Isabella Harrison POV
The heavy oak door to my grandmother's private study stood slightly ajar. The scent of old leather, aged scotch, and Elia Harrison's signature Cuban cigars hung thick in the air. This room was the beating heart of the Harrison family, a place where blood was weighed and lives were priced.
I stepped inside. Elia didn't offer comfort; she offered a single sheet of cream paper.
"Your dowry," she stated, her voice a raspy, uncompromising command.
I stepped closer and scanned the list. Prime Chicago real estate untouched by bootlegging turf wars, a numbered Swiss bank account, and bearer bonds for legitimate import-export fronts. It wasn't a wedding gift. It was a war chest.
"The Gallo family is a viper's nest," Elia said, her dark eyes locking onto mine. "You will not go in as a beggar. This is your shield."
I stared at the staggering wealth. In my past life, I had been naive enough to accept it openly, only to have Karly and her mother scheme to strip it away. I looked up at the Matriarch.
"Grandmother," I said, sliding the paper back across the mahogany desk. "A list this valuable is safer with you. In a house like this, secrets have a way of walking. I trust you to keep it safe until the day I leave."
Elia's hand paused. A flicker of genuine surprise, followed by sharp approval, softened the harsh lines of her face. "Smart girl," she murmured. "I will send my most loyal soldiers and cunning assistants with you. No one will touch what is yours."
Before I could thank her, the study doors were thrown open.
Karly Harrison and her mother barged in, their faces twisted with greedy indignation. They had clearly been eavesdropping.
"It's not fair!" Karly's mother shrieked, abandoning all mafia decorum. "Karly is marrying Barrett! She is a Harrison bloodline too. We demand the exact same dowry as Isabella!"
The temperature in the room plummeted. To challenge a Don or a Matriarch in their own sanctuary was a death wish. Elia didn't yell. She didn't even stand up. She merely shifted her cold gaze to Maria, her Head of Staff, who stood silently in the shadows.
Maria stepped forward, opening a drawer to retrieve a thin, pathetic sheet of paper—Karly's original, meager dowry arrangement. She placed it on the desk.
Elia picked it up. With agonizing slowness, she struck a match on her silver cigar lighter and touched the flame to the corner of the parchment. We watched in dead silence as the paper curled, blackened, and turned to ash, drifting onto the polished wood.
"You wanted equality," Elia said, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Now she has nothing. Get out of my sight before I have you removed."
Karly let out a choked sob, her mother turning a sickly shade of white. They stumbled backward and fled the room, their petty rebellion crushed into dust. They had played their hand and lost everything.
Weeks bled into the inevitable. By the night of August eighth, the ink on my life sentence had dried.
The bridal suite at the Gallo Estate was a gilded cage of suffocating opulence. Heavy silk drapes, a massive four-poster bed, and the cloying stench of expensive lilies. I sat on the edge of the mattress, weighed down by layers of imported lace and pearls.
Outside the thick bedroom door, the muffled, violent sounds of the Gallo Don's rage echoed through the hallway. Glass shattered against a wall. A man roared in Italian.
Clara wrung her hands, her face pale as she paced the thick carpet. "Miss Isabella, the Don is furious. Kyle... your husband... he never showed up to the reception."
Sofia stood by the vanity, her jaw tight with pragmatic calculation. "They say he's with his mistress. Gwendolyn May. He's humiliating our family on purpose."
I looked at my reflection in the ornate mirror. Kyle Gallo was a spoiled prince throwing a tantrum against his father's iron rule. He thought his absence was a weapon against me, completely oblivious to the fact that he was handing me the exact leverage I needed. An unconsummated marriage was the first step to an annulment.
I stood up, my spine perfectly straight, and pulled the heavy veil from my hair, letting it drop to the floor.
"He won't be coming," I said, my voice steady and devoid of any heartbreak. I turned my back to the door. "Help me with this dress. Let's not waste a good night's sleep."