"Are you crazy, Isabella! That was a gift for Lucia! I'm her father, she shouldn't be so spoiled!"

Alessio's face went cold in an instant.

"And another thing, I've made up my mind. I'm moving Cassandra and the boys in here."

He slammed the door, leaving me to collapse on the floor.

With Lucia barely cold in her grave, he was already moving his mistress and his bastard heirs into our home.

Into the home where Lucia grew up.

That evening, I heard Alessio's voice from downstairs.

"Welcome to your new home."

I stood on the second-floor landing, looking down through the ornate railing, my eyes cold.

The blonde, Cassandra, walked into the hall on Alessio's arm.

Two little boys, about five years old, followed them.

So these were Marco and Mike.

The two kids who had gotten my daughter killed.

"Wow, this house is huge!" one of the boys shouted.

"This is our new home now," Cassandra cooed, her voice so sweet it made me sick. "Do you like it?"

My nails dug into the wooden banister.

This was my home with Alessio.

This was Lucia's playground.

"I object."

I walked slowly down the stairs, every step fueled by suppressed rage.

Four pairs of eyes snapped to me.

"Isabella." Alessio's tone was calm, but I heard the warning in it. "Come meet Marco and Mike. They'll be living here from now on."

"No," I said, my voice like ice. "They don't belong here."

Cassandra immediately played the part of the frightened doe, pulling the two boys behind her. "Alessio, maybe... maybe we should get a hotel for now..."

"That won't be necessary." Alessio walked toward me, his voice turning dangerous. "Isabella will get used to it. Right, my wife?"

"Get used to it?" I laughed coldly. "Get used to watching another woman's kids run around in my daughter's house?"

"This is the Moretti estate," he corrected me. "Marco and Mike are my heirs. They need to learn how to be true Morettis here."

Heirs. That word cut me like a knife again.

"And what about Lucia? She's a Moretti, too!"

"Lucia is a princess," he said, as if stating an obvious truth. "Princesses are to be cherished. Not to rule."

I stared at him. This man was saying the cruelest things in the gentlest voice.

The revenge I was planning felt so distant, so powerless.

I couldn't even stand to breathe the same air as these people.

"If they move in, I'm leaving."

The words hung in the air.

The hall went silent.

A flicker of triumph crossed Cassandra's face.

"What?" Alessio's voice dropped, becoming dangerous.

"I said, I'm leaving," I repeated. "I'm going back to my father's house."

"You're not going anywhere." He stepped toward me. "You are the lady of the Moretti family. No one can replace you."

"Even if I don't want the position anymore?"

"You don't have a choice." His eyes blazed with anger. "Isabella, I made a mistake that every man in power makes. I needed heirs. You couldn't give me sons, so I had to find someone who could. What's so wrong with that?"

That sentence shattered my last shred of hope.

"Wrong?" My voice trembled. "You think betrayal and lies aren't wrong?"

"This isn't betrayal, it's a necessity for the family." He tried to grab my arm. "You need to see the bigger picture."

"The bigger picture?" I yanked my arm away. "So let me see if I understand the bigger picture. It's me, living under the same roof as your goomah and her bastards?"

"Cassandra is not my goomah. She's the mother of my children."

"Then what am I?"

"You are my wife. My forever wife." His tone softened, trying to placate me. "Isabella, we can make this work. You just need to accept reality."

"Mommy, look at all the pretty things!" Marco suddenly ran toward the living room, pointing at something on the coffee table. "What's this?"

I turned, and my heart nearly stopped.

He was pointing at Lucia's favorite crystal music box. Inside was a little ballerina, a gift from Alessio for her seventh birthday.

"Don't touch that!" I yelled.

But it was too late.

Marco had already picked it up and opened it.

A delicate melody played for half a second before the box slipped from his hands and shattered on the marble floor.

The music died.

I fell to my knees, staring at the scattered crystal shards.

Each piece was like a fragment of my broken heart.

"I'm sorry!" Marco cried, terrified. "I didn't mean to!"

I slowly stood up, my eyes filled with nothing but cold, murderous intent.

"Get away from it."

