Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, painting patterns on the marble floor. I walked toward the dining room in my slippers, the wedding ring on my finger a glittering reminder of last night’s unbelievable ceremony.

The estate was quiet. Vincent had been gone for two hours, leaving me alone in this unfamiliar home.

As I pushed open the dining room’s double doors, a figure stumbled into me from the side.

“Fuck!”

It was Dante.

He had clearly just gotten home. His suit was wrinkled, his tie was crooked, and he reeked of booze and cheap perfume. The signs of a long night were all over his haggard face.

The moment our eyes met, his surprise turned to disgust.

“What the hell are you still doing here?” He shook his head, trying to clear it. “I thought I made myself clear. We’re done, Isabella. What more do you want?”

I adjusted the collar of my silk robe and looked at him calmly. “Good morning, Dante.”

“Good morning?” he sneered. “Cut the crap. I know why you’re here. Let me guess—you’re trying to use my father to pressure me? Get him to force me to marry you?”

I didn’t answer, just watched him quietly as he continued his little performance.

“Listen here, you bitch,” he stepped forward, grabbing my arm roughly. “I’d rather die than marry you. That bullshit marriage contract your dead father left behind means nothing to me. I’m the Moretti heir, not your slave!”

His fingers dug into my skin, leaving red marks.

“Let go,” I said, my voice soft but cold.

“Or what? What are you gonna do about it?”

Just then, a bodyguard appeared at the end of the hall. He saw what was happening and rushed over.

“Let go of Mrs. Moretti, sir!”

Mrs. Moretti?

Dante froze for a second, then exploded with rage.

“What? Mrs. Moretti?” He spun on the bodyguard, his eyes blazing. “What did you just say?”

“Sir, please, you need to let go of the Don's wife—”

THUD.

Dante kicked the bodyguard hard in the stomach, and the man doubled over, collapsing to the floor.

“You dare call this bitch ‘Mrs. Moretti’? Who the hell does she think she is?” Dante’s roar echoed through the hall. “She’s a piece of unwanted trash! A parasite trying to latch onto our family!”

I knelt and helped the guard, who was clutching his stomach. He looked young, maybe early twenties.

“Are you okay?” I asked softly.

“I’m fine, Mrs. Moretti,” he answered through gritted teeth.

“Mrs. Moretti? Mrs. Moretti!” Dante was losing his mind. “Are you all crazy? This woman is nothing! She’s—”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

I stood up, brushing the dust off my robe. This time, I looked him straight in the eye, my voice as sharp as a razor.

“You’re right about one thing, Dante. I don’t have to marry you.” I paused, a knowing smile playing on my lips. “After all, you’re not the only man in the Moretti family—”

“Bullshit!” Before I could finish, he shoved me aside and stormed off. “I don't have time for your games, Isabella.”

I watched his back disappear down the hall.

The young bodyguard, Antonio, was still beside me, looking confused.

“Mrs. Moretti, should I go after him?”

“No.” I reached out and straightened his collar. “Tell me, Antonio, how long have you been with this family?”

“Three years, ma'am.”

“Then you should know who really calls the shots in this house.”

He nodded. “Don Vincent.”

“Good.” I started toward the dining room. “Now, please inform the kitchen I’m ready for breakfast. And one more thing—”

I glanced back in the direction Dante had disappeared.

“From this day forward, no one sets foot in this house without my permission. That includes family.”

Antonio’s eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly composed himself. “Yes, Mrs. Moretti. I’ll inform the others immediately.”

As I sat alone at the long table enjoying my breakfast, the sun warmed my face. Vincent’s estate was large and quiet, but now it was mine.

And that fool Dante still thought he was the only man in this family worth marrying.

The phone rang.

“Mrs. Moretti,” the consigliere Marco’s voice came through the line, “word from Chicago. Don Vincent would like you to move into the master bedroom today. He also wants to know if you require anything.”

The master bedroom. Vincent’s room.

“Tell him,” I said, putting down my coffee cup, my voice calm and firm, “I don’t need anything. But I expect everyone in this house to know who runs it by the time he returns.”

After hanging up, I looked out at the garden. In the distance, gardeners were trimming the rose bushes. The red petals were as brilliant as blood in the sun.

