Angelo POV
Isabella's back was to me, her slender frame silhouetted against the large bay windows. The word *Rat* hung in the dead air of the suite, a venomous little thing that should have enraged me. Instead, the sheer, unadulterated absurdity of her threat washed over me, replacing my anger with cold amusement.
An annulment? Because of a bruised ego?
I let out a harsh bark of laughter, shaking my head at her rigid spine. "You're delusional, Isabella," I said, my voice dripping with the kind of pity one reserves for a mad dog. "You think the Don cares about the tears of a merchant's daughter? Without the Riggs name, you are a lamb in a city of wolves. Your own father would sell you to the highest bidder before the ink on your little annulment even dried."
I adjusted my cuffs, feeling the satisfying, heavy weight of my own authority settle back over my shoulders. She was throwing a tantrum, using the only weapon she thought she had—empty threats.
"I'll leave you to your hysterics," I declared, my tone final. "Take a few days to cool off. Think about your position, and remember who keeps a roof over your head."
I turned on my heel and strode out of the room, completely ignoring the murderous glare of her little maid, Cressie. I had won. The queen had tried to play a pawn's game, and I had effortlessly put her in check.
My blood hummed with victory as I descended the grand staircase. It was time to stop indulging my wife's jealousy and start solidifying my real future. I pushed open the heavy oak doors to my mother's sitting room. The cloying scent of her cheap floral perfume hit me instantly, masking the stale, suffocating air of the overly decorated space.
Carlene looked up from her teacup, her eyes wide and frantic. "Angelo? What happened? Did you fix it?"
"It's handled," I announced smoothly, walking over to the crystal decanter and pouring myself a generous glass of bourbon. "She's throwing a fit, but she'll fall in line. She has no other choice. Now, onto more important matters."
I took a sip, the amber liquid burning pleasantly down my throat. "We need to officially announce my union with Cecelia. I want the biggest engagement party Chicago has ever seen. Book the grand ballroom at The Drake. Hire that jazz band from New York everyone is talking about, and make sure the menu is strictly top-tier French cuisine. I want the entire Outfit to know that the Riggs family is untouchable."
I expected my mother to beam with pride, to immediately start making lists. Instead, the color drained from her face so fast she looked like a freshly embalmed corpse. Her teacup rattled violently against the porcelain saucer.
"Angelo..." she whispered, her voice trembling so badly I could barely hear her. "How... how do you plan to pay for all of this?"
I frowned, profoundly irritated by her sudden lack of vision. "What kind of question is that? With the family accounts, obviously. Isabella's dowry put four hundred thousand dollars into the communal trust. That's more than enough to cover a party at The Drake and secure my new position within the Family."
I ran a hand through my hair, pacing the ugly floral rug. "I've already drained my personal funds greasing palms to get the Pearsons on board. It's time the family money did its job."
Carlene shrank back into her armchair, her hands shaking so violently she had to put the tea down. She looked terrified, not of the Outfit, but of me.
"Angelo," she choked out, her voice dropping to a pathetic, reedy whisper. "The communal account... there's only three thousand dollars left."
The glass of bourbon slipped from my fingers, shattering against the hardwood floor. The amber liquid bled into the rug, but I couldn't feel my hands. The world simply stopped spinning.
"What did you just say?"
