My Husband Sold Me to the Don

Isabella POV

The silence in the car had been a living thing, suffocating and heavy with Hudson's bruised ego. By the time we entered our master bedroom, the air was so thick with tension it felt like breathing through wool.

Hudson slammed the door behind us, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet house. He didn't turn on the main lights. The room, decorated with the dowry my father had paid him to take me off his hands, was bathed in shadows.

"I had no choice, Isabella!" Hudson finally exploded, his voice cracking. He wasn't angry; he was frantic. He rushed toward me, his hands grasping my shoulders, shaking me slightly as if to wake me from a nightmare he had orchestrated. "You saw him. You saw how he looked at you. If I had said no... Dio mio (My God), he would have killed us all."

I let my body go limp in his grip, widening my eyes to mirror the terror of a naive girl. "But Hudson... you're my husband," I whispered, my voice trembling perfectly. "How could you let him touch me?"

"It wasn't me!" He fell to his knees, burying his face in my stomach, sobbing like a child. It was a pathetic display, designed to make me comfort him for his own betrayal. "It was Freddie Solis. The Consigliere came to me yesterday. He said the Don had seen you at the opera... that he wanted you. Solis said if I didn't deliver you, the Higgins name would be wiped from Chicago by sunrise."

Liar.

My heart beat a steady, cold rhythm against my ribs. In my past life, I had believed this. I had believed that Freddie Solis, the Falcone family's terrifying Consigliere, had forced Hudson's hand. But I knew better now. Solis didn't handle pimping duties. Hudson had offered me up like a sacrificial lamb to buy his way into the inner circle.

"He threatened our future, Tesoro (Treasure)," Hudson wept, his tears soaking through the silk of my dress. "I did it to save you. To save us."

I gently pushed him away, stumbling back toward the vanity as if the weight of his confession was too much to bear. My fingers brushed against the cold silver of a hairpin lying on the marble surface. It was sharp, lethal in the right hands.

I picked it up, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back looked shattered, her eyes hollow. "Then I am ruined," I murmured, lifting the sharp point toward my cheek. "If I am to be his whore, I would rather be nothing."

"No!" Hudson scrambled up, lunging across the room to snatch the pin from my hand. He threw it across the floor and pulled me into a crushing embrace. "Don't you ever say that! You are my wife. My queen."

He held my face in his clammy hands, his eyes searching mine with a desperation that almost looked like love. "Listen to me, Isabella. This... arrangement. It stays between us and the Don. No one else will ever know. I swear it on my mother's grave. To the world, you are still the untouched Mrs. Higgins. I will protect your honor with my life."

I let out a broken sob, collapsing against his chest. "You promise?"

"I promise," he vowed, kissing the top of my head. "Our secret. Forever."

I nodded against his shirt, hiding the dry, cold sneer that curled my lips. I believed you once, Hudson. And that belief killed me.

Hours later, the room was silent save for Hudson's rhythmic snoring. He slept soundly, unburdened by conscience, believing he had successfully manipulated his foolish wife back into submission.

I lay awake, staring at the velvet canopy, the darkness pressing down on me. His vow of secrecy echoed in my mind, twisting into a cruel joke.

The memory hit me with the force of a physical blow.

The cigar smoke was blinding. I stood in the corner of the Falcone gaming room, clutching a glass of water, trying to make myself invisible. Hudson was at the high-stakes table, surrounded by Soldiers and a few Capos.

He was losing. Again.

One of the men, a brute with a scar across his nose, leered at me. "Your wife looks lonely, Higgins."

Hudson didn't even look at me. He threw a chip onto the table, a smug grin plastering his face. "She's not lonely. She's serving the family. The Don himself has taken a personal interest in her education."

The table went quiet, then erupted in knowing, dirty laughter. Hudson basked in it. He didn't protect my honor; he spent it like currency. He traded my dignity for a seat at a table where he didn't belong.

The bile rose in my throat, acidic and burning. He hadn't just sold my body; he had sold my name, my reputation, and eventually, the lives of my mother and daughter. He would do it again. He would brag about his "sacrifice" the moment he thought it would gain him an ounce of respect.

I turned my head to look at him. In the moonlight, his neck was exposed, vulnerable. It would be so easy to end him now. But death was too kind for a man like Hudson Higgins.

He wanted to climb the ladder of chaos? Fine. I would be the one to grease the rungs with blood.

I closed my eyes, not to sleep, but to sharpen the blade of my hatred. Tomorrow, the Devil of Chicago was sending a car for me. And this time, I wouldn't be walking into the lion's den as a victim. I was walking in as the hunter.