Rebirth of the Mafia Mistress

Isabella POV

The door to my guest room clicked shut, but the silence offered no sanctuary. The Art Deco wallpaper, with its sharp geometric patterns in gold and black, felt like a cage closing in. This room was a masterpiece of Frazier hospitality—expensive, polished, and utterly soulless.

"Miss Isabella? You look like you’ve seen a ghost," Elyse whispered, rushing to my side. She was a small, bird-like girl with eyes too large for her face, the only person in this den of vipers who didn't look at me like a ledger entry.

"I haven't seen one, Elyse. I’ve just realized I’m living with them," I said, my voice sounding brittle even to my own ears. I sank onto the edge of the heavy mahogany bed. "They plan to make me Jaret’s *amante*(mistress). While he weds Alexandria Kane, I am to be the secret kept in the attic, funded by my own dowry."

Elyse gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "That’s... that’s a sin! We must write to your father, Mr. Wilder. Surely Albin wouldn't allow such a desecration of your honor."

I let out a short, jagged laugh. Albin Wilder. My father was a brilliant merchant, a man who had clawed his way up to become a trusted *Associate* of the Chicago Outfit. But in the world of the *Cosa Nostra*, an associate is just a high-end servant.

"My father didn't send me here for a summer holiday, Elyse. He sent me as a payment," I explained, the cold clarity of my situation settling in my gut. "He needs the Frazier family’s muscle to protect his shipping routes. In exchange, he gave them his daughter and a mountain of gold. To Albin, I am a commodity. If Jaret keeps me as a mistress instead of a wife, my father will simply negotiate a discount on the protection fees. He won't save me. He’ll just adjust the balance sheet."

Elyse’s face fell, the harsh reality of our world stripping away her innocence. "Then what will we do?"

"I need a *coltello affilato*(sharp knife)," I murmured, looking toward the window where the Chicago skyline loomed in the distance. "And the sharpest blade in this city belongs to the Kanes. If the Fraziers want to play with fire, I’ll make sure they’re the ones who burn."

A soft knock at the outer courtyard gate startled us.

"Isabella? Are you awake?"

Jaret’s voice. It was smooth, like aged bourbon, carrying a warmth that used to make my heart flutter. Now, it made my skin crawl.

I motioned for Elyse to stay quiet. She moved to the window, peering through the screen. "It’s Mr. Jaret, Miss. He looks... concerned."

"Tell him I’m unwell," I commanded, my voice a frozen blade.

I watched from the shadows as Elyse spoke to him through the mesh. Jaret stood in the moonlight, looking every bit the tragic hero. "Izzy? I heard you had a headache. I wanted to check on you."

"She needs rest, sir," Elyse said bravely.

"I understand," Jaret replied, his tone dripping with a sickeningly sweet tenderness. "Tell her I’m thinking of her. I thought perhaps we could visit the cathedral outside the city this Sunday. To pray for your health, *cara*(dear)."

*To pray for my silence,* I thought, my teeth grinding together.

"She says no to all invitations for now, sir," Elyse repeated my silent instruction.

There was a long pause. Jaret didn't leave. I could feel his gaze lingering on the window, a heavy, possessive weight. Finally, he reached into his pocket and placed something on the stone sill.

"A gift," he whispered. "I carved it myself. Goodnight, Isabella."

Only when his footsteps faded did I approach the window. On the sill sat a small wooden songbird, its wings spread as if to fly, yet its feet were carved directly into the heavy base. It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship—and a terrifying metaphor.

I picked it up, the wood smooth and cold. In my past life, I had cherished his carvings. I had held a similar bird while my child lay dying in my arms, the life bled out of him because Alexandria Kane decided a mistress’s brat had no right to the Frazier name. Jaret hadn't demanded a *Vendetta*(blood feud) then. He had simply told me to be quiet, to not upset the alliance.

He hadn't been a coward. He had been a partner in my destruction.

I gripped the wooden bird until the sharp edges of its wings bit into my palm. I didn't need his prayers or his wooden toys. I needed the gala. I needed the sapphire. And I needed to watch the look on Alexandria’s face when she realized she wasn't the only predator in the room.