My fingers tap against the leather armrest, glancing at the view of the clouds from the plane's window. Saying yes to Lorenzo was the easiest thing I'd done all year. In two days' time, Lorenzo planned all the arrangements to fly us to my hometown, the Bronx.

My heart thumps in my ribcage, expanding and decompressing like a balloon filled with helium. Things are different now. I'm not returning as Vincenzo's long-lost daughter. Instead, in their eyes, I aligned myself and married our enemy. We will be exiled before I even have a chance to defend myself.

"Nervous?" Lorenzo asks, downing another champagne glass. This man is a borderline alcoholic. I've yet to see him without alcohol in his hands. "We should land in about an hour."

I exhale. "A little bit. It's going to be all sunshine and rainbows until everyone sees Damien. I'm stupid, but I'm not a pushover. They will never believe I married Damien of my own free will, especially after killing my brothers."

Lorenzo rubs his chin. "My brother and I discussed this last night. We agreed it's better to say you're married to me. I'm the boss, after all, and it makes more sense for you to be married to me. We're not completely in the clear, but Damien is willing to take a few bullets for the family business."

"So, I'm introducing you as my husband?" I ask, my eyebrows furrowing in puzzlement, trying to make everything of this situation. "Then what's Damien's purpose here? He won't be allowed to step foot in my family's quarters without an uprising." Tension simmers on my skin.

My eyebrow arches as Lorenzo uses his thumbs to massage my forehead, muttering the word 'sh... sh...' "Relax. Turn around." Reluctantly, I shift my back to face Lorenzo, receiving his hands on my shoulders. He digs his fingers into the ridges of my tense shoulders, extricating the knots in my bones. "Everything will go fine. Damien will be too busy trying to put his dick into something to bother you or your family. The only Moltisanti you have to worry about is me."

This almost sounds like music to my ears. Neither Moltisanti would be better, but I can't have everything.

"My masterpiece looks perfect," Lorenzo says, trailing his fingers down the slope of my open-back satin dress.

"You fucking tainted my wife with that ugly shit," Damien complains, spitting his mouthful of corn on the floor. "She was perfect before. Finally, a size zero, big-doll eyes, thick ass, clean skin-- one change ruins everything!"

He chuckles. "You have a special way of charming a woman."

"That's why I get more pussy than you!" Damien barks, spitting another mouthful of corn on the floor. It's sickening. Bile threatens to crawl up my throat like a spider. "Being married doesn't stop me."

My legs clench. The amount of times Rocco had to take me to an emergency appointment with my gynecologist this year is concerning. After getting syphilis for the fourth time in a row, I convinced Damien to wrap his shit. I'm surprised it hasn't fallen off from all the diseases he's gotten.

"Yet you go after all my sloppy seconds," Lorenzo laughs, rising from the seat aside me. "Do you like the taste of my dick? You know I dabbled with other men before, but I'm not into that Alabama shit you're into, brother."

Damien's body grows tense as he harshly swallows the corn on the cob down his throat. "At least my wife was a virgin. I'm the only men she's ever fucked. Can't say the same about the little tramp you tried to marry."

Annoyance surges through my veins. "Hey! Just because Mika slept around with other people doesn't mean she's worth any less. The amount of bodies someone has isn't everything. Anyone would be lucky enough to have her."

A creepy smile full of corn and yellow teeth spreads across Damien's face. "Aw... how cute. Did you have a thing for her too? Is that why she left? Because she can't stand you and grow tired of you?"

"No..." My voice trails, unconvincing.

My heart clenches. Mika isn't like the rest. I don't know what's taking her so long to find me, but I know there's a damn good reason. It doesn't matter. I don't want to burden her further with my own problems. Forced to be apart from her soulmate is traumatic enough.

"No one wants you, even your best friend," Damien sneers, venom laced in his tone. "I'm the only one willing to stick it out for you. Be grateful."

Tears gather in my vision as I jump from my seat and rush toward the laboratory. I'm yanked back from a grip on my wrist, halting me in place. Damien's slimy, greasy fingers hold on to my chin, compressing my cheeks together as I meet his dark gaze.

"Where's your gratitude? I've stayed by your side," He says through gritted teeth. "Where's my thank you?"

