Chapter 4 No.4

Isabella POV

The intricate silver metal of the jewelry box gleamed in the dim firelight.

The moment Eva's tear-filled eyes locked onto it, the blood drained completely from her face, leaving her a sickly, ashen white. She knew exactly what was inside. Before my father could even question Bianca's sudden intrusion, Eva let out a ragged, desperate gasp. She doubled over, a violent fit of coughing tearing through her fragile frame as if her lungs were collapsing. Her knees buckled, and she swayed dangerously toward the stone hearth.

"Eva!" My mother, Sofia, cried out. She caught the girl just before she hit the Persian rug, pulling her tightly against her chest.

The maternal panic in my mother's eyes instantly morphed into lethal annoyance as she snapped her head toward the door. "Are you blind, Bianca?" my mother hissed, her voice dripping with the icy, unforgiving authority of a Mafia Queen. "Can you not see we are dealing with family matters? Who gave you the nerve to barge in here? Take whatever that is and get out!"

Bianca froze, her dark eyes darting to me for instruction. I kept my face perfectly blank, offering no help. Eva needed to feel she had won. She needed to climb to the very top of her pedestal before I kicked it out from under her.

Gasping for air, Eva gently pushed out of my mother's protective embrace. With trembling legs, she crawled forward and threw herself directly at my father's feet.

"Don Moretti," she wept, her voice a masterpiece of breathless desperation. "My father gave his life for yours. Today, I am willing to use my marriage to defend the Moretti onore (honor). If it stops a war, if it saves this family, I will do anything."

Dante didn't miss a beat. He stepped forward and dropped to one knee beside her on the rug, taking her delicate, trembling hand in his. "I, Dante Falcone, swear before God," he declared, his dark eyes burning with a sickeningly earnest light, "that I will love only Eva for the rest of my days. I will never betray her. I beg you, Don Moretti, give us your blessing."

I watched them from the shadows, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. A vow from Dante Falcone was worth less than the dirt on my shoes. I remembered the future-I remembered how easily he had sacrificed this "true love" when the Commission offered him a taste of real power. But my father didn't know that. Don Marco's jaw clenched, his massive fists trembling at his sides. He was a man bound by the old ways, trapped between the ghost of Eva's father and the heavy weight of Dante's supposed devotion.

It was time to push my parents over the edge.

I stepped forward, letting a single, perfectly timed tear slip down my cheek. I forced a tragic, forgiving smile onto my lips, playing the part of the broken but noble Mafia Princess.

"Father... Don Moretti," I whispered, my voice thick with feigned heartbreak. "If sacrificing my betrothal is what it takes to keep the peace... I don't care about the whispers in the streets. I don't care about the humiliation. Please... grant their wish."

"Oh, my sweet girl," my mother sobbed, rushing to pull me into a crushing embrace. She stroked my hair, her heart breaking for the daughter she thought was sacrificing her own pride for the survival of the family. My father closed his eyes, a look of profound agony crossing his weathered face.

Over my mother's shoulder, I saw it. A fleeting, triumphant smirk passing between Dante and Eva. They thought they had outsmarted the Butcher of Chicago. They thought the game was over and they had won the prize.

I shifted my gaze to Bianca, who was still standing rigidly by the heavy mahogany door, the silver box clutched tightly in her hands. I gave her a single, imperceptible nod.

Bianca stepped forward, her boots clicking sharply against the hardwood floor.

"With all due respect, Don Moretti, Ma'am," Bianca's voice rang out, loud and unwavering, shattering the solemn atmosphere of the study. "You are all being deceived! Miss Isabella should not have to suffer for their lies!"