Chapter 2

Isabella POV

I forced a violent shiver to wrack my body, letting out a pathetic, broken sob. "I... I don't remember anything, *Signora*(Madam)," I stammered, keeping my eyes glued to the intricate floral patterns of the Persian rug. "Only the wine you gave me. I swear it."

From the corner of the room, Caterina scoffed. "*Bugiarda*(Liar)," she hissed, stepping forward to deliver a sharp kick to my thigh. "*Puttana*(Whore). You planned this. You wanted to spread your legs for the Don."

Bianca raised a perfectly manicured hand, silencing the maid with a lazy flick of her wrist. "Enough, Caterina. The girl was intoxicated. We must show mercy, as God commands."

She sighed, adjusting the collar of her scarlet silk robe. "My husband... Damien is a demanding man. His appetites are dark, and his touch is far too rough for a woman of my delicate constitution." Bianca paused, her tone dripping with false piety. "Furthermore, my spiritual advisor has instructed me to undergo a strict period of fasting and prayer. I cannot fulfill my marital duties while purifying my soul."

I kept my head bowed, my wet hair clinging to my cheeks. *There it is,* I thought, the icy calm in my chest hardening into a diamond. *The surrogate plan.* She needed an incubator, a disposable womb to bear the Moretti heir so she could keep her pristine body untouched and her secrets buried. In my past life, I hadn't understood until it was too late.

"The Don's needs must be met," Mrs. Russo interjected, her voice like grinding stones. "And you, dirty little rat, owe this family your life for the disgrace you've caused."

Bianca smiled sweetly, leaning back against the velvet cushions. "I am giving you a chance to atone, Isabella. You will take my place in his bed."

I needed them to believe I was exactly what they saw: a naive, easily manipulated servant. I widened my eyes, looking up at Bianca with a carefully crafted mix of awe and foolish greed. "You mean... you want me to be the Don's *amante*(mistress)?"

The question had the exact effect I desired.

Mrs. Russo lunged forward, her thick fingers clamping around my jaw like a vice. Her nails dug into my cheeks, forcing my head up. "You are no mistress!" she spat, her breath smelling of bitter coffee. "You are nothing. You will have no name, no face, no voice. You will go to him only in the pitch black, and you will leave before the sun rises. You are a shadow. If he ever discovers who you are, I will personally skin you alive and feed you to the dogs. *Capisci*(Do you understand)?"

Over Mrs. Russo's shoulder, I saw Bianca's satisfied smirk. My "stupidity" had reassured her. A greedy, simple-minded girl was the easiest tool to control.

"Yes," I choked out, letting a fresh tear spill over Mrs. Russo's knuckles. "Yes, I understand. Thank you, *Signora*. I will do whatever you ask."

Bianca nodded, a triumphant glint in her dark eyes. The devil's bargain was sealed. They thought they had chained a lamb, completely unaware they had just invited a wolf into the Don's bed.

Before Bianca could issue her next command, three heavy, rhythmic knocks echoed through the thick oak door.

The suffocatingly sweet scent of Chanel No. 5 seemed to curdle in the air.

"*Signora*," a gruff, masculine voice called from the hallway-one of Damien's loyal *Soldiers*. "The Don has returned. He is on his way up to see you."

The triumphant smirk vanished from Bianca's face, replaced instantly by stark, unfiltered panic. The air in the room turned to ice.