Isabella POV
The scent of cedar and rich wool in the Fifth Avenue tailor shop was a stark contrast to the decaying dampness of my family's estate. I held a swatch of navy blue cashmere against Luca’s small shoulders. He looked up at me, his dark eyes wide, trying so hard to be the brave man of the house I needed him to be.
Looking at his innocent face, my mind slipped into the dark, suffocating abyss of my past-life memories. I knew exactly what had transpired last night in the stuffy, over-decorated living room of the Gallo townhouse. I could almost smell Mrs. Gallo’s cloying perfume and the stale cigar smoke.
They had feasted on the idea of the Falcone legacy like starving vultures. Old Man Gallo had salivated over my mother’s $100,000 trust fund and her rare diamonds, while his wife gleefully suggested using Luca as a hostage to keep me obedient. And Leo? He had sat there, indifferent to my existence, caring only about claiming my father’s Brooklyn docks to pay off his massive gambling debts and secure his Caporegime status. His plan was to lock me away in a gilded cage while he elevated his mistress, Angelica Russo, to rule his home.
That was why I had to strike first.
I glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the shop. It was just past noon. Right now, across the bridge in Brooklyn, the Gallos were throwing a lavish party at their Social Club. They had gathered their Soldiers and Associates, foolishly expecting Don Luciano to publicly reward them with my family's territory.
But I knew the Don's cruel sense of humor. His loyal butler, Donny, would be arriving right about now, not with deeds or cash, but with two small boxes. For Leo, a Bible and silver cutlery engraved with the words *Loyalty* and *Humility*. For Angelica, a heavy antique book on female chastity. It was a public execution of their pride—a lethal warning from the Don that their greed had overstepped his command.
The bell above the tailor shop door didn't just ring; it violently chimed as the heavy glass door was shoved open. The roar of a red Duesenberg engine echoed from the street outside.
"Isabella Falcone!"
The scream shattered the elegant quiet of the shop. I turned slowly, dropping the cashmere swatch.
Leo Gallo stood in the doorway, his tailored suit rumpled, his face flushed with a manic, humiliated rage. Angelica Russo hovered just behind him, her usually composed features tight with barely concealed fury.
Luca flinched, but before I could push him behind me, my brave six-year-old brother stepped forward, spreading his small arms wide to shield me from the man who was supposed to be my husband.
Leo didn't even look at the boy. He closed the distance between us in three long strides, his hand shooting out to wrap around my wrist in a bruising, vicious grip.
"You vicious *puttana* (whore)," Leo spat, his voice trembling with a wrath that bordered on madness. "You think you're clever? You think you can spread your legs for the Don to steal my territory and humiliate me in front of my own men?"
I didn't flinch. I didn't pull away. I simply stared into the eyes of the man who had once planned to destroy my family, letting the ice in my veins freeze the air between us.
