Chapter 8 No.8

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.