She Died Once: Now The Mafia Kneels

Isabella POV

The silence in the study was heavier than the scent of spilled whiskey and shattered crystal.

My father's broad chest heaved with every breath. The Butcher of Chicago was not a man who made idle threats, and the lethal promise of a Vendetta hung thick in the air. Yet, Dante stood his ground. He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit, his posture radiating an unearned, arrogant certainty. He truly believed his knowledge of our past life made him untouchable.

"I am doing us a favor, Don Marco," Dante said, his voice steady but laced with a foolish condescension. "A marriage without love will only breed resentment. I am saving us both from a miserable future. Eva is the one I want."

The sheer audacity of his words made my blood run cold. He was using the tragedy of our past—a tragedy he helped orchestrate—as a convenient excuse to claim his treacherous prize. He thought I was still the naive girl who would weep and cling to his legs. He thought he was the only one playing the game.

It was time to break his illusion.

I slowly pulled away from my mother's protective embrace. I let my shoulders straighten, wiping the fake, trembling tears from my cheeks. The devastated princess vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating daughter of a Don.

Dante's eyes softened as I stepped toward him. He mistook my composure for resignation. "Izzy," he murmured, his tone dripping with a sickening, rehearsed pity. "Please understand, it's better this way. Don't hold on to something that—"

My palm connected with his cheek before he could finish the sentence.

The crack of the slap echoed through the mahogany room like a gunshot. I had put the entire weight of my body into it, channeling every ounce of the phantom pain from the stiletto he had driven into my heart in our past life.

Dante's head snapped to the side. A stark red handprint bloomed instantly across his pale skin. He froze, his eyes wide with absolute, unadulterated shock.

"The betrothal between the Moretti and Falcone families is dead," I declared, my voice ringing out like striking steel, devoid of any warmth. "I will make sure all of Chicago knows that you, Dante Falcone, are a traditore(traitor) who breaks blood oaths. We are done."

He stared at me, his jaw working silently. This wasn't in his script. The Isabella he remembered would never have struck him, let alone discard him with such icy disdain. Looking at his bewildered face, a dark thought surfaced in my mind. In our past life, his father, Don Vincent, had died under highly suspicious circumstances, paving the way for Dante to seize the Falcone throne. Seeing his ruthless selfishness now, I was almost certain that tragedy had been a calculated patricide.

"You..." Dante breathed, his shock rapidly morphing into a defensive, ugly sneer. He realized he had lost control of the narrative. "Fine. If that is how you want it. But I am not leaving without Eva. I am taking her with me tonight."

"You will not touch a single hair on her head," I hissed, stepping directly into his path. I channeled the fierce, territorial instinct of my bloodline. I wasn't protecting Eva; I was trapping her. But to Dante and my parents, I looked like a fiercely loyal sister defending her kin.

"She belongs with me!" Dante snapped, taking a threatening step forward.

"Get out of my house," my mother, Sofia, intervened, her voice a lethal whisper. She moved to stand beside me, her eyes blazing with maternal fury. "You will leave this estate immediately, Dante, or you will leave in a body bag. You do not get to insult my daughter and then demand to steal my ward."

Dante clenched his fists, glancing between my father's murderous glare and my mother's icy wrath. He was cornered.

"Wait, Mama," I interjected softly, letting a trace of feigned anxiety slip into my voice. "If we throw him out now, he will only spread lies. He will taint Eva's reputation in the streets, claiming she agreed to this madness. She is too timid to defend herself."

My father frowned, the protective patriarch instantly considering the honor of his household. "What are you suggesting, Isabella?"

"We bring Eva here," I said smoothly, looking my father dead in the eye. "Let her face him. Let her tell this traditore(traitor) to his face that she wants nothing to do with his dishonorable schemes. We end his delusions tonight, permanently."

My mother nodded slowly, a fierce, approving light in her eyes. "A brilliant idea. We will crush this insult right here." She turned her head toward the shadows near the door, where my loyal bodyguard stood silently. "Bianca, go fetch Miss Eva."