Chapter 5 5

Isabella POV

"I... I accept," Celine stammered, her whole body shaking as she bowed her head to the marble floor. "Thank you... Uncle Adrian, for protecting me."

Her words barely settled into the heavy silence of the study before a violent commotion erupted in the hallway. The sound of scuffling boots and a muffled shout bled through the thick wood.

The heavy oak doors burst open. Two Wolfe guards stumbled forward, trying to restrain the man who had just shoved his way into the Don's sanctuary.

Daniel Marino stood panting in the center of the room, his tailored suit rumpled, his eyes wild with a desperate, reckless obsession. He hadn't left the estate. He had been waiting, driven by a reincarnated ghost's desire to rewrite his past mistakes, completely blind to the new ones he was making.

"You will not give her to Marco!" Daniel shouted, his gaze locking onto Celine's kneeling form. "I won't allow it!"

The temperature in the room plummeted to absolute zero.

My father slowly rose from his mahogany desk. His massive frame seemed to absorb all the light in the room. His one good arm trembled, the veins in his neck bulging with a lethal, unadulterated fury. A boy from a lesser family had just broken into his home, disrespected his daughter, and was now barking orders in his study.

"You dare," Adrian Wolfe snarled, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that promised a bloodbath. "You dare walk back into my house and make demands? I should have you gutted on this Persian rug."

"Adrian," my mother warned softly, her eyes cold as she calculated the cost of a full-scale war with the Marinos. But her glare toward Daniel was pure venom. He was making a mockery of our *Honor*.

I watched Daniel puff out his chest, playing the tragic hero. He thought he was saving his true love. He didn't realize he was digging both of their graves.

I slipped out of my mother's protective embrace and stumbled toward Celine. I dropped to my knees beside her, grabbing her cold, trembling hands.

"Celine," I cried, my voice thick with perfectly feigned desperation. "Tell him. Tell him he's insane. Tell Papa you don't love this traitor. Tell him you will gladly marry Marco to prove your *Loyalty* to our family, and that you want Daniel thrown out of this house forever."

I tightened my grip on her fingers, locking my eyes onto hers. I had just slipped a moral noose around her neck.

Celine froze. Panic, raw and ugly, flashed in her doe eyes. She wanted Daniel's wealth and status, but she was terrified of the Don's wrath. For three agonizing seconds, she hesitated. She couldn't bring herself to reject Daniel, nor could she accept Marco.

From the corner of my eye, I saw my mother's posture stiffen. Elizabeth Wolfe missed nothing. That fraction of a second of hesitation was a crack in Celine's innocent facade.

Realizing her slip, Celine violently ripped her hands from mine and threw herself at my father's feet.

"No!" she wept, her voice echoing with a tragic, theatrical martyrdom. "Uncle Adrian, please! If you force me to marry Marco, Daniel will start a war. I can't let that happen. I can't let Wolfe soldiers bleed because of me!"

She looked up, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, weaponizing the ghost of her dead father one last time. "My father died for this family's peace. Let me do the same. I will marry Daniel. Not for love, but to appease him. Let me sacrifice myself so Isabella and the Wolfe family remain untouched."

Daniel let out a breathless gasp, looking at her as if she were a saint descending from heaven.

I watched my father's rigid shoulders slowly drop. The blinding rage in his eyes flickered, replaced by the heavy, suffocating guilt he carried for Celine's father. Even my mother looked torn, swayed by the sheer magnitude of the girl's supposed sacrifice. Celine had played her ultimate card, turning her treason into a noble crusade.

They were actually going to let her win.

*Not in this lifetime.*

The heavy oak doors clicked open once more. The sharp, rhythmic strike of leather boots against the marble floor cut through Celine's sobs.

Ashlee walked into the study. Her face was a mask of cold, professional indifference, but her eyes burned with a Soldier's loyalty. In her hands, she carried an ornate, heavy ebony box.

She bypassed the Don, bypassed the Mafia Queen, and walked straight to me.

I stood up slowly, brushing the invisible dust from my skirt. The weeping, terrified girl vanished. I looked down at Celine, who was still kneeling on the floor, and let a slow, ruthless smile curve my lips.

The trial was over. It was time for the execution.