This was only the beginning.

Three days later, a convoy of five black SUVs rolled through the gates of the Moretti estate.

I sat in the lead vehicle, watching the familiar mansion come into view. This time, I wasn’t returning as a humiliated fiancée, but as the lady of the house, bringing with me the entire inheritance my father had left me.

“Mrs. Moretti, the moving trucks will be here in five minutes,” said the woman in the passenger seat. Her name was Elena, my newly hired personal assistant. She’d spent a decade on Wall Street and was an expert in law and finance.

“Good.” I smoothed the lapels of my black suit. “Remember, all of my father’s documents go directly into the safe in the master bedroom.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The car pulled up to the main entrance, and Antonio immediately stepped forward to open my door. He was much more respectful than he’d been three days ago.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Moretti.”

Home. The word sounded interesting.

Just as I was about to head inside, the roar of an engine filled the air. A red Ferrari screeched to a halt in front of the fountain.

Dante.

He stepped out of the driver’s seat, followed by a blonde woman in a skintight red dress cut so low you could lose your car keys in it.

Scarlett Romano. I recognized her—a starlet from B-grade horror movies and the same woman Dante was with that night.

“What the hell are you doing, Isabella?” Dante’s face darkened when he saw the movers unloading boxes. “I warned you not to pull any stunts!”

“I’m moving in,” I answered simply.

“Moving in? To where?”

“Here.” I nodded toward the mansion. “To my husband’s home.”

“Husband?” Scarlett’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard. “Darling, what is this woman talking about?”

Dante’s face flushed red. “She’s talking nonsense! Isabella, I’m warning you for the last time, cut the cheap tricks! This pathetic act won’t force me to marry you!”

An old housemaid standing nearby saw that Dante was still in the dark and hesitated. “Young Master, Don Vincent has already instructed us that Miss Isabella is…”

Before she could finish, a few movers walked past carrying an ornate mahogany chest. It was partially open, revealing glittering jewels and antiques inside.

Scarlett’s eyes lit up.

“Wow, is this stuff real?” She walked toward the chest, ignoring the movers, and snatched a diamond necklace. “My God, it’s gorgeous!”

That was the wedding gift my father gave my mother. An 18th-century antique, every diamond hand-picked.

My blood ran cold.

“Put it down.” My voice was a low growl.

“What?” Scarlett was admiring herself in the car’s window, stroking the necklace. “Put what down?”

“I said, put my mother’s necklace down.”

“Your mother?” She laughed dismissively. “It’s just some dead woman’s old junk. I’m just trying it on, it’s not like I’m going to—”

SMACK!

My palm connected with her cheek with a sharp crack.

The estate fell silent enough to hear a bird chirp.

Scarlett clutched her face, staring at me in disbelief. “You… you hit me?”

“Next time you touch my things, it won’t be just a slap.” I snatched the necklace back from her, gently stroking the diamonds. “This necklace is worth eight hundred thousand dollars. Your entire year’s salary wouldn’t buy a single stone on it.”

“Isabella!” Dante rushed over to Scarlett, his eyes burning with rage. “Are you out of your mind? How dare you hit her!”

“I was protecting my property.”

“Property?” Dante sneered. “You think moving a few boxes of junk in here is going to force me to marry you? Not a chance in hell! And,” he pointed at the necklace, “you’re going to give this to Scarlett as an apology!”

“What?”

“You heard me. You hit her, you pay. This necklace will do just fine.”

Scarlett’s eyes brightened instantly. “Yes! I want this necklace!”

I looked at them and suddenly, I smiled.

“Fine.” I held the necklace out to Scarlett. “Take it.”

Just as her fingers were about to touch it, Elena stepped forward and cleared her throat.

“One moment,” she said, pulling a file from her briefcase, her voice calm and professional. “I must advise you that this necklace is an 18th-century antique, registered in the FBI's National Stolen Art File, serial number CH-1847-3.”

Scarlett’s hand froze in mid-air.

“Under federal law governing protected cultural assets, any unauthorized possession or transfer of such an item will trigger a federal investigation,” Elena continued. “During that investigation, all assets connected to the individuals involved will be frozen pending review.”

