Rebirth of the Mafia Mistress

Isabella POV

1923. Chicago smelled of rain, expensive cigars, and the metallic tang of blood hidden beneath the floorboards of speakeasies. On my nineteenth birthday, Jaret Frazier-my cousin, my fiancé, and the man I thought was my North Star-held my hands in his father's study.

"The Kanes are dangerous, Izzy," he whispered, his eyes wide with a practiced, desperate sincerity. Jaret was the heir to the Frazier name, a minor branch of the Outfit, but he had the ambition of a Caesar. "My meetings with Alexandria Kane are a necessary alliance. It's business, purely to keep your father's fortune safe from the bigger sharks. Trust me."

I was a Wilder, raised in silk and shielded from the grime of the streets. I believed him. I didn't see the hunger in his gaze-not for me, but for the crown the Kane daughter could provide.

1924. The wedding of the decade took place at the cathedral, but I wasn't the one in the white veil. Jaret married Alexandria Kane, securing his seat at the high table. That same night, he dragged me to a secluded apartment overlooking the grey skyline.

"You are mine, Isabella," he snarled, the mask of the gentleman finally shattered. "The engagement is dead, but you aren't going anywhere. You will be my mistress. If you leave, if you tell a soul, your father's business burns. He's already drowning in Frazier debt."

The apartment was a masterpiece of Art Deco-velvet chairs, crystal carafes, and reinforced locks on every window. It was a gilded cage, and I was the bird whose wings he had personally clipped.

1925. The year the world turned red.

I was three months pregnant when the door to my prison didn't open for Jaret. Instead, Alexandria Kane stepped inside. She was a Mafia Princess in every sense-cold, sharp, and radiating a terrifying, quiet power. Behind her stood two *Enforcers*, men whose shadows seemed to swallow the light.

"A bastard Frazier heir?" Alexandria's voice was like a razor against silk. "Not in my city. Not in my marriage."

The Enforcers pinned me to the bed. I screamed for Jaret, but only the cold wind answered. A back-alley doctor, his hands smelling of cheap gin and carbolic acid, performed the procedure. It wasn't surgery; it was an execution. They didn't just take my son; they tore something vital from my womb, leaving me a hollowed-out shell, barren and broken.

Jaret never came that night. He never explained. He simply... stopped.

The next ten years were a slow, agonizing fade into grey.

From 1925 to 1935, the apartment became my tomb. Jaret thrived. I heard the echoes of his life through the newspapers the delivery boy left: the birth of his legitimate son, Leo Frazier; his rise to *Underboss*; his perfect, blood-stained life with Alexandria.

I withered in the silence. The silk curtains frayed, and dust settled on the designer dresses I would never wear again. My body, once vibrant, became a map of scars and skeletal remains. I was a ghost haunting a room that Jaret had forgotten existed.

As I lay on the bed in the winter of 1935, my breath rattling in a chest that felt like it was filled with glass, I realized the ultimate cruelty of the Frazier men. They didn't just kill you with a bullet. They killed you by making you disappear.

My eyes flickered shut, the darkness finally reaching for me, pulling me back toward the beginning of the nightmare.

Isabella POV

I woke up with a scream tearing through my throat, my lungs gasping for air as if I were drowning in the grey sludge of the Chicago River.

My hands flew to my stomach, clawing at the silk nightgown. I expected to feel the hollow ache, the scar tissue, the emptiness where my son had been ripped away by a butcher in a back alley. But there was no pain. My skin was smooth, taut, and unbroken.

"Isabella? Miss Isabella?"

The door to my room burst open, and a maid-Elyse-rushed in, her face pale with worry. Sunlight, bright and mocking, streamed through the window. It wasn't the grey, filtered light of my prison apartment. It was the golden, hopeful light of morning.

"I'm fine," I choked out, though my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. "Just a nightmare, Elyse. ".

But it wasn't. As Elyse retreated, casting a worried glance over her shoulder, the memories of the last ten years-no, the *next* ten years-assaulted me. The smell of antiseptic. The dust on the velvet chairs. The silence. And at the very end, as the darkness had swallowed me in 1935, there had been a presence.

A man.

He had been a shadow in the corner of my deathbed, smelling of rain and gunpowder. He hadn't spoken, but as my heart stopped, I had felt his hand on mine-rough, calloused, and trembling. He had wept. While Jaret Frazier was likely toasting to his freedom, this stranger had cried for the wasted life of Isabella Wilder.

*Who are you?* I had tried to ask, but death had taken my voice.

