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

d beyond recognition. And his wives... 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