I smile. "Fuck you for ruining my life."

A nasty blow to my face sends my head sideways, stumbling onto one of the empty seats. The 'thud' of the slap vibrates in my eardrums, the familiar metallic taste on my tongue from the blood slipping onto the floor. My vision is hazy from the tears and abrupt movement.

"Seems like you want a punishment," Damien seethes, keeping my thighs apart by placing his leg between them and prying my dress off my body. "You're getting in the ass. Maybe then you will learn to keep your fucking mouth shut!"

My eyes widen in panic. "I hate you! I hate you so much!"

Lorenzo storms from where we were before on the plane, banging his fist into Damien's face. Damien falls back into the row of chairs behind him. Surprise passes over Damien's eyes as he takes four impacts to the face. Crimson blood drips from his purple eye and cut lip.

He is barely conscious, his eyes rolling back as Lorenzo holds him by his collared shirt. "Are you fucking kidding? All the shit she's doing for us, and you repay her by fucking hitting her! That's it. You're done. You're going back home. Right after you tell her, thank you!"

Damien groans. "F-Fuck that."

Lorenzo punches Damien like he's in a boxing rink. "What about now?"

Damien coughs, blood oozing down his chin like a baby spitting up his food. "T-T-hank y-oo-u."

Lorenzo lets Damien fall to the ground with a -thud-, his head slamming against the bar of the seat. I readjust the fabric of my dress to conceal my body parts. Tears sprinkle onto my cheeks as I see that the ends of my dress have been torn up, as if someone put it through a shredder.

Lorenzo bends on his knee, clutching the side of my face, tipping it upward to dab a cushioned cloth on my lip. "It's okay, Isabela. Calm down. Just breathe."

"No!" I shake my head, fury surging through my veins. "I'm not going to calm down! Who does he think he is? I'm going out of my way to help you guys, and he fucking treats me like this? You need me. It's not the other way around." With the shackles of Lorenzo's weight on my body, I crawl to Damien's body on the floor, trying to get some hits in myself. "I hate him! I hate him!"

"Isabela!" The flame of fury hushes Lorenzo's pleas as he wraps his arms around my chest. "Isabela! Isabela, it isn't worth it! He's going home. You won't have to worry about him for the duration of our trip."

Shamelessly, I breakdown into a sobbing, weeping fit. My finger jolts back when I accidentally tap the cut on my lip. A sharp sensation lingers in the background. Lorenzo brushes his fingers through my hair, not letting up on the grip he has on me.

"Either way, I have to go back to him," I mumble through my sobs. "For the rest of my life, this is what I will deal with. How is it a fair bargain?"

His gaze locks onto mine. The glimmer in his irises softens as he drags his knuckles to wipe the tears away. "You're right. It's not fair. I'll work on it. We can do a swear jar like every punch Damien lies on you-- he owes you ten million."

I lightly chuckle. "That's so stupid."

"Yeah," Lorenzo singsong, "But Damien loves his money as much as his image. Go clean up in the bathroom. See if you can do anything about the cut."

I wince. "Is it that bad?"

Lorenzo's thumb drags along my bottom lip, causing a hiss to slip past my throat when he touches the right edge. "No, it's kinda cute. Makes you look like a bad-ass. I would say wear it with honor-- but I wouldn't want your family to think I did it."

I roll my eyes. "Always looking out for yourself, I see."

"Of course."

It's golden hour. The rays of the sun hit my family's home as if I was entering the gates of heaven. With my brothers dead, I wonder who lives here now. Dad? Abuela? Romeo?

According to the rules, it gets inherited by the heir of the familia. My nerves pitter-patter on the seesaw, swaying back and forth from overwhelming to nonexistent. How will they feel about seeing me again? My last encounter with Dad wasn't anything to ring bells about.

He basically exiled me from the familia.

Now, I'm crawling back.

"Are you ready?" Lorenzo asks, placing his hand on my back. "There's still time to turn back around. I know it seems like I'm forcing you, but it's your choice."

I nod stiffly. "It's just so foreign. It's been so long since I've seen my family. What if they want nothing to do with me?"