"Isabella!" Cassandra rushed over and hugged Marco. "You're scaring him! He's just a child!"

"He broke it..." My voice choked. "He broke Lucia's most precious thing."

"It's just a music box!" Cassandra shot back, playing the part of the angry mother. "How could you treat an innocent child like this over a toy!"

"A toy?" I spun to face her, the fire in my eyes hot enough to burn her alive. "That was not a toy!"

"Isabella, that's enough," Alessio said, his voice ice cold as he walked over. "It was an accident."

"An accident?" I pointed at the broken pieces on the floor, my voice rising to a hysterical shriek. "Just like your sons' 'disappearance' was an 'accident'? Why is it that every 'accident' involving your precious heirs always comes at the expense of my daughter?"

For a fleeting second, panic flashed in Cassandra's eyes before she masked it with a look of pure innocence.

"Isabella, I know you're upset, but you can't take it out on the children," she said, holding Marco tighter. "They did nothing wrong."

"Nothing wrong?" I scoffed. "If it wasn't for them, Lucia wouldn't have..."

I stopped myself. I couldn't tell them the truth. Not yet. The time wasn't right.

"Lucia wouldn't have what?" Alessio pressed.

"Wouldn't have been locked in that icehouse by you!" I finally exploded. "Wouldn't have been tortured by your so-called 'family training'!"

"It was necessary discipline." He didn't back down.

"She's an eight-year-old child!"

"She is a Moretti." His tone became dangerous. "Isabella, you are becoming a bigger and bigger disappointment."

"A disappointment?" I laughed, a sharp, broken sound that scared even me.

"Yes." He stalked toward me, his face dark. "You're jealous, petty, and taking it out on innocent kids. Where is the grace of a Don's wife?"

"Grace?" I stared at him. "You want me to show grace to the people who destroyed my daughter's treasure?"

CRACK.

The sound of his palm connecting with my cheek echoed through the vast hall, silencing everything.

"Isabella," Alessio's voice was cold as ice. "Show me the grace of a Don's wife."

The echo of that slap hung in the air.

I held my burning cheek and looked at the broken pieces of the music box on the floor.

Each shard of crystal reflected the cold light, like a piece of Lucia's shattered life.

"Clean up this mess," Alessio ordered coldly. "Then prepare dinner. Our family is eating together tonight."

Trash.

He called Lucia's most beloved treasure trash.

I knelt, my hands shaking, and carefully gathered every single piece. Maybe I could fix it. Maybe I could hear Lucia's song again.

But I knew some things, once broken, can never be repaired.

Like my heart. Like my family. Like my dead daughter.

"Isabella." Alessio's voice was above me. "Stop making a scene. It's just a music box."

Just a music box. Just like Lucia was just a daughter, an existence that could be sacrificed.

I stood up, holding the broken pieces, and walked toward the stairs without a word.

"Where's Lucia?" Alessio suddenly asked. "I want her to come down and meet Marco and Mike."

My feet froze.

"She's resting."

"Resting? At this hour?" His voice was laced with impatience. "Go get her."

"She's not ready." My voice was trembling. "That 'training' took a lot out of her."

"All the more reason for her to get up and move around," he said, striding toward the stairs. "I'll get her myself."

"No!" I blocked his path like a cornered lioness. "She doesn't want to see anyone!"

Alessio frowned. "What do you mean?"

"She's... sick," I stammered, scrambling for an excuse. "A fever. The doctor said she needs to be isolated."

"When did this happen? How come I don't know?"

"Right... right after you left." My lie was paper-thin, but it would have to do. "She caught a chill in the icehouse."

Alessio was silent for a moment, then seemed to accept it with a nod. "Then let her rest. She should be fine by tomorrow."

Tomorrow.

If he knew the truth, there would be no more tomorrows in his world.

I rushed back to my room and locked the door. My heart was pounding. The plan had to start now.

I took out my phone and first dialed the number for Antonio, the family Consigliere.

"Consigliere's office."

"It's me, Isabella. I need to see Antonio. It's urgent."

