ella
nd the suffocating malice of the drawing room. The silence of the corridor was immediate and absolut
ors-men who had killed without hesitation and women who had buried their secrets along with the
sence of the Matriarch, trained well enough to know that a servant's outburst w
nds were clenched into fists at her sides, her knuckles white. "Did you see her face? Smirking like she h
arched window at the end of the hall. "Lower your vo
d forcing me to halt. Her eyes, usually so warm, were wide with terror. "Miss Isabella, how can you be so calm?
son in this house who had ever brushed my hair without pulling it, the only one who had snu
erfectly, Clara
ien Russo. They call him the Broken Don, but the whispers in the kitchen... they say he is a
yond recognition. And his wives... Dio mio (My God), Miss Isabella, his last two fiancées didn't just die
my spine. I had heard the rumors, of course. In our world, fear
"He was weak, yes, but he was safe. You would have been the wife of
his family break a sworn engagement because he found a shinier toy. A man like that would have sold
heart was hammering against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage, but
comforting to analytical. "Forget the scars.
wiping her ey
son yard. "Leo Contreras, an Underboss, publicly rejects me. I am damaged goods. A cast-off. In our world, my v
rrowing as the pieces of the puz
es. And he doesn't just find me a husband. He binds me to
rriding her fear. "But... why give a Don a r
Is it an insult to the Russos? A way to tell Damien that
was still there, lurking in the shadows of my mind, but it was being ec
myself than to Clara. "There is a reason I am being sent into the lion's den.
ion still worried but no longer on the
y suite and looked back at
motion. "Tomorrow, the Russos will come to
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