3

##Chapter 3

"Three heartbeats," Isabella announced at breakfast, waving her ultrasound like a trophy. "Three perfect Moretti heirs."

She'd gathered the entire family—Donatella, Vincenzo, even the underbosses—to witness her moment of triumph.

"Triplets," Donatella breathed, her cold eyes actually warming. "The family is blessed."

I slipped my hand into my purse, fingers finding the recording pen I'd placed there.

Click.

"Tell us everything," I encouraged Isabella sweetly. "We're all so excited."

Isabella preened under the attention. "The doctor said they're developing perfectly. Two boys and a girl."

"Like a fairy tale," I murmured, capturing every word.

"Better than a fairy tale," she corrected smugly. "Because unlike some women, I can actually fulfill my wifely duties."

The barb was meant for me, delivered with surgical precision.

Vincenzo didn't even glance my way.

"Isabella will move into the master suite permanently," Donatella declared. "Cassandra, you'll take the guest quarters."

"Of course." I smiled serenely. "Whatever's best for the babies."

Isabella's eyes narrowed suspiciously at my compliance.

She'd expected tears, screaming, a dramatic breakdown.

Instead, I was handing her exactly what she wanted.

That evening's dinner party was a masterpiece of psychological torture.

Isabella held court like a queen, one hand constantly caressing her belly while she regaled guests with pregnancy symptoms and baby names.

"We're thinking Vincenzo Jr. for one of the boys," she announced, making sure I heard every word.

"And what about the girl?" asked Maria Costello, the underboss's wife.

"Donatella," Isabella replied, raising her wine glass toward my mother-in-law. "After the family matriarch."

More applause, more congratulations.

I sipped my water and recorded everything.

"Cassandra," Isabella called out suddenly. "Bring me more champagne. The sparkling kind—I can have a little for the celebration."

The entire room fell silent.

She was treating me like hired help in my own home.

"Of course," I replied, rising gracefully.

"Make sure it's chilled properly," she added with fake sweetness. "You know how particular I am."

When I returned with the bottle, Isabella was deep in conversation about replacing all the family portraits.

"Cassandra's pictures will have to come down, naturally," she was saying. "The children need to see proper maternal figures."

I poured her champagne with steady hands.

"Here you are, darling."

"Thank you... Aunt Cassandra." She giggled at her own cruelty.

The underbosses shifted uncomfortably, but no one intervened.

Later that night, Vincenzo found me on the balcony of my new guest room.

"You're being very understanding about all this," he said, lighting a cigarette.

"What choice do I have?"

He exhaled smoke into the night air. "Isabella's young. Fertile. What this family needs."

I kept my expression neutral while my recording pen captured every word.

"And me?" I asked quietly.

"You?" He flicked ash over the railing. "You're like an old weapon, Cassandra. Reliable once, but technology moves on. Isabella is... an upgrade."

An upgrade.

Ten years of marriage, and I was obsolete technology.

"I see," I whispered.

"Don't take it personally," he continued callously. "You served your purpose. Now it's time for the next generation."

My heart shattered and reformed simultaneously—broken by his cruelty, hardened by his betrayal.

"You're right," I said softly. "It's time for change."

He nodded, satisfied with my submission.

"I'm glad you understand. Makes everything easier."

When he left, I stayed on the balcony for another hour, listening to the city's heartbeat below.

My phone contained three hours of recordings now—Isabella's arrogance, Donatella's plans, Vincenzo's coldness.

Evidence of their betrayal in their own voices.

Tomorrow, the real game would begin.

But tonight, I let myself grieve for the last time.

Not for them—for the woman I used to be.

The naive girl who believed in love and loyalty.

She died tonight on this balcony.

What remained was something far more dangerous.