Isabella POV
The formal dining room of the Moretti estate felt less like a place to eat and more like a cathedral built for a sacrifice. The polished mahogany table, long enough to seat thirty, gleamed under the crystal chandelier. The heavy scent of white lilies hung in the air, failing to mask the suffocating tension.
Dante took his seat at the head of the table, the undisputed Dark Don of the empire. I sat at his right.
Before the first course was even served, Adriana struck. She offered a sickeningly sweet smile that didn't reach her eyes. "A few minutes late, Isabella? I suppose the Rossi family forgot the importance of punctuality when they lost their standing. But here, we have rules."
Daniela, sitting across from her, shifted uncomfortably, trying to murmur something about the estate's sprawling layout, but the air had already turned to ice.
I didn't flush. I didn't look away. I met Adriana's venomous gaze with absolute calm. "I only follow one rule now, Adriana," I said, my voice carrying clearly across the china and silver. "The rule of my husband. The Don's schedule is the only one that matters."
By aligning my actions entirely with Dante's authority, I turned her petty insult into a potential questioning of the Don himself. Adriana's mouth clamped shut, her face paling slightly.
At the opposite end of the table, Nonna Elena watched the exchange. The highest Elder of the family gestured to a servant, who stepped forward and placed an ancient velvet box in the center of the table.
Nonna Elena opened it. Inside rested a breathtaking emerald necklace.
"The Tears of Sicily," Nonna Elena announced, her raspy voice commanding absolute attention. "It has belonged to the matriarchs of this family for generations. It is yours now, Isabella."
Adriana slammed her hands onto the table, her composure shattering. "This is too soon! She is an outsider! A gold digger who stole Marco's place—"
"Adriana."
Dante didn't raise his voice. He didn't even look at her. But the sheer, lethal weight of his tone sucked the oxygen from the room. It was a warning wrapped in razor wire. Adriana froze, her chest heaving, terrified into silence.
Under Nonna Elena's scrutinizing gaze, I reached into the box. I lifted the heavy gems and fastened them around my own neck. The cold stones rested against my collarbone like a heavy, unbreakable vow.
Desperate and humiliated, Adriana shifted her tactics. She looked at Dante, tears welling in her eyes. "Dante, you must reconsider Marco's allowance. Cutting him off in Paris is cruel. He is family."
I didn't let Dante answer. I stepped into the line of fire.
"Marco is a liability," I stated, my tone devoid of any sympathy. "As the new Trustee Proxy of his estate, I made the decision to cut his funds."
"That is my son's money!" Adriana shrieked, dropping the grieving mother act.
"It is Moretti money," I corrected smoothly. "And I am teaching him that betrayal has a price. If you wish to fund a runaway groom's Parisian playground, I suggest you dip into your own dividends."
The table fell dead silent. I had just exposed her stinginess and reminded everyone exactly who caused this mess. Adriana's face flushed a mottled red. She had no counterattack.
Dante picked up his linen napkin, casually wiping the corner of his mouth. He raised his hand, his heavy gold pinky ring clinking sharply against his crystal water glass. The crisp sound echoed like a gavel.
He surveyed the table, his slate-gray eyes devoid of mercy. "Any other objections to how my wife handles family business?" he asked, his voice a low, terrifying rumble.
No one dared to breathe. The Don's Command was absolute. At the far end of the table, the faintest shadow of a smile touched Nonna Elena's lips.
The hierarchy had been rewritten.
As the plates were cleared, Nonna Elena stood up, leaning on her cane. "Dante, join me in the library. We have matters to discuss."
Dante nodded. He gave me a brief, possessive glance before following his grandmother out of the dining room.
Left to my own devices, I stood up, needing to escape the suffocating scent of the lilies. The estate's rose garden was just outside the terrace doors, offering a quiet place to gather my thoughts. I stepped out into the afternoon sun, unaware of the bitter, desperate woman slipping out of the dining room right behind me.
