Isabella POV
The spectacle in the main hall had served its purpose. Eleanor, disgusted by the public display of our fractured bloodline, ordered the guards to drag Caitlin away from the prying eyes of the lower-ranking members. We moved to the Private Chapel, a small, suffocating room paneled in dark walnut. Dozens of white candles flickered before a marble statue of the Virgin Mary, the air thick with the heavy scent of frankincense and old wood.
Caitlin was thrown onto the cold stone floor at the foot of the altar. Gina and Bridget stood trembling near the entrance. I remained silently by my grandmother’s side, the shadows of the chapel hiding the cold satisfaction in my eyes.
Eleanor stood tall, her silver wolf-headed cane resting firmly on the ground. She looked down at the ruined girl like a judge presiding over the damned.
"Make your choice, Caitlin," Eleanor commanded, her voice echoing off the stone walls.
Caitlin sobbed hysterically, her torn emerald dress pooling around her. "Mama, please! Don't let her send me away!" she shrieked, reaching a trembling hand toward Gina.
Eleanor struck the floor with her cane. *Clack.* "The convent or the slum. Choose now, or I will execute the highest family discipline and erase your name from the Carson ledger entirely. You will be nothing."
The threat of becoming a nameless nobody finally broke through Caitlin’s hysteria. Shaking violently, she choked out the words that sealed her fate. "The convent... Sicily."
Gina threw herself forward, tears streaming down her face. "Mother Eleanor, I beg you! Let her serve her punishment here. House arrest! She has lost her purity, isn't that punishment enough for a girl?"
Eleanor’s eyes blazed with a terrifying, cold fury. "You watched her humiliate Isabella in the Moretti estate. You conspired to hand our shipping lines to our enemies. And now you dare speak of punishment?" Eleanor took a step toward her daughter-in-law. "One more word, Gina, and I will call Declan to sign the banishment papers. You will be sent back to the Gallo family in disgrace, a laughingstock to the entire Chicago Outfit."
The words hit Gina like a physical blow. In our world, a woman banished back to her maiden family was socially dead. Gina’s mouth snapped shut, her face draining of all color.
"Your greed poisoned this branch," Eleanor continued, her tone absolute. "You will hand over the ledgers and keys to the laundromats and the funeral homes immediately. Furthermore, the marriages of all second-branch children will now be decided solely by me."
At that, Bridget’s head snapped up. Her eyes, usually cast down in feigned innocence, flashed with sharp calculation. She was secretly plotting to marry Marco Moretti to seize power; she could not afford to let our grandmother control her betrothal. Moving with subtle urgency, Bridget reached out and gave her mother’s skirt a sharp, hidden tug.
Gina caught the hint. Desperate to preserve Bridget’s chances of climbing the mafia ladder, Gina swallowed her pride and her tears. "I... I will surrender the ledgers, Mother Eleanor."
"Go pack them," Eleanor ordered dismissively. "Bridget, go assist your mother."
I watched from the shadows as Bridget guided her broken mother out of the chapel. Bridget had just sacrificed her mother’s power to protect her own ambition. She was far more dangerous than Caitlin ever was.
The guards hauled a weeping Caitlin out through the side door, destined for a ship to Italy.
The heavy oak doors clicked shut, sealing the chapel. The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by the soft crackle of the candle flames. The scent of frankincense suddenly felt suffocating.
Eleanor turned her back to the altar and faced me. The anger that had been directed at Gina and Caitlin was gone, replaced by something far more intense and unreadable. Her eagle-like eyes locked onto mine, stripping away the facade of the innocent victim I had played all night. She knew. She knew the flawless execution of my Vendetta was not just self-defense, but a calculated slaughter.
The air in the small room grew incredibly heavy.
"Kneel, Isabella," Eleanor commanded, her voice dropping to a low, chilling register that left no room for hesitation.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I slowly bent my knees, the freezing marble seeping through the fabric of my dress as I lowered myself before the Matriarch.
