Chapter 4 4

Isabella POV

The heavy oak doors of the Matriarch's Suite closed behind me, shutting out the rest of the house. The room still reeked of Carmella's cloying, sweet perfume, but the morning sun spilling over the Persian rugs felt like a victory. It was my first morning back in my mother's sanctuary, and I knew the counterattack was coming.

It didn't take long. Beatrice entered without knocking, trailed by two young maids I recognized instantly. In my past life, they had been the ones to hold me down while Beatrice slapped me.

"I've brought you some capable hands, Isabella," Beatrice said, her smile brittle and her eyes darting around the room, already looking for places to pry.

"No, thank you," I replied smoothly, gesturing to two older, marginalized servants I had already summoned to my side. "Marta and Anna will serve me. Those girls are what Carmella is used to. I wouldn't dream of taking away the last bit of familiarity my cousin has left."

Beatrice's face tightened into a furious, ugly mask. She opened her mouth to invoke her authority as the Capo's wife, but I cut her off.

"In this room, Beatrice, I only require loyalty," I said softly, my tone leaving no room for debate. Defeated and humiliated in front of the staff, she turned on her heel and marched out.

But Beatrice was a venomous snake, and she struck back that very afternoon.

I needed a discreet way out of the estate to contact my allies, so I requested the key to the North Gate. Beatrice seized the opportunity immediately.

"A trueborn daughter of a Caporegime sneaking through the servant's gate?" she mocked, standing at the top of the grand staircase. "It would bring *disonore*(dishonor) to the Russo name. Absolutely not."

By evening, I looked out my window and saw two of her loyal Soldiers stationed at the North Gate. They weren't guarding it; they were watching me. My sanctuary had officially become a gilded cage.

I needed more power. I needed the Morettis.

The next day, I secured permission to visit The Plaza Hotel under the guise of formally thanking Eleonore Falcone Moretti. Her penthouse suite smelled of fresh lilies and old money.

I sat across from her and placed the heavy onyx rosary on the mahogany table. "I cannot keep this, Signora. It is too precious a symbol."

Eleonore pushed it back toward me, her eyes gleaming with approval. "It belongs with someone who understands its weight, Isabella."

I met her sharp gaze, deciding to play my biggest card. "Then let me offer a warning in return. In three days, the Marino family will use the dockworkers' strike as cover to move a shipment of illegal Chicago artillery. Federal agents are already watching the drop."

Eleonore's expression shifted instantly from polite warmth to profound, calculating shock. The intelligence I just handed her was priceless. I saw the exact moment she stopped looking at me as a fragile girl to be pitied, and started looking at me as a formidable asset.

Before she could ask how I knew, the heavy double doors of the suite swung open. The air in the room instantly dropped ten degrees.

Damien 'The Prince' Moretti stepped inside. He was a towering figure of bespoke black wool and lethal grace, his dark eyes devoid of any human warmth. Beside him, straining against a thick leather leash, was a massive black Doberman.

The moment I saw his face, a phantom ache struck my chest. But before I could even breathe, the Doberman snapped its leash. It ignored Eleonore's gasp and charged directly at me. I braced for teeth, but instead, the beast dropped its heavy head into my lap, whining softly and nudging my trembling hand.

Without thinking, a ghost of a memory slipped past my lips. "*Mio Nero...*"(My little black...)

Damien's eyes turned to absolute ice. He crossed the room in two massive strides, his hand violently yanking the dog back by its collar. He leaned in, his broad shoulders blocking out the light, his face mere inches from mine. The scent of gunpowder and expensive cologne wrapped around my throat like a snare.

"What did you do to my dog?" he demanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that promised violence.

"Damien, enough," Eleonore intervened sharply, stepping between us. "Isabella was just leaving."

I stood up, my heart hammering against my ribs under his murderous glare. I offered a stiff curtsy and fled the suite, leaving the Prince of New York and his mother to the heavy silence I had just created.