His Mafia Betrayal, My Unwanted Heir.

Isobel Stout POV

The silence in the cellar stretched, taut as a wire ready to snap. Hugo Stokes stared at me, the calculation behind his dead eyes shifting like silt in murky water. The doctor stood frozen, a speculum dangling from his hand, waiting for the order to tear me apart.

"You think dropping a name like Flynn will save you?" Hugo’s voice was low, a rumble of thunder before the strike. "If you're lying, the pain you'll feel before you die will make this cellar look like a paradise."

"And if I'm not?" I countered, keeping my hand protectively over my stomach. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, but I forced my voice to remain steady. "If you kill the heir to the Chicago Outfit without proof, Elroy won't just kill you. He'll hand you over to Flynn piece by piece."

Hugo’s jaw tightened. He knew the rules. In our world, blood was currency, but power was law. And Damien Flynn was the law of the Midwest.

"I'll do it," I whispered, changing tactics. I needed to offer him a way out that didn't look like weakness. "I'll let the doctor... fix the mistake. But not here. Not in the filth."

Hugo narrowed his eyes. "You're in no position to negotiate, girl."

"It's a sin to spill blood without absolution," I said, appealing to the twisted Catholicism that every mobster clung to. "Let me go to my mother's grave. Let me ask her forgiveness for what I'm about to do. Then... you can do whatever my father wants."

Beside me, Arlene let out a choked sob, playing her part perfectly. Hugo looked from her to me, then spat on the floor. He pulled a heavy radio from his belt and stepped into the corridor.

Minutes later, he returned, holstering the device. "The Don finds your sudden piety amusing. He says you can say your goodbyes to the dead. But if you try anything, I'll gut the old woman first."

*

The drive to St. Raymond's Cemetery was a blur of rain-slicked streets and suffocating silence. When the car stopped, the darkness of the Bronx was absolute, broken only by the headlights cutting through the mist.

Hugo dragged us out. The cold air bit at my exposed skin, sharp and grounding. We marched past rows of silent angels and marble crosses until we reached the simple headstone of *Elsie Stout*.

I fell to my knees in the mud, not acting. The grief was real, a heavy stone in my chest. But survival was heavier.

"Water," I rasped, looking up at Hugo. "The stone is dirty. I need to wash it. Please."

Hugo checked his watch, impatient. He jerked his chin toward a dilapidated wooden shed near the perimeter wall. "Make it quick. Stokes, watch them."

Arlene helped me up, her grip on my arm surprisingly strong. We stumbled toward the shed. The moment we stepped inside, the smell of dry hay and kerosene hit me—a scent of salvation.

"Isobel," Arlene whispered, her eyes wide with terror and understanding.

"Do it," I hissed.

I grabbed a rusted lantern and smashed it against a pile of oil-soaked rags in the corner. I struck a match from the box on the shelf and dropped it. The fumes caught instantly. A roar of heat blasted us back as orange flames licked up the dry timber walls.

"Fire!" Arlene screamed, her voice shrill and piercing. "Help! Fire!"

Through the cracked window, I saw Hugo’s head snap toward us. The sudden blaze in the pitch-black night was blinding.

"Run," I commanded.

We burst out the back door of the shed, scrambling into the dense tree line just as Hugo shouted a curse. The crackling of the fire masked the sound of our footsteps on the wet leaves. We ran blindly, branches whipping my face, the darkness swallowing us whole.

But I was weak, my body ravaged by days of starvation and the life growing inside me. Arlene was limping, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

"There!" Arlene pointed to a dip in the terrain, a ravine that led to the old logging road.

We were ten yards from the edge when a heavy hand clamped into my hair.

I screamed as I was yanked backward, hitting the ground hard. Hugo loomed over me, his face twisted in a mask of pure fury, illuminated by the distant glow of the burning shed.

"You stupid bitch," he snarled, drawing a serrated combat knife. "No more games."

He raised the blade.

"No!"

A blur of grey movement slammed into him. Arlene. She threw her entire weight against the massive Enforcer, knocking him off balance.

Hugo stumbled, roaring in rage. He recovered with terrifying speed, his arm lashing out. The sound was sickening—a wet thud of steel piercing flesh.

Arlene gasped, her body going rigid. Hugo shoved her off his blade, and she crumpled to the forest floor like a discarded doll.

"Arlene!" I shrieked, scrambling toward her.

Hugo stood over us, wiping the blood from his knife onto his pant leg. He looked down at Arlene’s twitching form, then at me, his eyes devoid of humanity.

"Loyalty is a bitch," he spat.

He took a step toward me to finish the job, but the wail of sirens cut through the night air. The fire had drawn the police.

Hugo cursed, looking toward the flashing lights bleeding through the trees. He couldn't be found here with a dead body and a Don's daughter. He gave me one last look—a promise of future violence—and vanished into the shadows.

I crawled to Arlene. Blood bubbled from her lips, dark and fast. Her eyes found mine, glazing over.

"Run... baby..." she wheezed, her hand tightening on my wrist one last time before going slack.

"Arlene? Arlene, please!"

She was gone. The only person who had ever loved me was dead.

The sirens grew louder, closer. I couldn't be found. Not by the police, who were in my father's pocket. Not by Hugo.

I forced myself up, my hands slick with Arlene's blood. The tears didn't come. Instead, a cold, hard knot formed in the center of my chest, replacing the fear. I looked at the darkness where Hugo had disappeared.

*I will kill them,* I vowed silently to the wet earth. *I will kill them all.*

But first, I had to disappear.