Bait on the Battlefield

Isabella Rossi's POV

Brutality flared in Lorenzo's eyes. He shoved me away with a violent jerk, then wiped his fingers with a handkerchief as if cleansing himself of filth.

"Give this Soldato her check," he said coldly. "Then get her out of my sight."

With that, he turned on his heel, leaving without a second glance. Just as he reached the door, he paused. His gaze, dark and sinister, locked onto me over his shoulder.

"And one more thing," he added. "Elena is hosting a celebration tonight, and we're short on entertainment. Be there."

I picked up the check from the floor, blowing gently on the wet blood until it was dry enough to fold, then slipped it into my inner pocket.

The paper pressed against my fresh wound, but I felt no pain.

"Fine. As long as you pay," I said flatly.

…

The Santoro Estate was ablaze with light.

Once, this had been the Rossi ancestral home. Three years ago, when the Rossi famiglia fell, and I was sent to prison, Lorenzo seized our territory with ruthless efficiency—including this very estate.

Now, it housed a new mistress with ambitions of becoming Donna.

Elena Marino, draped in white haute couture, clung to Lorenzo's arm.

"Lorenzo, I heard you invited Bella here? She… she just got out of prison. She has such a dangerous edge to her now. I'm a little scared."

She glanced toward the entrance, her expression timid and her voice soft, but her eyes gleamed with a triumph she couldn't quite hide. She was nothing more than an Associate, yet she was being treated with the reverence of a Donna.

Lorenzo wrapped his arm around her waist. "Don't be scared. She's nothing but a stray now. You're the mistress of this house. You can toy with her however you like."

Dressed in plain black workwear, I felt utterly out of place in the lavish hall.

Capos from every district filled the room, their eyes mocking.

"Isn't that the former Principessa Rossi? I heard her leg was broken in prison. Look at her limp."

"Keep it down. She's no Principessa anymore. She's just a desperate madwoman selling her life for a paycheck."

I tuned them out and walked straight toward Lorenzo.

Standing before him, I held out my hand. "Don Santoro, I'm here for my fee."

He swirled his wine, watching me with a smile that never reached his eyes.

"What's the rush?" he said. "Isabella, you used to be a master at taming beasts, didn't you? If I recall correctly, I was the first monster you ever broke."

He clapped his hands.

Two Soldatos walked in, straining against the leashes of a massive Rottweiler.

Unmuzzled, its fangs bared, ropes of saliva dripping from its jowls. It looked rabid, clearly hyped up on stimulants.

"It was trained for protection," Lorenzo said softly, patting Elena's back to soothe her.

Then, his gaze turned bone-chillingly cold. "Isabella, I heard you learned how to fight in prison. Why don't you give Elena a show? If you can make it lie down obediently, you get a hundred grand tonight."

"A hundred grand…" I murmured.

I stared at the restless beast. Its eyes were bloodshot, a low growl vibrating deep in its throat.

This wasn't entertainment; it was a gladiator match. But I couldn't walk away from that money.

I took off my jacket, revealing arms mapped with scars and fresh bandages from the ballistic test earlier that afternoon.

"Deal."

I had barely taken two steps when the Rottweiler went berserk. It broke free of the leashes and lunged at me with a thunderous roar.

Guests shrieked and scattered in panic.

I rolled aside, narrowly escaping its snapping jaws, but its claws raked across my arm, leaving three gashes deep enough to expose the bone.

As soon as it hit the floor, it spun around and charged again.

This time, I didn't dodge.

During my three years in prison, I had fought women twice my size over things as small as half a bun a cellmate once shared with me.

I met its razor-sharp teeth head-on, jamming my left hand into its mouth to lock its jaw open. With my right hand, I drew the dull knife hidden in my boot and drove it into its throat.

It was a single, lethal strike. The Rottweiler whimpered once and collapsed.

Blood soaked my hand as I pulled free.

The hall fell into deathly silence.

Panting, I forced myself upright and met Lorenzo's gaze. His pupils contracted sharply. He stared at my practiced, lethal movements. A flicker of panic flashed through his eyes.

The Isabella he remembered couldn't stomach watching a chicken slaughtered. Yet, the woman before him now exuded a menace more terrifying than any beast.

I held out my mangled, blood-soaked hand. "The show's over. Pay me."

"Dio mio! Lorenzo! My dog! That was my dog!" Elena burst into hysterical sobs. "Isabella, you pazza! Why did you kill him? He just wanted to play with you!"

Her cries snapped Lorenzo back to himself. His face darkened as he strode over and slapped me hard across the face.