I threw off the covers and stumbled to the vanity mirror. The face staring back at me was nineteen. My cheeks were flushed with life, not gaunt with starvation. My eyes were bright, not dull with a decade of unshed tears.

I was alive. I was whole. And Jaret Frazier was still just my fiancé, not yet my jailer.

A cold, hard resolve settled in my chest, freezing the lingering terror. I would not be the bird in his gilded cage. I would not be the *amante*(mistress) hidden away while he played house with a Mafia Princess.

I walked to my jewelry box, my fingers brushing over the velvet lining until they found the cold metal of the lock. Inside lay the Wilder family heirlooms, the fortune Jaret was so desperate to control. I lifted a heavy necklace-a teardrop sapphire surrounded by a halo of diamonds. *The Heart of the Lake*.

It was beautiful. It was expensive. It was *esca*(bait).

"You want a fortune, Jaret?" I whispered to the empty room. "I'll give you a war."

*

An hour later, I descended the grand staircase of the Frazier residence, a mask of sweet innocence plastered onto my face. I found my aunt, Cathy Frazier, and her daughter, Bethany, in the main sitting room.

The room smelled of stale potpourri and ambition. Cathy was lounging on a chaise, flipping through a fashion magazine, while Bethany was aggressively buffing her nails. They were the gatekeepers of my social life, the women who would eventually help Jaret erase me from the world.

"Good morning, Aunt Cathy. Bethany," I said, my voice light and airy.

Cathy looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You're up late, Isabella. A lady shouldn't sleep past nine."

"I was preparing these," I said, holding out two velvet boxes. "I felt so terrible about my headache yesterday, missing dinner. I wanted to apologize."

Greed is a universal language, and the Fraziers spoke it fluently. Bethany snatched the smaller box, popping it open to reveal a delicate pearl bracelet. Her eyes went wide.

"Oh! It's genuine!" Bethany squealed, slipping it onto her wrist. She turned it in the light, admiring the shimmer. "This will look perfect at Alexandria's party tomorrow! It matches my new dress exactly!"

The room went dead silent.

Bethany froze, her hand hovering in the air. She looked at her mother, realizing her mistake.

My smile didn't waver, though inside, I was sharpening my knives. "Alexandria? You mean Alexandria Kane? Is she having a party?"

Cathy cleared her throat, closing her magazine with a sharp snap. She stood up, smoothing her skirt, her face composing itself into a mask of fake sympathy.

"Oh, darling," Cathy said, her voice dripping with poisonous honey. "We didn't want to upset you. The invitation... it was very specific. The Kanes are so exclusive, you know. They only invited the *Famiglia* members. Bethany was just saying she felt awful that you couldn't go."

It was a lie. A clumsy, pathetic lie. The Kanes were hosting a gala for Alexandria's sixteenth birthday, a debutante ball for the criminal underworld. Jaret needed to be there to court her. And I needed to be absent so he could look like a bachelor.

"I understand," I said softly, lowering my eyes to hide the gleam of triumph. "I wouldn't want to intrude where I'm not wanted."

*But I will be there,* I vowed silently.

I had forced their hand. They could no longer pretend the event didn't exist. The battlefield had been revealed, and thanks to Bethany's vanity, I knew exactly when the first shot would be fired.

"Well," Cathy said, dismissing me with a wave of her hand. "Since you're up, make yourself useful and tell the cook we'll need a light lunch. We have fittings this afternoon."

"Of course, Aunt Cathy."

I turned to leave, clutching the remaining jewelry box-the diamond earrings for Cathy-tightly in my hand. I didn't give them to her. Why waste good diamonds on a corpse?

As I walked into the hallway, the ghost of my future self whispered in my ear: *Burn them all, Isabella. Burn them before they bury you.*

Isabella POV

The invitation sat on the polished mahogany table like a declaration of war printed on heavy cream cardstock. The embossed crest of the Kane family-a roaring lion entangled in vines-shimmered under the chandelier's light, mocking me.

It was the following morning, and the air in the Frazier sitting room was thick with the scent of stale coffee and desperate ambition.

"It's addressed to the *Frazier Family*," Bethany said, tracing the gold lettering with a manicured fingernail. She looked up, her eyes gleaming with a hunger that made her pretty face look predatory. "That means me. Alexandria finally realizes that we belong in the inner circle."

I sat across from her, sipping tea that tasted like ash. "It means Jaret," I corrected softly, my voice devoid of the venom coursing through my veins. "The Kanes don't invite minor families to their private galas unless they want something. They want an alliance. They want Jaret for Alexandria."

