Chapter 7

Isabella POV

They had already stepped out of the boutique when I first saw them-Damien fastening the diamond necklace, Seraphina tilting her head for his kiss. Now, as I tried to pull Angelo away before they noticed us, it was too late. Seraphina's gaze locked onto us, her eyes flashing with a predatory gleam masked by a perfect, practiced smile.

She said something to Damien, tugged his arm, and began to cross the street toward us. He followed with visible reluctance, his expression carved from ice.

By the time they reached our side of the pavement, I had nowhere to hide.

"Oh, my," Seraphina murmured, her voice dripping with saccharine pity. She looked down at Angelo's clean but faded clothes - he had been wearing the same outfit for three days - though she kept a careful distance so as not to brush against us. "Poor child. You must have suffered so much out there with your mother." She turned to Damien, her hand resting lightly on his tailored chest. "Darling, shouldn't we bring Angelo back to the Valenti estate? He is your heir, after all."

Damien didn't even look at his son. His jaw tightened in mild annoyance, as if we were nothing more than a stain on the sidewalk. "Let her keep him."

The words were a death sentence to Angelo's father-son bond, but to Seraphina, they were a revelation. I saw the subtle, triumphant shift in her eyes. She realized Damien didn't care about the boy, which meant she could use a different, far more aggressive weapon to take him from me.

I didn't utter a single word. I tightened my grip on Angelo's five-year-old hand and walked away, disappearing into the crowd without looking back.

An hour later, the heavy mahogany doors of the Moretti estate closed behind us. The Grand Hall smelled of old leather, cigar smoke, and unspoken tension. Before Maria could even lead us to the staircase, a harsh whisper echoed from the adjacent parlor.

"How does she have the nerve to come back?" It was my cousin, Cathy, her voice laced with venom. "Everyone in our circle is laughing at us for taking in a Don's discarded whore. Look at her-she's filthy. She's going to ruin my marriage prospects."

"Hush, Cathy," Sophia, her older sister, scolded softly, though her face bore a look of weary resignation rather than defense.

As I stepped into the light, Cathy turned. Her eyes raked over my dust-covered silk dress-the same one I had worn in Blackwater Creek, now wrinkled and stained - with undisguised contempt. The battle lines within my own bloodline were already drawn.

Before Cathy could speak, the sharp tap of a cane silenced the room. My grandmother, Elena Moretti, descended the stairs. Her sharp eyes took in my ragged state, and the temperature in the room plummeted.

She dismissed the girls with a flick of her wrist, leaving only my aunt, Mrs. Moretti Senior, standing nervously by the fireplace.

"My granddaughter, the blood of the Moretti family, returns looking like a refugee," Elena said, her voice a quiet, terrifying rumble. "As the matriarch of this house, is this your standard of hospitality?"

"Mother, I didn't know they were arriving so soon -" my aunt stammered, her face flushing.

Elena cut her off, turning her icy glare to my aunt's personal maid, who was cowering in the corner. "Since your maid cannot even prepare a simple change of clothing for her masters, send her to the port warehouses. Let her learn how to handle dirty cargo."

My aunt paled, forced to swallow her pride and nod in submission to save face. Elena had just drawn a line in the sand: I was untouchable, and any disrespect would be met with ruthless consequences.

Later, as Maria drew a warm bath for Angelo in our secluded suite, I stood by the window, staring out at the Chicago skyline. Because of the twenty years of blood and betrayal I had lived through, I knew exactly what was happening in the glass-walled Valenti penthouse at this very moment.

Seraphina had seen Damien's indifference. She wouldn't push him. Instead, she would call the one person whose greed and obsession with the Valenti bloodline could be easily weaponized: Damien's mother.

I could almost hear Seraphina's sweet, poisonous voice through the phone, twisting the narrative. The poor boy is suffering... Isabella's reputation will ruin him... We can't let Valenti blood be raised by an outsider.

And Mrs. Valenti Senior, easily manipulated and prone to explosive rage, would take the bait. She would declare that she was coming to the Moretti estate tomorrow to take her grandson back, entirely bypassing Damien's authority.

Seraphina had just fired the first shot of a custody war, using a greedy old woman as her proxy. I turned away from the window, listening to the sound of my son's quiet breathing from the next room. Tomorrow, the Valenti matriarch would come to claim my world, and I would be waiting for her.

Seraphina had seen Damien's indifference. She wouldn't push him. Instead, she would call the one person whose greed and obsession with the Valenti bloodline could be easily weaponized: Damien's mother.

I could almost hear Seraphina's sweet, poisonous voice through the phone, twisting the narrative. *The poor boy is suffering... Isabella's reputation will ruin him... We can't let Valenti blood be raised by an outsider.*

And Mrs. Valenti Senior, easily manipulated and prone to explosive rage, would take the bait. She would declare that she was coming to the Moretti estate tomorrow to take her grandson back, entirely bypassing Damien's authority.

Seraphina had just fired the first shot of a custody war, using a greedy old woman as her proxy. I turned away from the window, listening to the sound of my son's quiet breathing from the next room. Tomorrow, the Valenti matriarch would come to claim my world, and I would be waiting for her.