The Dead Bride's Vicious Mafia Comeback

Seraphina POV

The heavy oak doors stood wide open. The messenger stepped into the Grand Foyer, his impeccably tailored suit a stark contrast to the blood and shattered diamonds scattered across the marble. The two Soldiers gripping my bruised arms hesitated, their eyes darting nervously toward Don Silas.

"A decree from the Chairman, Don Antonio Rossi," the messenger announced, his voice cutting through the suffocating tension.

Isabella's lips curled into a cruel, triumphant smile. Marco puffed out his chest. They thought this was the final judgment on my crimes, the ultimate validation of my execution.

The messenger unrolled a thick parchment, his gaze sweeping over the room before landing on me. "In recognition of the bravery of Arabella Valeriano, who rescued Eleonora Rossi from a tragic fire in Philadelphia, The Commission hereby declares the Valeriano name to be under our direct and absolute protection. Any hostility directed at its members will be considered a direct provocation against the Chairman himself."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Isabella's vicious smile froze, then shattered completely. Don Silas's face drained of all color, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. He had been seconds away from executing a woman the highest power in our world had just declared untouchable.

The messenger stepped forward, extending the parchment toward me. "Signora Valeriano. The Chairman's grace."

I didn't move. I stayed on my knees, letting the heavy silence stretch. I looked up at the messenger, my voice trembling just enough to sound like a terrified, broken victim. "I am deeply honored. But I fear I cannot accept."

The messenger frowned. "Why is that?"

"Because just before you walked through those doors, Don Silas Stark announced I was no longer a part of this family. He ordered his men to take me away." I let a single, perfectly timed tear slip down my cheek. "How can a ghost, cast out and condemned, accept the Chairman's grace?"

Don Silas choked on his own breath. If word reached New York that he had attempted to murder the Chairman's protected saint, the Stark family would be wiped off the map by morning.

"Release her!" Don Silas roared at the Soldiers. They dropped my arms as if my skin had caught fire. The Don rushed forward, his hands trembling as he reached out to help me up. "A misunderstanding. A terrible, internal misunderstanding. Arabella is, and always will be, the rightful eldest daughter-in-law of the Stark family."

As I stood, I caught movement in the shadows near the grand staircase. Damien. His dark eyes were locked onto me, no longer just observing, but burning with a dangerous, predatory fascination. He saw right through my act, and the lethal calculation in his stare told me he was utterly captivated by it.

I smoothed down my ruined dress and turned my attention to the trembling Don. "I am confused, Don Silas," I said, my voice losing its fragile tremor, replaced by cold steel. "If I am Marco's wife, then what exactly is Miss Moretti's position in this house?"

Marco swallowed hard, stepping forward with his hands raised. "Arabella, please, let's just—"

"Quiet," I snapped, my gaze never leaving Isabella. "Valeriano women do not share their husbands. I am the wife. Anyone else is not even fit to be a mistress."

Isabella lunged, but her own massive bodyguard caught her. "You bitch!" she shrieked, her pristine facade entirely gone.

Before Don Silas could fumble through an excuse, Aunt Francesca stepped into the light. Her sharp eyes had already calculated the immense value of the Commission's protection against the liability of the Moretti alliance.

"The Stark family honors its vows," Francesca declared, her voice ringing with absolute authority. She looked at Isabella with thinly veiled disgust. "Effective immediately, the Stark-Moretti engagement is suspended indefinitely."

Isabella thrashed against her guard, her face purple with rage.

I finally reached out and took the parchment from the messenger, offering him a flawless, aristocratic bow. I picked up an untouched glass of champagne from a nearby overturned tray.

"What a pity, Miss Moretti," I purred, raising the crystal flute toward her. "It seems your wedding celebrations are canceled. Let us toast to your failed alliance."

The messenger nodded approvingly. "The Chairman will be very pleased to hear the Starks made the wise choice to uphold the sanctity of marriage. He despises betrayal above all else."

That was the final blow. Isabella let out a blood-curdling scream, violently shoving Marco out of her way. Her guards had to practically drag her out of the foyer toward the guest wing, her curses echoing down the corridors like a rabid animal.

I stood amidst the shattered diamonds and ruined canvas, holding the Chairman's decree against my chest.