Bethany's smile faltered, replaced by a sneer. "You're just jealous, Isabella. You know you don't belong there. A merchant's daughter among the *Cosa Nostra* royalty? You'd be eaten alive."

"Perhaps," I murmured, lowering my gaze to hide the cold calculation in my eyes. "Or perhaps I just know that cattle don't usually celebrate when they're being taken to market."

"Watch your mouth," Aunt Cathy snapped from her chaise lounge, though she didn't look up from her ledger. "Bethany is right. You should be grateful we even let you stay in this house, considering your... mixed heritage."

I didn't flinch. I had heard these insults a thousand times in my past life. They used to make me cry. Now, they were just noise.

I shifted in my seat, deliberately letting the morning light catch the heavy sapphire resting against my collarbone. *The Heart of the Lake*. The deep blue stone, surrounded by a halo of blinding diamonds, flared with brilliance.

Bethany's eyes snapped to my neck instantly. Her pupils dilated. Greed, pure and unadulterated, washed over her features.

"Is that... the Wilder heirloom?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"It is," I said, fingering the cold stone. "I thought I might wear it to dinner tonight. It feels heavy, though."

"It's magnificent," Bethany breathed. She looked from the necklace to the invitation, connecting the dots in her shallow mind. If she wore this to the gala, she wouldn't just be a guest; she would be a queen. She would outshine everyone, even the birthday girl.

"Let me wear it," she demanded, extending her hand. "For the gala. It matches my eyes better than yours."

I hesitated, feigning reluctance. I pulled the silk collar of my dress tighter. "I don't know, Bethany. This necklace is... very recognizable. My mother said it carries a history. It might attract too much attention."

"Attention is the point, you idiot," she spat. "Give it to me. Unless you want me to tell Jaret how ungrateful you've been lately."

I let out a shaky sigh, unclasping the heavy chain from my neck. The metal felt cool against my fingertips as I handed it over. "Fine. But please... be careful. Don't wear it outside the estate until the gala. A piece this famous... it could be dangerous."

It was the perfect bait. By warning her, I had ensured she would wear it with pride. She snatched the necklace, draping it over her own neck and rushing to the mirror, preening like a peacock unaware of the fox in the room.

"My freedom depends on it," I thought, the silent words echoing in the hollow chamber of my chest.

"I have a headache," I announced, standing up. "I'll be in my room."

Neither of them looked at me. They had what they wanted.

I walked out of the sitting room, my heels clicking softly on the marble floor. But I didn't go to the stairs. Instead, I slipped into the shadows of the hallway, pressing my back against the cool wall just outside the heavy oak door.

I waited.

For a moment, there was only the sound of Bethany giggling. Then, Cathy's voice cut through the air, low and sharp.

"Stop playing with the jewelry, Bethany. Focus."

"But look at it, Mama! It's worth a fortune. Why does she get to keep it?"

"She won't keep it for long," Cathy said, her tone dripping with ice. "Once Jaret secures the engagement with Alexandria Kane, the Wilder fortune will be under our control. Isabella's father is too weak to stop us."

"But what about Isabella?" Bethany asked. "Jaret can't marry two women."

I held my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. This was it. The confirmation of my nightmare.

"He doesn't need to marry her," Cathy replied, her voice matter-of-fact, as if discussing the dinner menu. "Jaret will marry the Kane girl for power. But he'll keep Isabella as his mistress. We'll keep her here, hidden away. She's pretty enough to keep him entertained, and her dowry pays for our debts. It's the best of both worlds. We get the crown, and we keep the gold."

A chill that had nothing to do with the drafty hallway settled into my bones.

*mistress.* The word hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

In my past life, I had been too blind to see it. I had thought Jaret loved me. I had thought my aunt cared. But they were just vultures circling a dying animal, waiting to pick the bones clean.

They didn't just want to kill me; they wanted to erase me. They wanted to turn me into a ghost in my own life, a secret kept in the dark while they basked in the light of my stolen inheritance.

I stepped away from the door, my movements silent and precise. I didn't need to hear anymore. The sadness that had lingered since I woke up was gone, incinerated by the white-hot flames of rage.

They wanted a mistress? I would give them a monster.

I turned toward the stairs, my hand brushing against the velvet wallpaper. The necklace was in Bethany's hands. The trap was set. And now that I knew the depth of their depravity, I wouldn't hesitate to snap the jaws shut.

*Burn them,* the voice in my head whispered. *Burn them all.*