Isabella POV
The next morning, the lock clicked open once more. Mrs. Russo entered, carrying a breakfast tray. Her expression was even colder than yesterday's.
"The Signora is pleased with your obedience," Mrs. Russo said, her tone dripping with condescension as she tossed the envelope beside the plate. "Fifty dollars. You have three hours."
I scrambled off the bed, clutching the envelope to my chest as if it were a holy relic. I forced my eyes to widen, letting a tremor of naive gratitude enter my voice. "Thank you. Please, tell the Signora I am so grateful." I hesitated, biting my lower lip in feigned innocence. "Does the Signora... does she hope I give the *Don* a child soon?"
Mrs. Russo's eyes flashed with fleeting disgust before settling into a sickeningly sweet smile. "To bear the Moretti heir is an honor for any woman. The Signora will pray for your success. Now, eat your breakfast. You need your strength."
*So the herbs are already in the food,* I realized, staring at the eggs. I nodded meekly and took a bite, knowing I had to play the perfect, oblivious puppet for just a little longer.
An hour later, the stench of bleach and despair hit me as I entered the charity ward of St. Mary's Hospital. Dozens of iron beds were crammed together, filled with coughing, groaning women.
Behind me, Enzo—the Falcone soldier sent to be my shadow—scowled. He shifted uncomfortably, his expensive suit entirely out of place in this hellhole of female suffering.
I turned to him, slipping a five-dollar bill from my envelope. "My mother is in the back. It is... not a place for a man," I murmured, keeping my eyes downcast. "There is a cafe on the corner. Please, have a coffee. I will be an hour."
Enzo looked at the money, then at the chaotic, weeping women. He snatched the bill. "Don't do anything stupid, girl. I'll be outside."
The moment he disappeared, I didn't go to my mother's bed. I slipped out through the laundry exit, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I practically ran to Little Italy, navigating the narrow, shadowed alleys until I found the small shop with dried garlic and chili peppers hanging in the window. The air inside was thick with the pungent, earthy scent of roots and decay.
An old woman with eyes like polished obsidian sat behind the counter. A *Strega*(Witch/Healer).
"I need the bitter roots," I whispered, sliding a ten-dollar bill across the scratched wood. "The ones that make a woman's body her own."
She didn't ask questions. She simply handed me three small, brown paper packets.
Before returning to the hospital, I slipped into the alley behind a bakery, bribing a sympathetic cook to let me use a boiling pot. I poured the first packet into a cup of hot water. The liquid was black and smelled of ash. I drank it down in one gulp, letting the vile, burning taste coat my throat.
*Checkmate, Bianca.*
With the remaining money, I returned to St. Mary's, paid a nurse to move my mother to a cleaner bed near a window, and walked back out to find Enzo.
When I finally returned to the Moretti estate, the heavy oak doors of the servants' wing swallowed me whole. I was escorted back to my freezing cage, the lock clicking shut behind me. I sat on the edge of the iron bed, waiting in the shadows. I had secured my body. Now, it was time to dismantle the Queen's court, starting with the jealous maid who held the keys to my cell.
