He Was Doomed to Die Until I Married Him

Isabella POV

The cold drizzle of October felt like a fitting shroud for the Falcone estate's overgrown rose garden. Ten days before my scheduled wedding, Leo Gallo stood before me, his tailored pinstripe suit immaculate, his umbrella shielding him from the rain that soaked my dark mourning dress.

"The wedding proceeds as Don Moretti commanded," Leo said, his voice dripping with arrogant pity. "But let us be clear, Isabella. Angelica Russo will remain by my side. She understands the business, the pharmaceuticals we need for the new bootlegging routes. She will hold the real power in our home. You will be my wife in name only."

He wanted my family's docks and our remaining loyal Soldiers, but he also wanted to publicly humiliate me to break my spirit. He thought I was just a powerless orphan with no other options. He didn't know that I remembered.

In a chilling flash of a past life—a future that had already happened—I had seen the absolute truth. I knew Leo and his aunt, Sofia Rossi, had orchestrated the brutal ambush that left my parents dead in a pool of their own blood and crippled Damien Moretti, the Don's eldest son.

I buried my burning need for Vendetta beneath a mask of hollow defeat. "As you wish, Leo."

He smiled, a victor claiming his spoils, completely oblivious to the storm of vengeance I was already unleashing.

I left him in the rain and retreated into the shadowed halls of the Falcone study. Beneath the imposing oil portrait of my late father, my six-year-old brother, Luca, huddled in an oversized leather armchair. Chelsea, my loyal maid, stood rigidly beside him, her face pale with worry.

"Chelsea," I said, my voice turning to ice as I wiped the rain from my cheek. "Send a message to the Moretti estate. Directly to the Mafia Queen, Gabriella. Tell her I am breaking my engagement to Leo Gallo. I wish to marry her son, Damien, instead."

Chelsea gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Luca scrambled out of the chair, his small hands grabbing my damp skirt with a child's pure terror. "No, Bella! You can't marry the crippled monster! Everyone says anyone tied to him is cursed. They say he's going to die!"

I knelt, taking his trembling hands in mine. The world believed the Underboss was a broken man waiting for the grave. But my memories told a different story.

"Perhaps," I whispered, looking deeply into my brother's tear-filled eyes, "he won't."

The transition from the decaying warmth of my home to the suffocating opulence of Don Luciano Moretti's office was jarring. Less than two hours after my message was sent, I found myself kneeling on a priceless Persian rug in the inner sanctum of the family villa. The air was thick with the scent of expensive Cuban cigars and the metallic tang of absolute power.

To my left, Gabriella Moretti clutched her pearl necklace, her eyes shining with a desperate, ferocious hope. I was offering her