“You don’t belong here,” she says, and there is something almost frantic beneath the cruelty now. “This world will eat you alive.”
“It feels like I’ve been eaten alive before, when your father tried to kill me… oh… three weeks ago?” I tell her softly. “I survived. You, however… you think you’ve survived because no one has ever truly tested you.”
Her jaw clenches hard. “You think this is a test?”
“I think you’re running out of time,” I say simply. “So let us stop circling. Tell me what your father planned.”
Isabella’s laugh is sharp, humourless. “You already know,” she says. “He planned to kill Giovanni.”
“And after?” I press. “What then?”
Her gaze flickers, but her lips purse tighter.
“After he was gone,” I continue, “what was next? La Fratellanza Nera doesn’t move without a reason. Bellandi does not beg for meetings without leverage. What are you not telling me?”
She hesitates.
I lean forward slightly. “I am not asking twice. And next time I might not be able to stop Lorenzo here from extracting much-needed retribution for shooting his Don.”
Her nostrils flare, rage warring with calculation. But like a deflating balloon she realises her only option is to give me what I want.
“They gave him a timeline,” she says finally, the words coming out like poison. “La Fratellanza Nera. They told him to bring Dragoni to heel or step aside.”
My stomach tightens. “How long?”
“Days,” she snaps. “Not weeks. Days. You’re running out of time,” she taunts. A bully who doesn’t know when to lie the hell down.
A cold clarity settles through me. “And if your father fails? What then? They let him waltz off into the sunset? I don’t think so.”
Her jaw works for frantic minutes. Then anguish crosses her face. “They will replace him,” Isabella says, voice rising. “But they will still take New York. They will carve it up like meat. They think Giovanni has grown weak.”
I let out a quiet breath.
Because of me.
Isabella sees it in my face and pounces. “Because of you,” she hisses. “Because he chased you. Because he brought you back. Because he lets you sit at his table when women are supposed to stay silent and pretty.”
I tilt my head. “And yet you are the one in a chair,” I murmur. “Silent. Pretty. Powerless.”
Her face flushes with fury. “You think you’ve won,” she spits. “I look forward to seeing you learn otherwise.”
She can’t help her glee. Stupid woman. Seriously, some women need to learn to say no when the beauty prize grossly outweighs the brains.
“Let me guess. Bellandi has another ace?”
She stills, then her lashes sweep down as she recognises her error.
“Lorenzo,” I say softly.
The giant body advances one step before Isabella gasps. “Wait! I’ll tell you!”
I put up a hand and Lorenzo retreats. “Go on, then.”
Her lips tremble with the need to hurt me back. “He was arranging my marriage,” she says, and the humiliation in her voice is sharp enough to taste. “In Sicily. To a rising capo. An alliance. A shield. A way to prove he still controls something.”
My eyes narrow. “So while he begged Giovanni for peace,” I say slowly, “he was selling his daughter like currency.”
Isabella’s eyes blaze with tears she refuses to let fall. “You don’t understand,” she whispers. “This is how it works.”
