Chapter 7 7

Isabella Harrison POV

The morning sun did little to warm the gilded cage of my bridal suite. Tomorrow was my first official visit back to the Harrison estate, a mandatory display of marital harmony that required meticulous preparation.

Mr. Davies, the head butler of the Gallo estate, stood before me. His posture was rigid, his face an unreadable mask as he presented the leather-bound manifest of gifts intended for my family. He was a man who knew the secrets of this house, which meant he was exactly the kind of man I needed in my pocket.

I gave Clara a subtle nod. She stepped forward, pressing a thick, unmarked envelope into the butler's white-gloved hands. Five thousand dollars-in crisp, untraceable bills.

Davies's eyes flicked down, his fingers expertly assessing the weight. A flash of raw greed, quickly masked by profound respect, altered his entire demeanor.

"A token of my appreciation for your tireless work in this vast household, Mr. Davies," I murmured, taking a sip of my tea.

He bowed low, slipping the envelope into his tailored coat. "You are too generous, Mrs. Gallo." He turned to leave, but paused at the heavy oak door. He glanced over his shoulder, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Mrs. Gallo, the gifts for your family were personally overseen by Mrs. Francesca Gallo. She has... a very particular taste. You might wish to inspect them yourself, to ensure they meet the Harrison family's high standards."

I met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between us. "Thank you, Mr. Davies. I will do just that."

By three o'clock, the trap was set. The scent of Earl Grey tea and fresh scones filled the suite. Francesca swept into the room, her chin held high, eyes darting around for signs of weakness. I disarmed her immediately with a velvet box.

"A small token of my gratitude for welcoming me into the family, Aunt Francesca," I said softly.

She opened it, her eyes catching the gleam of the Tiffany pearl bracelet. Her greed won out over her suspicion, and she slipped it onto her wrist with a smug, triumphant smile. She thought I was bowing to her authority.

"Since you were so kind as to arrange the gifts for my family's visit tomorrow, I hoped we could review them together before they are loaded into the cars," I said, gesturing to the open trunks in the corner.

Clara and Sofia moved in perfect synchronization. Clara lifted a cedar box, her face twisting in exaggerated horror. "Madam... these Cuban cigars. They are covered in white mold."

Sofia uncorked a crystal decanter, her expression deadpan. "And this rare whiskey... it smells of cheap, dyed moonshine."

Clara then pulled out a sable cloak, her fingers slipping right through a cluster of moth holes. The luxurious items were nothing but garbage, a blatant insult meant to humiliate me in front of my grandmother.

Francesca's smugness evaporated, replaced by a sickly pallor.

I set my teacup down, letting my voice tremble with perfectly manufactured distress. "Oh, Aunt Francesca, if my family saw this, they would think the Gallo family holds us in contempt. This would bring such dishonor to the Don's name."

The mention of the Don was a loaded gun pointed straight at her head. Francesca stood up so fast her chair scraped harshly against the floorboards. "Those incompetent fools in the cellar!" she hissed, her voice shrill, desperately trying to shift the blame. "I will have them whipped for this oversight!"

I stood up, closing the distance between us. I reached out, gently touching her arm, and delivered the killing blow with a soft, understanding smile.

"I understand the family accounts are... strained," I whispered, my eyes locking onto hers. "Perhaps someone simply made a poor decision trying to be frugal. A noble, if misguided, intention."

Francesca froze. The blood drained entirely from her face, leaving her looking hollow and terrified. In that one sentence, I had stripped her bare. She knew that I knew about the embezzling, the rot, the empty coffers she was trying to fill by skimming from the gift budget.

She yanked her arm away, barking at the maids to have the trunks replaced with proper goods immediately, before fleeing the room like a beaten dog.

I watched the door click shut, the silence returning to my suite. The Gallo estate was a battlefield, and I had just secured my footing. Tomorrow, the black Cadillac would take me back to the Harrison gates, where I would have to face the ghosts of my past.