Rebirth of the Mafia Mistress

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.