Pampered By The Ruthless Chicago Don

Isabella POV

Angelina’s eyes locked onto the pastries, her chest heaving as she desperately searched for a way to strike back. She picked up a delicate pink macaron, her lips curling into a condescending smile.

"Oh, Isabella, you might not have the palate for these," Angelina said, her voice dripping with exaggerated pity. "I heard in Sicily, your kind prefers... what is it? *Cannoli*? So heavy and unrefined."

I didn't bristle. Instead, I reached out, selected a pale green pistachio macaron, and took a slow, elegant bite. I turned my gaze to the woman sitting beside her.

"Gloria, look," I murmured, a lazy smile playing on my lips. "What a thoughtful sister we have. Though she must have forgotten that my late mother favored Ladurée in Paris. True aristocracy doesn't flaunt its taste, Angelina; it simply knows how to appreciate all beautiful things. It is a matter of breeding. You will learn it eventually."

Angelina’s face flushed a violent crimson, her mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish.

Gloria immediately jumped in, eager to elevate her own status while defending the Princess. "Isabella, darling," she began, her tone sickeningly sweet. "Angelina is just a child. As her older sister-in-law and our future Matriarch, you should be more magnanimous."

I let my eyes drift over her, stripping away her false warmth with a look of utter blankness. I turned to the Matriarch. "Forgive my intrusion, Donna Eleonora, but who is this?"

Gloria’s smile shattered.

Eleonora stiffened, her jaw tight. "This is Gloria. Marco’s wife."

I turned back to Gloria, letting the full weight of my new title settle into my posture. "Gloria. Remember, in the Russo family, respect is paramount. Next time, introduce yourself first. Otherwise, one might mistake you for a distant relative seeking asylum at the estate."

Humiliated, Gloria’s eyes flashed with pure venom. She decided to go for the throat. "Speaking of respect," she sneered, her voice rising shrilly, "I heard someone slept until noon today, forcing our Don to lie to his own mother about being 'unwell'! You are undermining the Don's authority!"

The solarium went dead silent.

I let out a soft, incredulous laugh. "Goodness, Gloria. Are you so fascinated by my husband's private life? Were you hiding under our bed last night?"

As she gasped, scandalized, I dropped the smile. My voice turned to ice. "Or are you publicly accusing the Don of the Russo family of being a coward who must lie to his mother? If such treasonous words reached our enemies, do you know the consequences? You are threatening the security of this entire family."

I shifted my gaze to the Matriarch, cornering her. "Eleonora, the tea I had sent to you this afternoon... you found it to your liking, didn't you?"

Eleonora stared at me, trapped. To agree with Gloria was to call her son a weak liar. She remained rigidly silent. Gloria’s triumphant smirk vanished, replaced by sheer panic as she looked to Eleonora for help that wasn't coming.

Eleonora had reached her limit. She shot a warning glare at Angelina and Gloria, but her deepest resentment was reserved for me.

"Enough," Eleonora commanded. She looked at me, her dark eyes hard. "Isabella, as the woman of this house, you must learn tolerance. You will bear with your family."

The blatant favoritism ignited a cold fire in my veins. I stood up, the heavy silk of my gown rustling loudly in the quiet room.

"My rules are simple," I said, my voice ringing with absolute clarity. "*Vendetta* is a two-way street." I let my gaze sweep the room, pausing briefly on Sophia, offering her a subtle nod of acknowledgment. "Sophia treats me with courtesy, and we have peace. But these two have breathed nothing but hostility since I walked through those doors. I will not swallow insults."

I stepped closer to the table, looking down at the Matriarch. "Let us be perfectly clear. This marriage was requested by the Russo family. It was sanctioned by *The Commissione*, and blessed by Antonio Falcone of New York himself. If you have grievances with my presence, take them to Damien, or to the men who forged this alliance. Do not test me. Because I, Isabella Russo, am the Mafia Queen of this family, and that is an indisputable fact."

I set my bone china teacup down on its saucer. The sharp, ringing *clink* echoed like a gunshot in the suffocating silence of the glass room.