Reborn: The Mafia Bride's Fiery Revenge

Isabella POV

A few days later, the biting cold of Brooklyn was replaced by the suffocating opulence of the Romero Estate's Grand Foyer.

The administrative hall was a stark physical representation of the mafia's hierarchy. Crystal chandeliers cast a cold, brilliant light over polished marble floors, while heavily armed Soldiers patrolled the perimeter. On one side, terrified Associates like my father, Arturo, stood in a tense line for the grueling Annual Audit. On the other, the daughters of affiliated families gathered in the registration lounge for the Selection Gala, draped in designer silk and false smiles.

I stood near a marble pillar, keeping my eyes downcast, when the sharp click of expensive heels approached.

"I told you she'd be here, looking like a beggar," Bianca Hobbs sneered. My cousin crossed her arms, her eyes flashing with spite. "Refusing the Velasquez match was the stupidest thing you've ever done, Isabella. You're destined to rot in the slums."

Beside her stood Kiana Velasquez.

The moment I saw Kiana's face, the phantom smell of gasoline and burning flesh filled my lungs. This was the woman who had locked me in a lightless cell, the woman who had laughed while telling me my mother died of a broken heart. My nails dug into my palms until the skin nearly broke, but I forced my expression to remain perfectly blank.

Kiana looked me up and down with absolute disgust. "So this is the Associate's trash who thought she was too good for my brother," she mocked, her chin raised in arrogant superiority. "You should be on your knees thanking us for even considering your filthy bloodline. But it doesn't matter. I'm only here today as a formality. With my family's standing, Underboss Damien is already mine. The Mafia Queen's seat belongs to me."

I wanted to wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze until her eyes bulged. Instead, I caught a glimpse of movement near the grand entrance.

Kloe Klein had just walked in.

Surrounded by four heavily armed guards, Kloe wore a custom haute couture gown that cost more than my father's lifetime earnings. She was Old Money—the granddaughter of the Graham family and the heiress to the Klein financial empire. She was notoriously proud and despised the nouveau riche.

I immediately dropped my gaze, adopting a mask of trembling reverence, and raised my voice just enough to carry across the polished floor.

"Of course, Miss Velasquez," I said, my tone dripping with loud, exaggerated awe. "With your family's immense power and your undeniably noble bloodline, the Underboss will surely choose you. We bottom-feeders wouldn't dare compete with the future Mafia Queen."

The words hit their mark perfectly.

Kloe Klein stopped dead in her tracks. Her piercing blue eyes snapped toward us, her lips curling into a vicious sneer.

"Noble bloodline?" Kloe's voice echoed through the lounge, sharp as a stiletto. She stepped closer, her guards parting the crowd like the Red Sea. "The Velasquez family are nothing but nouveau riche thugs who cook their casino books. How dare a smuggler's daughter speak of 'noble blood' and the Mafia Queen's seat in the Romero foyer?"

Kiana paled, her arrogant facade crumbling instantly. "Lady Klein, I—I didn't mean—"

Bianca foolishly tried to intervene. "She was just putting this Associate's daughter in her place—"

"Shut your mouth, Hobbs," Kloe snapped, her gaze pinning Bianca like a dead insect. "Speak again, and I'll have my grandfather strip your father's port routes before dinner."

Suffocated by the absolute crushing weight of Kloe's ancient bloodline, Kiana and Bianca didn't dare utter another word. Faces flushed with deep humiliation, they turned and practically fled the lounge.

Kloe then turned her sharp gaze to me, assessing the girl who had sparked the confrontation. I shrank back against the pillar, my shoulders trembling, looking exactly like the terrified, powerless slum girl I was supposed to be.

Seeing no threat in my pathetic display, Kloe scoffed softly, lost interest, and walked away toward the VIP registration room like a conquering queen.

I kept my head down, but a cold smile touched my lips. The seed of hatred between Kiana and the most powerful girl in the estate had been planted.

With my registration complete, I slipped away from the glamorous lounge and descended into the shadows of the underground garage to wait for my father. The air here was thick with exhaust and cheap tobacco.

I found Associate Alfred near the loading docks, quietly organizing crates after being berated by a Capo. I knew from my past life that Alfred was incredibly sharp and knew how to keep his mouth shut.

I stepped out of the shadows and handed him a thick envelope of cash, along with an unmarked, sealed letter.

"For Javier Velasquez," I whispered, holding his surprised gaze. "The eldest son in the wheelchair. Use the blind drops. No one sees you."

Alfred felt the weight of the cash, gave a curt nod, and pocketed the envelope without a single question.

As I walked back toward the stairwell, my heart beat with a steady, ruthless rhythm. That letter contained the financial trails of Elzada's embezzlement and the proof of her murdering Javier's mother. I had just handed Javier the knife to gut his own family.

Now, I only needed my father to survive his grueling three-day financial audit. Once he was out, we would use our meager savings to bribe the lower clerks, bury my name at the very bottom of the Selection list, and disappear entirely from Damien Romero's radar.