The Mafia Bride's Lethal Revenge

Isabella POV

"Don't threaten me with a good time, Julian," I said, my voice devoid of any emotion. "Call your lawyers right now. Make the annulment official."

I wanted it on record. A public, legal castration of his ego. I wasn't just leaving him; I was erasing the marriage entirely, proving to the Chicago outfit that the eldest Moretti son couldn't even keep his bride for a single night.

Dahlia immediately scrambled to his side, her naked breasts pressing against his arm as she played the weeping victim. "Julian, she's crazy! She planned this from the start to steal my place, and now she's trying to humiliate you and your family!"

I let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Steal your place? You flatter yourself. You're nothing but a back-alley whore, and Julian..." I shifted my cold gaze to my so-called husband. "A Capo who can't even control his own bride. You're a disgrace to the Moretti name."

Before Julian could process the insult, a sudden, violent wave of vertigo hit me. The edges of my vision blurred. The sedative was finally demanding its toll, crashing my system. I needed to leave. Now.

I turned toward the door.

"You're not going anywhere, you bitch!" Julian roared.

I heard his heavy footsteps lunging toward me. As his hand shot out to grab my arm, my training took over. I didn't even bother to turn around. I dropped my weight, caught his wrist, and twisted sharply, locking his arm into a brutal joint manipulation behind his back.

Bone and cartilage creaked under the pressure. Julian let out a muffled groan of agony, his knees buckling slightly.

"What the hell are you?" he gritted out, shock finally piercing through his rage.

I shoved him hard, sending him stumbling forward. "Someone you can't afford to piss off."

Using his moment of disorientation, I bypassed the main doors and darted toward the concealed service entrance I had mapped out during the rehearsal dinner. I slipped into the dark, labyrinthine maintenance corridor, leaving the heavy door cracked just a fraction.

I leaned against the cold concrete wall, fighting a wave of nausea. Through the narrow gap, Dahlia’s shrill, calculating voice drifted out.

"Darling, let her go," she urged, her tone shifting from victim to venomous advisor. "If you send your Soldiers after her, it makes you look weak. She's still legally a Rossi. Go to her father. Make Antonio hand her over. Demand satisfaction."

Smart whore. She knew exactly how to manipulate the mafia's patriarchal rules. My father would sell me out to a slaughterhouse if it meant saving his own skin. I didn't wait to hear Julian's agreement. I pushed off the wall and vanished into the shadows.

An hour later, after navigating the city's underbelly in a torn wedding gown, I reached the West Side.

My safe house was a derelict warehouse, a ghost on the city grid that didn't exist in any Rossi or Moretti ledger. I pried open the rusted side door and slipped inside. The heavy scent of dust and iron greeted me, but as the door clicked shut, my senses flared.

A sound. A shallow, suppressed breath in the pitch black.

My adrenaline spiked, instantly burning away the last of the sedative's fog. I reached beneath the ruined tulle of my dress and drew the combat dagger strapped to my thigh.

"Who's there?" I demanded, my voice a lethal whisper in the dark.

Silence stretched for a heartbeat. Then, a raspy, steady male voice echoed from the far corner.

"Someone who was hoping to avoid trouble. But it seems trouble has found me."

The metallic *clink* of a Zippo lighter cut through the tension. A golden flame flared to life, illuminating the shadows and casting a harsh glow on a face that was as beautiful as it was dangerous.

Damien Moretti. Julian’s younger brother, and the Underboss of the Moretti family.

He was slumped against the concrete wall, his face deathly pale. His expensive tailored suit was ruined by a dark, wet stain of blood spreading rapidly across his abdomen. Despite the lethal gunshot wound, his dark, calculating eyes locked onto mine, assessing the blade in my hand and the torn wedding dress on my body.