Isabella’s POV
Pine Island, Maine.
The winters here are long and brutal. Snow often buries the roads, and even the sound of the waves crashing on the shore carries a biting chill.

But for me, the cold here feels safe. Warmer than the hearts of men, at least.
I stood at the second-floor window, a warm cup of coffee in my hands, my fingers tracing its heat.
Outside was a sea of white, with only a few stubborn pine trees standing tall against the wind and snow.
"Bella, Leo has calmed down."
Sofia came in, holding a loaf of freshly baked bread.
She no longer had that constant tension she carried in prison, but her eyes were still sharp. She wore a heavy wool sweater, one Mama R had knitted by hand.

"That hacker kid is a coward," Sofia said, her mouth full of bread. "But he'll cooperate as long as we mention your name. Looks like the truth of that night three years ago has been eating him alive."
I turned and looked at the other women in the room.
This wasn't some heavily armed fortress. It was a safe house, protected by Omertà.
Petra was sorting through encrypted hard drives. A former intelligence clerk, she went to prison taking the fall for her boss. Now, she was skillfully piecing together the fragmented evidence Leo had provided.

Quinn's fingers flew across her keyboard, monitoring online chatter. She was a genius of the dark web, our eyes and ears.
Mama R was busy in the kitchen. She was our den mother, the only source of warmth we had in our despair.
This was my family.
We forged our alliance in that hellhole of a prison. Since we survived, we were going to make the people who put us there pay.
We would judge them by their own rules, by their own code of "honor."
"Is the online chatter still going?" I walked over to the desk and looked at the computer screen.
Quinn's brow was furrowed. "It's not looking good. That bitch Cassandra might be in a mental hospital, but the Vitale family's PR team is still working. They're spinning a new story. Your father was a degenerate gambler who tried to rape her, and she killed him in self-defense. You're the one trying to avenge him."
She clicked on a few comments, her voice filled with anger. "And people are buying it. Now you're the 'rapist's daughter,' the 'jealous ex-wife' trying to ruin a family alliance. Someone even put a bounty on your head on the dark web."
"A bounty?" I laughed coldly, looking at my reflection in the mirror—a pale woman with unwavering eyes. "That means they're scared."
I picked up a lipstick and drew a red circle on the mirror, right around the Vitale family crest.
"Don't worry about the online rumors. That's for the idiots to read."
I turned, my gaze sweeping over everyone in the room.
"We don't need to defend ourselves. We don't argue with trolls. What we do... is stick the knife right in their heart."
"Petra, get Leo's testimony and the restored surveillance footage ready. Cassandra loves to act, right? We'll build her a bigger stage."
"Sofia, tighten security. No direct fights. If you spot anyone suspicious, we move immediately."
I paused, a complex emotion flashing in my eyes.
"And Lorenzo... I hear he's lost his mind?"
"He has," Sofia said with a smirk. "Running around New York looking for you like a stray dog. Heard he beat some guys into the ICU at a bar for making fun of you. The talk on the street is that the Romano Don has fried his brain over his ex-wife."
"He deserves it," I said flatly, my fingers tracing a faint scar on my wrist. "An apology after the funeral is cheaper than dirt."
The snowstorm outside raged, howling as it beat against the glass.
I was no longer the Donna who cried behind her husband's back.
I am Isabella.
The court of the forsaken, I whispered, is now in session.