Rebirth of the Mafia Mistress

Isabella POV

The door to my guest room clicked shut, but the silence offered no sanctuary. The Art Deco wallpaper, with its sharp geometric patterns in gold and black, felt like a cage closing in. This room was a masterpiece of Frazier hospitality—expensive, polished, and utterly soulless.

"Miss Isabella? You look like you’ve seen a ghost," Elyse whispered, rushing to my side. She was a small, bird-like girl with eyes too large for her face, the only person in this den of vipers who didn't look at me like a ledger entry.

"I haven't seen one, Elyse. I’ve just realized I’m living with them," I said, my voice sounding brittle even to my own ears. I sank onto the edge of the heavy mahogany bed. "They plan to make me Jaret’s *amante*(mistress). While he weds Alexandria Kane, I am to be the secret kept in the attic, funded by my own dowry."

Elyse gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "That’s... that’s a sin! We must write to your father, Mr. Wilder. Surely Albin wouldn't allow such a desecration of your honor."

I let out a short, jagged laugh. Albin Wilder. My father was a brilliant merchant, a man who had clawed his way up to become a trusted *Associate* of the Chicago Outfit. But in the world of the *Cosa Nostra*, an associate is just a high-end servant.

"My father didn't send me here for a summer holiday, Elyse. He sent me as a payment," I explained, the cold clarity of my situation settling in my gut. "He needs the Frazier family’s muscle to protect his shipping routes. In exchange, he gave them his daughter and a mountain of gold. To Albin, I am a commodity. If Jaret keeps me as a mistress instead of a wife, my father will simply negotiate a discount on the protection fees. He won't save me. He’ll just adjust the balance sheet."

Elyse’s face fell, the harsh reality of our world stripping away her innocence. "Then what will we do?"

"I need a *coltello affilato*(sharp knife)," I murmured, looking toward the window where the Chicago skyline loomed in the distance. "And the sharpest blade in this city belongs to the Kanes. If the Fraziers want to play with fire, I’ll make sure they’re the ones who burn."

A soft knock at the outer courtyard gate startled us.

"Isabella? Are you awake?"

Jaret’s voice. It was smooth, like aged bourbon, carrying a warmth that used to make my heart flutter. Now, it made my skin crawl.

I motioned for Elyse to stay quiet. She moved to the window, peering through the screen. "It’s Mr. Jaret, Miss. He looks... concerned."

"Tell him I’m unwell," I commanded, my voice a frozen blade.

I watched from the shadows as Elyse spoke to him through the mesh. Jaret stood in the moonlight, looking every bit the tragic hero. "Izzy? I heard you had a headache. I wanted to check on you."

"She needs rest, sir," Elyse said bravely.

"I understand," Jaret replied, his tone dripping with a sickeningly sweet tenderness. "Tell her I’m thinking of her. I thought perhaps we could visit the cathedral outside the city this Sunday. To pray for your health, *cara*(dear)."

*To pray for my silence,* I thought, my teeth grinding together.

"She says no to all invitations for now, sir," Elyse repeated my silent instruction.

There was a long pause. Jaret didn't leave. I could feel his gaze lingering on the window, a heavy, possessive weight. Finally, he reached into his pocket and placed something on the stone sill.

"A gift," he whispered. "I carved it myself. Goodnight, Isabella."

Only when his footsteps faded did I approach the window. On the sill sat a small wooden songbird, its wings spread as if to fly, yet its feet were carved directly into the heavy base. It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship—and a terrifying metaphor.

I picked it up, the wood smooth and cold. In my past life, I had cherished his carvings. I had held a similar bird while my child lay dying in my arms, the life bled out of him because Alexandria Kane decided a mistress’s brat had no right to the Frazier name. Jaret hadn't demanded a *Vendetta*(blood feud) then. He had simply told me to be quiet, to not upset the alliance.

He hadn't been a coward. He had been a partner in my destruction.

I gripped the wooden bird until the sharp edges of its wings bit into my palm. I didn't need his prayers or his wooden toys. I needed the gala. I needed the sapphire. And I needed to watch the look on Alexandria’s face when she realized she wasn't the only predator in the room.

Isabella POV

The Kane estate was a fortress of white marble and blood-soaked history, perched overlooking the Chicago skyline like a predator watching its territory. On the terrace, the air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars, night-blooming jasmine, and the metallic tang of old money.

I stood in the shadows of a fluted pillar, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. I didn't need to be at the center of the crowd to control the room. I had already set the fuse; I only had to wait for the explosion.

"Oh, Bethany, is that... the Heart of the Lake?"

The voice was high, melodic, and carried the razor-sharp edge of a guillotine. Alexandria Kane, the birthday girl and the undisputed princess of the Chicago Outfit, stepped toward my cousin. At sixteen, Alexandria already possessed the cruel elegance of her father, Don Damien Kane. Her dark hair was pinned back with diamond clips, and her eyes—cold and calculating—were fixed on the sapphire resting against Bethany’s throat.

Bethany preened, her chest puffing out. She was a Frazier by blood but lacked the sense to realize she was walking into a slaughterhouse. "It is. A gift from the family collection," she lied, her voice trembling with a mix of pride and nerves.

A circle of young women from the city’s most powerful families closed in around them. They were the daughters of *Capos* and *Consiglieres*, raised to spot a weakness from a mile away.

"A gift?" Alexandria tilted her head, a mocking smile playing on her lips. "That’s strange. I was under the impression that the sapphire was the Wilder family’s dowry piece. The one promised to Jaret Frazier upon his marriage to Isabella."

The terrace went silent. Even the *Soldiers* standing guard in the shadows seemed to go still. In our world, symbols were everything. To wear another woman’s engagement trophy was more than a faux pas; it was a *disonore*(dishonor).

"Is the Frazier business struggling so much that they must dress their nieces in Isabella’s collateral?" Alexandria continued, her tone sweet enough to rot teeth.

"Perhaps they think the alliance is already so certain they can start dividing the spoils," another girl chimed in, her laugh like breaking glass. "Careful, Bethany. In the old country, wearing a bride’s stones before the altar is enough to spark a blood feud."

Bethany’s face drained of color, turning a sickly shade of grey that clashed horribly with the blue of the gem. She looked around frantically, but there was no mercy to be found in Alexandria’s eyes. The princess wasn't defending me; she was marking her territory. She wanted Jaret, and she wouldn't tolerate a minor Frazier girl parading around with the spoils of a union she intended to usurp.

"I... Isabella lent it to me," Bethany stammered, her hand flying to the necklace as if to rip it off.

"How generous of her," Alexandria whispered, stepping closer until she was inches from Bethany’s face. "Or perhaps, how desperate. To let a little bird like you wear the crown jewels just to get a seat at my table."

I took a slow sip of my drink, the burn of the alcohol matching the cold satisfaction in my chest. The scandal was blooming perfectly. By tomorrow, every ear in the Outfit would hear how the Fraziers had insulted the Wilder dowry and the Kane hospitality in one breath.

Jaret wanted me as a silent mistress? He wanted to play both sides of the fence?

I had just torn the fence down. Now, I just had to see who would survive the wreckage.