Chapter 3

Isabella POV

The heavy, rhythmic knocks echoed again. The triumphant smirk vanished from Bianca's face, replaced instantly by stark, unfiltered panic.

She shot a frantic, wide-eyed look at Mrs. Russo. The housekeeper didn't hesitate. Her meaty hands clamped onto my arms with bruising force, dragging me toward the massive, Rococo-painted silk screen in the corner of the room. She shoved me roughly into the cold, narrow shadows behind it.

"Sta zitta, o ti taglio la lingua"(Shut up, or I'll cut out your tongue), Mrs. Russo hissed in harsh, guttural Sicilian, her foul breath washing over my face.

I curled into a tight ball against the freezing wall, pressing my hands over my mouth just as the heavy oak door swung open.

Damien Moretti stepped into the cloying, Chanel-scented room. Even from my hidden vantage point, peering through a tiny slit in the silk hinges, his sheer presence sucked the oxygen from the air. He was a predator wrapped in a bespoke charcoal suit, radiating a dark, lethal authority that made the delicate French furniture seem absurdly fragile.

His dark eyes swept over Bianca. "You look exhausted," his deep, gravelly voice rumbled.

Bianca immediately lowered her gaze, her posture softening into that of a fragile, overwhelmed bride. "I... did not sleep well last night."

A dark, almost imperceptible smirk touched Damien's lips. It was the look of a satisfied predator. "Was I too rough? Are you sore?"

Behind the screen, my blood turned to ice. The memory of his heavy body, his ruthless hands pinning me down in the pitch black, flashed through my mind. He thought he was talking to his wife. He thought the whimpers he had wrung from me belonged to the pristine woman standing before him. The humiliation burned my throat like acid.

"A little," Bianca lied smoothly, her voice a breathless whisper. "I need my maid to apply some ointment. I fear I cannot accompany you to see Nonna Elena today. Please give the Elder my deepest apologies."

Damien accepted the lie easily, his ego stroked by her supposed fragility. "Rest, Bianca. I will see my grandmother alone."

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, the temperature in the room plummeted. Bianca's delicate facade vanished, replaced by a sneer of pure, aristocratic disdain. She elegantly picked up her porcelain coffee cup, taking a slow sip before turning her icy blue eyes toward the screen.

"Come out," she commanded.

I crept out from the shadows, keeping my head bowed, playing the part of the terrified prey.

"Your mother," Bianca began, her voice a lethal purr that struck straight at my only weakness. "I hear her condition at St. Mary's Hospital is worsening. The doctors there are adequate, but the best surgeons... they only serve people like us."

It was a blatant threat wrapped in a promise. A leash snapping securely around my neck. I forced my eyes to widen in terror, letting a fresh tear slip down my cheek.

Mrs. Russo stepped forward, looming over me. "The Signora is merciful. She is giving you a chance to save your miserable mother. From tonight on, you will take her place and fulfill the wifely duties. You have no name. No identity. You are a shadow in the dark. Capisci"(Do you understand)?

I looked at the two women. They thought they held all the cards. They thought my mother's illness made me a weak, desperate pawn, easily controlled by fear and scraps of mercy. They had no idea I remembered my past life, and I knew exactly how this deadly game was played.

I dropped to my knees, bowing my head in perfect, pathetic submission. "Yes. Thank you, Signora. I will do whatever you ask."

I let a beat of silence pass, making my shoulders tremble just enough to sell the performance. Then, I slowly raised my tear-streaked face, looking up at Bianca with the most humble, desperate expression I could muster.

"Signora," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I have only one small request..."