The Bastard Bride's Vow of Mafia Vengeance

Isabell POV

My bedroom was a coffin of peeling wallpaper and damp shadows, a stark contrast to the weight of the mahogany box in my lap. I ran my thumb over the cool surface of the sapphires, the stolen pulse of the Talley legacy beating against my skin. I had won the first skirmish, but the war was only beginning.

A sharp rap on the door startled me. Before I could answer, Emmalee swept in. The blotchy redness of her face had been replaced by a mask of terrifyingly sweet composure. In her arms, she carried a garment bag of shimmering silk.

"I couldn't let you leave looking like a charity case, Isabell," she said, her voice dripping with a saccharine poison that made my skin crawl. "I know we’ve had our... differences. But you’re a Talley. You represent us now."

She unzipped the bag, revealing a gown of vibrant, liquid emerald. It was breathtaking—low-cut, daring, and expensive.

"Emerald is the color of power this season," Emmalee purred, her eyes tracking my reaction with predatory intensity. "Don Damian likes women who aren't afraid to stand out. Wear this tomorrow. Show him you aren't just some mouse he bought from Father."

I looked at the dress, then at her. My instincts, honed by years of surviving her "kindness," screamed a warning. In our world, a gift from an enemy was never just a gift; it was a noose. I didn't know then that Faye Evans, Damian Griffith’s notorious and volatile mistress, had claimed emerald as her signature. I didn't know that showing up in this color was a declaration of war against the woman who already held the Don’s bed.

But I knew Emmalee. And I knew she wanted me dead.

"It’s... it’s beautiful," I whispered, forcing my eyes to well up with fake, shimmering gratitude. I reached out, touching the silk with trembling fingers. "You’d really give this to me?"

"Consider it a parting gift," she said, a cruel glint dancing in her pupils. "I want you to make an impression he’ll never forget."

"Thank you, sister," I said, the word tasting like ash. "I’ll wear it. I promise."

She left with a triumphant sway of her hips, convinced she had just handed me my death warrant. I stared at the green silk for a long time after the door closed. Then, I shoved it into the very bottom of my trunk.

*

The next morning, the air was thick with the smell of exhaust and impending doom. A black, armored Cadillac sat idling in the driveway—a hearse sent by the Griffiths to collect their prize.

I walked out of the house wearing the emerald gown, letting my stepmother and Emmalee see exactly what they wanted. I saw the smirk on Emmalee’s face behind the parlor curtains, a silent *Addio*(Goodbye) to the sister she thought she’d outsmarted.

The moment the heavy door of the sedan clicked shut, the silence of the interior swallowed me. The driver, a man with a neck like a bull and a stone-cold expression, didn't even look at me.

I didn't waste a second.

From my small satchel, I pulled out the dress I had spent my last hidden savings on months ago, praying for a day I might need to disappear. It was ivory silk, high-necked, and deceptively simple. It didn't scream for attention; it whispered of innocence and untouchable purity.

I stripped off the emerald trap, shivering in the air-conditioned chill of the car, and pulled the ivory silk over my head. I pinned my hair into a severe, low knot and wiped every trace of makeup from my face until I looked pale, fragile, and hauntingly young.

Finally, I took the sapphire necklace from its box. I fastened it around my throat. The deep blue stones sat against the white silk like drops of frozen ink.

I wasn't going into that house as a rival for a mistress’s throne. I was going in as the sacrificial lamb—the one so pure that the Don would feel the urge to either protect me or be the first to stain me.

As the car turned into the massive, iron-gated driveway of the Griffith Estate, I felt the shift in the atmosphere. This was the lion’s den. The air here tasted of old money and fresh blood.

I checked my reflection in the darkened window. The girl looking back was a masterpiece of deception.

Emmalee thought she had sent me to a slaughterhouse. She didn't realize she had provided the distraction I needed to walk through the front door unnoticed, carrying a blade hidden in the folds of my white silk.