Dante’s face went white.

“Federal investigation? Asset freeze?”

“Yes,” Elena nodded. “Bank accounts, real estate, company shares, offshore trusts… everything. The process typically takes eighteen to twenty-four months.”

Scarlett snatched her hand back as if she’d been electrocuted. “I… I don’t want it! I didn’t do anything!”

“But you’ve already touched a registered artifact,” I said sweetly. “Under the law, that constitutes ‘unauthorized contact.’ However, if you leave now, I can pretend this never happened.”

“I’m leaving! I’m leaving right now!” Scarlett bolted for the Ferrari. “Dante, take me home! Now!”

Dante wanted to argue, but one look at the thick legal file in Elena’s hand made him clench his jaw. “This isn’t over, Isabella.”

“I’ll be waiting,” I said, placing the necklace back in its case. “But next time you visit, remember to make an appointment. After all, this is my house now.”

The red Ferrari sped off, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Dante panicked and ran after it, shouting over his shoulder, “Isabella, if anything happens to Scarlett, I’ll make you pay!”

But his voice was quickly drowned out by the engine.

Elena came to my side and put away the file. “Mrs. Moretti, was the necklace really registered?”

I smiled, looking toward the gate. “Of course not. But they won’t bother to check.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” I said, turning to walk into my new home, “crooks are always paranoid. And the Feds are the last people they want sniffing around.”

The setting sun cast a golden glow on the stone columns of the Moretti estate. The movers continued their work, carrying box after box of my inheritance into my new home.

And at the bottom of one of those boxes lay my father’s most precious legacy—the ledgers that tracked every dirty dollar in this city.

Including every single transaction of the Moretti family.

Now, all those secrets belonged to me.

In the top-floor suite of the Golden Palace casino, the heads of the Five Families sat around a green velvet table. Soft light from a crystal chandelier filled the room, which smelled of Cuban cigars and whiskey.

I was there in Vincent’s place, wearing a black silk evening gown and a Rolex I’d won in an earlier hand. The game was going well—I’d just won three rounds in a row, and my chips were stacked into a small mountain.

“The new Mrs. Moretti has quite a talent for the game,” the don of the Colombo family said, raising his glass.

I smiled and raised my glass in return.

Just then, I saw Dante quietly slip away from the table and head down a hallway behind the main room. He was trying to be discreet, but he didn’t escape my notice.

“Excuse me, I need to use the powder room,” I said, rising gracefully.

The hallway was lined with Persian rugs and priceless oil paintings. My heels sank into the carpet as I followed Dante’s silhouette to the end of the hall.

Suite 3508.

A sliver of light shone from under the door, and I could hear muffled voices. I pressed my ear to the wood, listening closely.

“…how is the plan progressing?” a woman’s voice asked, her accent Eastern European.

“Be patient, Natasha,” Dante’s voice answered. “I need more time.”

Natasha? I frowned. Wasn’t that the daughter of the head of the Volkov family? The Russians were our rivals.

"Time?" the woman scoffed. "He's not stepping down. We're done waiting."

"I know! But Isabella's in the house now, and she's a problem. She's smart, and—"

“And what?”

“And she has something. I saw her bring boxes of my father’s old files to the estate. If those files have records of our… deals…”

My blood ran cold. What kind of deals?

“Then silence her. Permanently,” Natasha’s voice was as cold as a Siberian winter. “An accident, a car crash, or—”

“Murder?” Dante’s voice trembled. “If we get caught—”

“We won’t,” the woman purred. “Not if it’s done cleanly. Besides, you’ve always hated her, haven’t you? She stole what should have been yours—your father’s affection, the family’s wealth, your future as Don. Now you have a chance to solve all your problems at once. Why are you hesitating?”

The bed creaked softly.

“You’re right,” Dante’s voice turned firm. “Isabella has to die. But I’ll need your family’s support.”

“Of course, my love,” the woman giggled. “As long as you can deliver the Moretti family’s port operations, the Volkovs will be your strongest allies.”

“Deal.”

The sounds that followed turned my stomach. Kissing, then the tearing of fabric.

I clenched my fists, ready to leave, when I heard footsteps behind me.

