The old butler, Antonio, who’d bounced me on his knee as a child, shifted uncomfortably. "Signore Falcone," he murmured, "forgive me, but the signorina... she would never stage such a thing. It is not in her."

Dante hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features.

I seized the opening.

I forced my trembling body into a low, formal bow, a plea of utmost desperation.

“Please,” I choked, the plea cracked by the motion.

“Please, save my mother. I’m begging you.”

Finally, he spoke, his voice softening just a fraction.

“Alright. You’re my fiancée, Isabella. For better or worse. I’ll take my men and check it out,” he conceded, his gaze fixed on my pathetic state.

“But know this, Isabella. If this is another one of your games, if you’re lying to me… I will never trust you again.”

I snapped my head up, hope igniting in my chest.

I didn't care about the threat.

As long as he went.

He had just started to call for his men when his phone buzzed.

It was Leo.

Dante hit the speakerphone button.

Leo's voice, lazy and laced with contempt, crackled from the speaker.

"Let me guess, Izzy's on your doorstep, crying wolf? Don't buy her act, Dante. I just got some bullshit call from Mom's phone, rambling about an attack. She's getting desperate trying to ruin things for Scarlett."

My blood froze.

Rage and fear tore through me, and I screamed at the phone. "Leo, are you insane?! Do we both have to be in body bags for you to believe me? You saw what they did to her! You saw the blood!"

He just laughed, a cold, empty sound. "Don't you get it? This was never about power. This was about you letting our mother die! I already had someone check. The estate is fine. You're a vicious, manipulative bitch, and I'm not falling for your tricks this time. If something happens to Mother, it's on your head!"

My heart shattered. The line went dead.

Dante's face went dark. "He said this was your sick little way of seeing if your fiancé would come running."

"No, that's not—"

"Enough," Dante's voice was deadly quiet.

He gestured to one of his men. "The Falcone family has a rule for those who cry wolf and waste our time. Marco, give her the gun. She knows the price of a lie."

The man named Marco produced a pistol and took a step toward me.

My blood ran cold, but pride surged through me.

I straightened my back, chin held high. "I am Isabella Moretti, acting heir to my family. You will not lay a hand on me."

The guard froze.

Dante's eyes narrowed, and with a flick of his wrist, he waved Marco back.

"You're right. He can’t touch you. But what about me?"

He whipped out his gun and aimed it at me.

“Game’s over, Isabella.” he said.

I stared down the barrel, terror choking me.

Dante was actually going to kill me.

A raw sob tore from my throat, my composure shattering not into a plea, but a final, desperate bargain.

"Fine. Do it!" I screamed, tears blinding me. "Shoot me, but then you go! You go and save my mother! Please, Dante, she's dying! Just go!"

For a second, he hesitated. I saw something shift in his eyes—doubt, maybe even pity.

It was enough.

The shot rang out.

My phone shattered, a piece of it cutting my arm right where the bullet had grazed it.

Pain flared.

I stared at the destroyed phone, then at the blood on my arm.

He glared down at me.

“Enough. Spare me the drama,” he said, his voice cold as steel.

“Lie again, and the next one’s for you. Next time you test a man, don’t be so stupid you get yourself killed.”

Just as the world began to fade to black, a frantic voice crackled through the earpiece on Dante's suit.

"Boss! The Moretti estate is under full-blown attack! The whole place is on fire! It's real!"

The smirk on Dante's face didn't just fade, it shattered.