"Mrs. Moretti." The voice on the other end became instantly respectful. "Antonio is free this evening. Where would you like to meet?"

"The old place. One hour."

After hanging up, my hand hovered over another contact: 'Father'.

My family, the Falcones, had always looked down on the Morettis' brutish, violent methods. We preferred to use money and power to silently choke the life out of our rivals.

My marriage to Alessio was meant to be a bridge between our two worlds. A bridge he had just doused in gasoline and set ablaze.

I dialed the number. "Father," I began, my voice so steady it surprised me, "it's time for Alessio to repay his debt to our family."

On the other end, my father's voice was hard as steel. "Tell me what you need."

Just as I placed the last essential item in my suitcase, there was a soft knock on the door.

"Isabella?" It was Cassandra. "Can we talk?"

I opened the door. She stood in the hallway, a look of fake concern on her face.

"Are you leaving?" She spotted the suitcase behind me.

"None of your business."

"I think there's been a misunderstanding between us," she said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. "About Marco and Mike going missing."

I stopped what I was doing and stared at her, my eyes cold.

Her expression twisted into a smirk as she dropped the act. "Did you really think I didn't know my parents took them?" she sneered, sitting on my bed. "I knew a day in advance."

The blood in my veins turned to ice.

"What?"

"I deliberately kept Alessio in the dark." She crossed her legs, the picture of smug satisfaction. "I wanted to see what he'd do to you—the barren wife who couldn't give him a son."

"You... you knew what would happen..."

"What did I think would happen? That your precious Lucia would get a time-out?" She shrugged dismissively. "I just didn't think Alessio cared so much about me that he'd actually lock your precious daughter in an icehouse over it. Consider it a lesson."

The volcano of rage inside me finally erupted.

"You vicious bitch!"

I lunged at her, but she was ready. She screamed and jumped back.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked, her voice loud enough for the whole house to hear. "Help! She's trying to kill me!"

I had barely pushed her, but she threw herself backward, tumbling down the stairs with theatrical screams before landing with a sickening thud on the marble floor below.

"Cassandra!" Alessio's voice boomed from downstairs.

I ran to the top of the stairs and saw her lying on the floor, blood seeping from a gash on her forehead.

But from an angle no one else could see, her eyes glinted with triumph.

"She pushed me!" she cried weakly, pointing at me. "She tried to kill me and my baby!"

Baby?

"You're pregnant?" Alessio yelled, rushing to her side before looking up at me with murder in his eyes.

"Three months," she whimpered. "I was going to tell you, but..."

Another heir.

"Isabella! Get down here!" Alessio roared.

I walked slowly down the stairs, each step like walking on knives.

"She admitted it," I said calmly. "She knew where Marco and Mike were the whole time. She set me up."

"Enough!" Alessio's eyes were filled with disgust. "You're so jealous you've lost your mind! You'd attack a pregnant woman?"

"I didn't push her! She—"

"She threw herself down the stairs?" he sneered. "Isabella, do you take me for a fool?"

"She's trying to frame me!"

"Frame you?" His voice turned lethal. "You think the whole world is against you?"

"Not the world, just her!" I pointed at Cassandra. "She admitted it! She wanted Lucia to be punished!"

"That's enough!" Alessio stood up and advanced on me. "If you slander her again, I swear to God I will carve your name on a headstone in the family plot myself."

A naked threat. He was threatening to kill me.

"And what about Lucia?" I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze. "Will you be carving her name on a headstone, too?"

"What did you just say?"

"She's dead, Alessio." The tears finally broke free. "Your daughter is dead. And you, you killed her."

"Shut your mouth!" He raised his hand to slap me again. "Don't you dare curse us with such filth! Lucia is upstairs resting!"

"A curse? You think this is a curse?"

I reached into my handbag for the death certificate. My hands were shaking so badly that the bag slipped from my grasp, its contents scattering across the floor.

Curious, Cassandra picked up the folded document from the pile.

"What's this?" she asked, unfolding it. She began to read aloud: "Certificate of Death... Name: Lucia Moretti..."

Her voice trailed off into silence.

The color drained from Alessio's face, leaving it the color of ash.