Chapter 6 6

Isabella POV

Dante didn't say another word in the library. He simply released my jaw, turned, and led me deep into the labyrinth of the Meltoni Estate.

The Medical Wing was a fortress disguised as a luxury suite. The air was thick with the scent of expensive leather, old books, and the sharp, sterile bite of antiseptic. In the center of the room lay Arturo 'The Patriarch' Meltoni, hooked to a dozen blinking monitors.

Standing over him was Dr. Alistair Finch, the family physician. He took one look at my Bergdorf suit and the cold, youthful angles of my face, and his lip curled in disgust.

"You brought a child from a federal prison, *Don* Meltoni?" Finch scoffed, his voice dripping with aristocratic disdain. "She's a charlatan. A street rat playing dress-up."

I ignored him. I stepped past his tailored suit to examine the Patriarch's pale, parchment-like skin and the specific, rigid tremors in his hands.

"Your diagnosis of atypical Parkinson's is killing him, Doctor," I said, my voice echoing off the sterile walls. I turned to Dante. "It's the Prometheus Toxin. A synthetic neurotoxin engineered by The Syndicate. Your doctor's treatment protocol is actively accelerating the cellular decay."

Finch turned purple. "Preposterous! You insolent little-"

Before Finch could finish his insult, the heart monitor shrieked. A flat, continuous tone pierced the room as Arturo's body convulsed violently against the bed rails.

"He's crashing!" Finch yelled, panic shattering his arrogance. He lunged for the defibrillator in the corner, charging the paddles. "Clear!"

"No!" I shoved Finch with enough kinetic force to send him crashing into a stainless-steel tray of surgical instruments. "The toxin makes the nervous system hypersensitive to electrical currents. You'll fry his brain!"

While Finch scrambled on the floor, I unlatched my silver medical case. I drew a pre-mixed syringe of the stabilizer I had synthesized in the underground. Finding the exact nerve cluster on Arturo's neck, I plunged the needle in, depressing the plunger in three calculated bursts.

Ten seconds later, the violent seizing stopped. The monitor beeped in a steady, rhythmic cadence.

Silence fell over the room, heavy and absolute. Dante stared at the monitor, then at me. The ice in his storm-colored eyes had shifted into something far more dangerous: realization.

"Name your price," Dante commanded, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in my chest. "Fifty million. A hundred. It's yours."

I capped the syringe and met his gaze. "I don't want your money, *Don* Meltoni. I want your name."

By the door, Luca Verratti tensed, his hand dropping instinctively to his concealed holster.

"Marry me," I stated, the words cold and precise. "A three-year business merger. I become your *Mafia Queen*. I cure your grandfather, and I play the perfect, untouchable wife to keep the vultures and rival families off your back. In exchange, your name becomes my absolute protection. My shield for my *Vendetta*."

Dante stepped closer, his massive frame towering over me. He was a man used to buying loyalty, not sharing his throne. He searched my eyes for a trace of fear or bluff, but found only the dead, unyielding void of a woman who had already survived hell.

A dark, predatory smirk touched the corner of his mouth. He didn't look away from me as he pulled out his phone.

"Luca," Dante said, his tone absolute. "Call the lawyers. Draft a prenuptial agreement. Now."

Luca looked like he wanted to shoot me, but he nodded stiffly. "I'll have a car take her back to the city."

"No," I interrupted.

Both men froze. I stepped into Dante's personal space, refusing to be treated like a dismissed employee. If I was going to be his Queen, I had to establish my reign from the very first second.

"The future wife of a *Don* is not shipped off like cargo," I said, my voice a silken threat. "Tomorrow morning, you pick me up yourself. Let all of New York know exactly who the Meltoni family is welcoming."

Dante's eyes darkened, a flash of genuine amusement cutting through his lethal aura. He was realizing I wasn't a canary to be caged, but a wolf stepping into his territory.

"Ten a.m.," Dante murmured, his gaze dropping briefly to my lips before meeting my eyes again. "Be ready, *Serafina*."

I turned on my heel and walked out of the Medical Wing. I had one final stop to make at the Russo penthouse to collect the last remnants of my past, and I needed to prepare for the war I was about to bring to their doorstep.