Isabella POV
Eva lay paralyzed on the Persian rug amidst the scattered evidence of her sins. For a few heavy seconds, the only sound in the study was the crackle of the fire and my father's ragged breathing.
Then, the trembling stopped.
The terrified rat realized the trap was permanently shut, and so, she bared her teeth. Eva pushed herself off the floor, her delicate hands brushing the parchment away with disgust. The fragile, tear-stained mask she had worn for years melted away, replaced by an ugly, twisted visage of pure resentment.
"You gave Isabella everything," Eva spat, her voice losing its soft cadence as she glared at my mother. "You handed her the future of Chicago on a silver platter, but me? You only ever planned to marry me off to some nobody Capo to secure your borders!"
My mother, Sofia, stiffened, her eyes narrowing into lethal slits. But before she could unleash her wrath, Eva pivoted to my father.
"My father's blood was spilled for you!" she shrieked, her voice echoing off the mahogany walls. She pointed a trembling finger at Don Marco's chest. "This estate, your throne, the very air you breathe—it was all bought with his life! You have no right to judge me! You owe me! I am cashing in that life today to buy my marriage to Dante!"
The sheer audacity of her words sucked the oxygen from the room. She was taking the sacred memory of a fallen soldier and turning it into a filthy, desperate transaction. My father turned ashen, his jaw clenching so hard I thought his teeth might shatter.
Dante, however, saw something entirely different. Blinded by his own ego and desperate to validate his disastrous choices, he saw a tragic heroine fighting for their love. He stepped forward, shielding Eva with his body like a knight defending his queen.
"She is right," Dante said coldly, lifting his chin to challenge the Butcher of Chicago in his own home. "You used her father's loyalty, but you never truly accepted her as your own blood. You sit on your high horses, but you are the ones without onore (honor)!"
My mother let out a feral sound, her hand dropping toward the hidden pocket of her skirt where she kept a pearl-handled derringer.
I moved faster. I stepped out from the shadows, raising a hand to block my mother's path. I didn't want them dead—not yet. Death was too quick, too merciful for what they had done to me in my past life. I wanted them stripped of everything.
"You dare speak of honor?" I asked, my voice a deadly, icy calm that made Dante flinch. "A traditore (traitor) who breaks blood oaths? You don't even deserve to have the word on your tongue."
I bypassed Dante entirely and locked my gaze onto Eva. She shrank back slightly, unnerved by the absolute lack of emotion in my eyes.
"You think your father died simply to save mine?" I asked softly, letting the silence stretch. "You think we owe you an unpayable debt?"
I let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "The truth is far heavier than the fairy tale you've spun to justify your greed. Years ago, during the war with the Irish mob, it was your father who walked blindly into an ambush. My father, Don Marco Moretti, rushed into the crossfire to save him."
I pointed sharply at my father's empty left sleeve, pinned neatly to his tailored suit jacket.
"He lost his arm pulling your father out of the slaughter!" I declared, my voice ringing with absolute authority. "He left a piece of himself on that concrete for him! Yes, your father died covering my crippled father's retreat, and we honor that sacrifice. But do not ever forget—my father's arm already paid for your father's life! We owe you absolutely nothing!"
The truth sliced through the room like a freshly sharpened stiletto.
Dante went deathly pale, his jaw slackening as the weight of the revelation crushed his self-righteous defense. He looked at Eva, a flicker of doubt finally piercing his arrogant armor. Eva staggered back as if I had physically struck her. Her ultimate moral high ground was completely pulverized, leaving her standing in the ashes of her ruined schemes, entirely defenseless.
