Chapter 4 4

Isabella POV

"Come in," I called out, my voice steady despite the adrenaline rushing through my veins.

The heavy oak door creaked open, revealing Jean, one of the junior maids. She kept her eyes glued to the floor, her hands nervously twisting her white apron. "Excuse me, Miss Isabella. Nonna Maria requests your presence in her sitting room immediately."

"Tell her I will be down shortly," I replied.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Cressie grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into my silk sleeve. "It's a trap, Miss," she hissed, her eyes wide with panic. "They are going to corner you. I didn't want to upset you before, but... I have to tell you now."

I frowned, turning to face her. "Tell me what, Cressie?"

"Months ago, before the winter thaw, I was running errands downtown. I saw Nonna Maria having a private lunch at The Drake. She wasn't alone." Cressie swallowed hard. "She was with Cecelia Pearson. They were drinking champagne, laughing, holding hands across the table like old friends."

The words hit me like a physical blow, but instead of pain, they brought a terrifying, absolute clarity.

This wasn't just Angelo's wandering eye. This wasn't a sudden, tragic mistake. It was a sanctioned *Famiglia* conspiracy. The entire Riggs family had orchestrated this betrayal, smiling in my face and spending my mother's money while secretly grooming a Capo's daughter to take my place. They wanted Cecelia's political connections, but they needed my wealth to survive.

The last fragile thread of respect I held for the Riggs name snapped, dissolving into dust.

"Don't worry, Cressie," I said, my voice dropping to a chilling calm. I picked up the heavy ledger and the brass keys to the estate safe, slipping them into my handbag. "A trap only works if the prey doesn't know it's walking into one."

I walked down the grand hallway, my heels clicking rhythmically against the marble floors my dowry had paid for. When I pushed open the double doors to Nonna Maria's sitting room, the suffocating scent of heavy floral perfume and stale cigar smoke washed over me.

The room was a tacky display of newly acquired wealth, and the vultures were all gathered.

Angelo stood near the fireplace, looking tense but defiant, with Cecelia sitting demurely on the sofa closest to him. His mother, Carlene, hovered nearby, her eyes darting nervously. His younger siblings-Kandi, Geno, and Boone-lounged in the armchairs, wearing matching, expectant smirks.

And in the center of it all sat Nonna Maria, perched in her high-backed chair like a decaying queen.

"Isabella, *mia cara*(my dear), come sit," Nonna Maria cooed, patting the empty space beside her. Her smile was a grotesque mask of false warmth.

I remained standing near the center of the room. "I prefer to stand. What is this about, Nonna?"

She sighed, adopting the weary tone of a wise elder. "We are a family of pragmatists, Isabella. Angelo has made a decision regarding his heart, and Cecelia's father, the judge, offers us invaluable protection in Chicago. But you... you have a brilliant mind for business. The family needs Cecelia for society, but we need you to manage the ledgers. You will both have a place here. It is for the greater good of the *Famiglia*."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Angelo puffed his chest out, clearly expecting me to bow my head and accept my new role as the family's glorified, humiliated accountant.

I looked at Nonna Maria, then at Angelo, and finally at Cecelia, who was already looking at me with a sickening mix of pity and triumph.

I smiled. It was a cold, razor-sharp thing.

"You make a compelling point, Nonna," I said smoothly, reaching into my handbag. "However, I must decline your generous offer, for three reasons."

Kandi's smirk faltered. Angelo's brow furrowed.

"First," I continued, my voice echoing in the quiet room, "my vow to manage this household's affairs was for exactly one year. That year ended yesterday. Second, thanks to the exorbitant fees I paid Dr. Warren, your health is fully restored. You no longer require my daily care."

I pulled the heavy, leather-bound ledger and the ring of brass keys from my bag.

"And third," I said, locking eyes with Cecelia, "it would be terribly disrespectful of me to overshadow the new bride. A Mafia Lady must have absolute control over her domain."

I dropped the ledger and the keys onto the mahogany coffee table. The heavy thud made Carlene jump.

"From today on," I announced, my gaze sweeping over their suddenly pale faces, "the Riggs family finances are entirely in the hands of the future lady of the house."