Chapter 5 5

Isabella Harrison POV

The walk down the grand staircase was a silent march to the executioner's block. Kyle walked stiffly beside me, his jaw clenched tight. We paused just outside the heavy mahogany doors of the formal dining room. The scent of dark espresso and expensive cigars bled into the hallway, mingling with the palpable tension of a family at war.

Before the guards could open the doors, a venomous drawl echoed from within.

"I trust the new alliance is secure, Genevieve?" Aunt Francesca's voice dripped with mock concern. "Though I hear the boy spent his wedding night honoring a different kind of... asset. It reflects poorly on a family's discipline when its heir publicly shames his bride."

I glanced at Kyle. His face drained of color, his fists balling at his sides. Inside, Aunt Carol murmured something placating, but the silence that followed from Genevieve Gallo was colder than ice.

I gave Kyle a sharp, commanding look and nodded toward the polished wooden box in his hands. *Now.*

The guards pulled the doors open. The dining room was a massive, gloomy cavern. The long mahogany table was polished like a black mirror, reflecting the cold light of the heavy crystal chandelier above. Along the walls, the portraits of past Gallo Dons stared down with unforgiving eyes.

Genevieve sat at the head of the table, her face pale with suppressed rage. Francesca sat to her right, a smug, victorious smirk playing on her lips.

We stepped into the room. Without missing a beat, Kyle strode past the empty chairs. He didn't bow. He didn't offer a morning greeting. Instead, he ripped the lid off the box and violently threw the piece of white silk onto the center of the table.

The fabric landed with a soft thud, the stark crimson stain displayed for all to see.

"Were you looking for this, Aunt Francesca?" Kyle demanded, a vindictive thrill lacing his tone. "Or did you just come to spread gossip like a common fishwife?"

The silence that crashed over the room was absolute. Francesca's smug smile vanished instantly. The color drained from her face, leaving her looking old and hollow. She shot a lethal, humiliated glare at her maid, Rosa, who shrank back against the wall.

Genevieve's rigid posture melted. A slow, triumphant smile spread across the Matriarch's face as she looked from the bloodied silk to me. In her eyes, I had just proven my worth. I had tamed her wild son and secured the family's honor.

Only Kyle and I knew the truth. As our eyes briefly met, a dangerous, unspoken pact was sealed between us.

The rest of the breakfast was a suffocating affair. Francesca and Carol excused themselves the moment the plates were cleared, unable to stomach their defeat. Kyle practically bolted from the room shortly after, desperate to escape his mother's approving gaze.

I moved to stand, but Genevieve raised a hand. "Stay, Isabella."

The heavy doors clicked shut, leaving only the two of us, my assistant Clara, and Genevieve's Head of Staff, Maria.

Genevieve gestured to Maria, who stepped forward carrying a velvet cushion. Resting on it was a heavy ring of gilded keys and a thick, leather-bound ledger.

"You handled yourself flawlessly today," Genevieve said, her voice smooth and calculating. "You have the spine this family needs. It is time you take your rightful place. These are the keys to the estate, and the ledgers of our household. I want you to take over."

Behind me, I heard Clara draw a sharp, excited breath.

I stared at the gilded keys. In the mafia, power was never a gift; it was a gilded cage, a noose waiting to be tightened. To take those keys meant drowning in the Gallo family's rot, tying my fate to a sinking ship I fully intended to abandon.

I slowly stood up, smoothing the skirt of my dress. I bowed my head, keeping my expression perfectly serene.

"You honor me, Madam Gallo," I said, my voice steady and respectful. "But I am a Gallo for only a day. I would not presume to take such a great responsibility until I have earned your complete trust and fully understand the Gallo way."

The triumphant warmth in Genevieve's eyes instantly evaporated. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as she scrutinized my face for any sign of weakness.

"You don't want to be the Queen of this castle?" she asked, her tone dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"I only wish to serve this family in the way that is most appropriate," I replied smoothly.

Genevieve leaned back in her chair, her fingers gripping the armrests so tightly her knuckles turned white. The suspicion in her eyes was a living, breathing thing, and I knew I had just traded one battlefield for another.