightly agape, the insult slapping her harder than a physical blow. She had expected greed. She had expected gratitude. She had not expected a peasant to look at a fortune and see trash.

"Keep your trinkets," I said softly, stepping around her. "You'll need them to buy your way into someone else's bed. Vincenzo is clearly out of your price range."

I walked away, leaving her standing in the hallway, her face flushing a deep, ugly red.

My victory was short-lived.

The moment I re-entered the Grand Ballroom, a hand clamped onto my upper arm. It wasn't Vincenzo's possessive grip; it was sharp, pinching, intended to hurt.

I turned to find Erica Moretti, Vincenzo's mother, glaring at me. She was a woman made of steel and hairspray, her face pulled tight by surgery and bitterness.

"Where have you been?" she hissed, her voice low so the nearby guests wouldn't hear. "Wandering the halls like a puttana (whore) looking for customers?"

I stiffened, pulling my arm from her grasp. "I was in the restroom, Erica."

"Do not use my first name," she snapped. "You address me as Mrs. Moretti. You are not family yet, and at this rate, you never will be."

She stepped closer, her eyes scanning me with disgust. "Vincenzo is at the head table. Your place is beside him, silent and decorative. Not roaming around making us look disorganized. You represent the Moretti name tonight, girl. Try not to stain it with your common incompetence."

She turned on her heel and marched away, expecting me to follow like an obedient dog.

I stood there for a moment, the music swelling around me, the laughter of the guests sounding like broken glass. Alida wanted to buy me off. Erica wanted to break me down. Vincenzo wanted to own me.

They all thought I was a lamb walking into a slaughterhouse.

I straightened my spine, lifting my chin until it hurt. They were about to find out that sometimes, the lamb has teeth.