“Ma’am? What are you doing here?”

A security guard in a black suit had walked up. Dammit. I’d been caught.

“I was looking for the restroom,” I said, trying to stay calm.

“The restroom is that way, ma’am.” He pointed in the opposite direction, then looked quizzically at the door to Suite 3508. “This suite is supposed to be empty…”

He walked toward the door, raising his hand to knock.

“Wait—” I tried to stop him, but it was too late.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Who is it?” Dante’s panicked voice came from inside.

“Security check, sir. Please open the door.”

After a brief silence, the door opened. A disheveled Dante stood there, his hair a mess and his face flushed. Behind him, a blonde woman was hastily pulling on her clothes.

“What the…” The guard was stunned.

Even worse, the scene was witnessed by several people down the hall. Don Salvatore, the Chairman of the Commission, was walking toward us with the other family heads.

“What’s going on here?” Don Salvatore’s voice was cold and authoritative. He was in his seventies, but his eyes were still sharp enough to cut through steel.

Dante’s face went pale. He was speechless.

Natasha stepped out from behind him, her blonde hair loose, her red lips smudged. Her eyes widened for a second when she saw me, but she quickly recovered.

“Mr. Chairman,” she said in perfect English. “We’ve been framed.”

“Framed?”

“Yes.” Natasha pointed at me. “This woman was eavesdropping at our door, then she deliberately called security. She wants to ruin my… friendship with Mr. Moretti.”

“Friendship?” Don Salvatore sneered. “Do I look like a child to you, Miss Volkov?”

Dante finally found his voice. “Chairman, please, let me explain! Isabella set me up! She’s jealous and she’s trying to destroy my reputation!”

“Set you up?” I stepped forward, my voice as calm as a still lake. “I was looking for the restroom. If that’s a setup, then what do you call what you two were doing in that room?”

“We weren’t doing anything!” Dante denied it frantically. “I was just… I was…”

“Just what? Plotting my murder with the daughter of a rival family?” I looked him straight in the eye. “Or were you planning to sell out the Moretti family’s port operations?”

Don Salvatore’s expression turned grim. “What did you hear?”

“I heard plenty, Mr. Chairman. Including some interesting talk about ‘accidents’ and ‘betrayal.’”

Dante panicked. “She’s lying! She didn’t hear anything! Natasha and I were just—”

“Just what?” a deep voice cut in from the other end of the hall.

Vincent. He appeared around the corner, his face as dark as a thundercloud. He strode toward us, each step a heavy blow against the marble floor.

“Vincent,” Don Salvatore nodded. “You’re just in time.”

“What happened?” Vincent demanded, his eyes blazing as he took in the sight of the disheveled Dante and Natasha.

“Your son was having a private meeting with the Volkov girl,” Don Salvatore said coldly. “And according to Isabella, they were discussing some… unfriendly business.”

Vincent’s gaze shifted to me. “Isabella?”

“They were planning to have me killed,” I said, meeting his eyes. “And they were going to hand over the Moretti ports to the Russians.”

The air turned to ice.

Vincent slowly turned to Dante, the fury in his eyes about to erupt. “Is this true?”

“No! Father, don’t listen to her!” Dante dropped to his knees, grabbing Vincent’s pant leg. “It was her! She framed me! She’s jealous and she’s trying to turn you against me!”

“Then,” Vincent’s voice was a low growl, “explain why you were alone in a room with the daughter of a rival family.”

“I… I…” Dante couldn’t form a sentence.

Natasha stepped forward. “Mr. Moretti, this is just a misunderstanding. Dante and I were discussing business, nothing more.”

“Business?” Vincent scoffed. “Since when does the Volkov family have business with us?”

Suddenly, Dante pointed at me. “Mr. Chairman! I demand justice! This woman isn’t one of us! She’s an outsider! A spy! She’s trying to destroy us! I demand that you punish her!”

Don Salvatore narrowed his eyes. “Punish her? Young man, do you know who you’re talking to?”

“Of course I do! I’m Dante Moretti! I am the—”

“You are what?” the Chairman’s voice dropped to a freezing temperature. “You’re her stepson. And tradition dictates you call her ‘Mother.’”