The Dead Bride's Vicious Mafia Comeback

Seraphina POV

I descended the sweeping marble staircase just as the heavy front doors of the grand foyer clicked shut. Through the narrow glass panes, the taillights of Carmela Moretti's town car faded into the gathering dusk, leaving behind a suffocating silence.

Isabella stood frozen in the center of the black-and-white marble floor. She was pale, trembling violently as the reality of her abandonment finally sank in. She was no longer a princess; she was a pawn left on enemy territory.

Marco stepped forward, his face a pathetic mask of guilt and fear. He reached out, attempting to take her hand. "Isabella... I'll protect you. You and the baby. I promise."

Isabella violently snatched her hand away, her eyes flashing with pure, unadulterated revulsion. She looked past his shoulder, her gaze locking onto mine as I reached the bottom step.

The hatred in her eyes was a living, breathing thing. Slowly, deliberately, she mouthed the words: I put you in the lake once, Arabella. I can do it again.

I offered her a chilling, microscopic smile. The confession I needed. The war inside these walls had officially begun.

By the time the formal family dinner commenced, the atmosphere in the Formal Dining Hall was thick enough to choke on.

I bypassed my usual seat and took the chair to Don Silas's immediate right—the seat traditionally reserved for the woman of the house. The silence in the room deepened, but no one dared to correct me.

A servant approached with a bottle of vintage red wine, reaching for my crystal glass. I raised a hand, stopping him.

I turned my gaze to the far end of the long mahogany table, where Isabella sat staring at her untouched plate.

"Isabella," I said, my voice smooth and carrying easily in the dead silence. "Be a dear and pour me a glass of wine."

The room froze. Marco jumped to his feet, his chair scraping harshly against the floorboards. "Are you insane? She's pregnant! She shouldn't be waiting on you."

I didn't even look at him. Before I could speak, Don Silas's voice cut through the air, cold and absolute.

"Marco, sit down," the Don commanded. "She is the wife of the heir. Her word is law at this table."

Marco paled, the fight draining out of him instantly, and he sank back into his chair. Isabella's face contorted with profound humiliation. Trembling, she stood up, walked the agonizing length of the table, and took the bottle from the servant. Her shaking hands managed to pour the dark liquid into my glass, her eyes burning holes into the tablecloth.

As Isabella retreated to her seat, Eloise Stark slammed her silver fork down.

"You're being cruel," Eloise snapped, her voice shrill with indignation. "A Moretti princess shouldn't be treated like a maid, especially when she's carrying a Stark heir!"

I didn't lose my temper. I picked up my linen napkin, elegantly dabbing the corner of my mouth. I turned to her with a soft, lethal smile.

"At least I entered this family with my honor intact," I said, my tone gentle but dripping with poison. "Some people bring nothing but shame and a bastard in their belly."

Eloise's face flushed a deep, mottled red. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Across the table, Aunt Francesca took a slow sip of her water, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips.

Dinner concluded in suffocating silence. I stepped out into the dimly lit corridor, the heavy oak doors closing behind me.

"Arabella."

I turned to see Lena Stark stepping out of the shadows, her eyes narrowed into furious slits.

"You think you've won something tonight," Lena hissed, stepping into my personal space. "She may be a prisoner, but she is still a Moretti. Her father is a Don. You need to tread carefully." She pointed a manicured finger at my chest. "Focus on giving Marco a true heir, instead of playing these pathetic, low-class games."

I didn't flinch. I looked down at her finger, then met her furious gaze with dead calm.

"My place is as the wife of your eldest son, a position affirmed by The Commission," I said, my voice a quiet, unyielding blade. "I suggest you remember that, Lena."

I held her gaze for one long, suffocating second before turning on my heel. The sharp click of my stilettos against the marble floor was the only sound in the corridor as I walked away, leaving the matriarch alone in the shadows.