Lorenzo shrugs. "Then I vote to kill them and steal their routes." My eyes narrow. "I'm joking. I'm sure everything will be fine. You're stressing yourself out for no reason."

The knots in my stomach enhance as I clutch onto the wooden knocker, thumping it against the door. My heart gallops at a thousand miles per minute. Even though there's a light sheet of snow on the ground, heat is pro-fusing out of my body. Gosh, why am I so nervous? Besides my direct family, my other relatives loved me.

A little golden child.

Their princess, in an army of boys.

I suppress my breathing as the door creaks open, revealing an older lady in a maid's uniform, her gray roots peeking through the black with a mole on her chin. Esmeralda? If there was someone I missed, it was her. Esmeralda loved telling me stories about Mom. She's the only one willing to talk about her.

The years have been kind to her.

She doesn't look a day over fifty.

Mirroring one another, we glance at each other, and her eyes widen, processing who I am. "Isabela? Oh, Dios. De verdad eres tu?"

(Oh, God. Is it really you?)

My cheeks grow warm. "Soy yo, Esmeralda. I hope it's okay. I showed up."

(It's me, Esmeralda.)

Esmeralda's mouth slacks to an 'o' expression. "Oh my god, you aren't a little girl anymore. Cuando aprendiste a hablar ingles? You always acted like a little brat during our English lesson."

(When did you learn to speak English?)

I snort. "Es un lenguaje feo. I still stand by that."

(It's an ugly language.)

Esmeralda laughs, reaching for my hands, resting in front of my thighs, and clutching onto them. "Your abuela is going to be happy to see you. She's in the living room. I'll take you."

My unexpected arrival must've given Esmeralda tunnel vision because she hasn't acknowledged Lorenzo. Thank god the color of his hair and eyes is the only thing he shares with Damien. Maybe we can pretend I didn't marry the enemy, at least until I'm able to use them to save myself.

The moment I step into the house, it's gold everywhere. An enticing display of a golden swan greets us as we stalk toward the living room. White dazzling chandelier. Healthy green plants in their vases. A red carpet guides us through the skirts of the house. Our family home is thriving.

Once upon a time, our hallways were filled with toys and weapons.

My Abuela knits an item with the white and blue fabric while the obnoxious acting of the characters in her novelas is blaring in the speakers. That used to be our favorite activity to do together. She would let me stay up past my bedtime and watch with her until my dad came home from binge drinking.

"Juana, mira quien esta aqui. Vas a asustarte!"

(Juana, look who's here. You're going to freak out!)

Abuela groans. "¿Qué es tan importante? Sabes que no me gusta que nadie interrumpa mi novela." Annoyance dissolves from her face when her gaze meets mine. In an instant, she ambushes me with a hug full of her powdery, intense perfume. "Chiquita? Pensé que nunca volvería a verte."

(What's so important? You know I don't like people to interrupt my novel. Chiquita. I thought I'd never see you again.)

"I'm back, abuela," I say, rubbing her back.

Abuela unwraps her arms around my frame and squishes the baby fat on my cheeks. "And you know English! Wow, you really grew up. Esmeralda, fetch us a cup of cafe." My mouth widens as Abuela drags us to the couch, shutting off her television and smiling as bright as a daisy. "How long has it been? Have you been eating? Esmeralda, traenos un pan."

(Bring us bread.)

"Yeah..." I trail off, heat flashing across my cheeks. "It's been almost five years. I'm sorry I never said goodbye to you... You would've talked me out of it, and I needed to leave."

She sighs, bobbing her head in agreement. "No need, Chiquita. I understand." Her finger brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. "All I could do was pray to God every night for your safety. I'm just happy everything turned out okay."

I laugh uneasily. "Yeah. Totally."

Esmeralda set down three coffee mugs, along with a container of sugar, cookies, and bread. Abuela plops three spoonfuls of sugar in my coffee, swirling the liquid to dissolve the particles. She pushes it toward me, spilling a portion of the brown liquid on the table as she stuffs her mouth with bread.

I churn the spoon in the mug. "How's Dad?"

Abuela cleans her mouth with a napkin. "You don't know? Shortly after you left, your father fell ill and couldn't be Jefe anymore. His illness wouldn't allow it. Isiah took his place as reigning Jefe until last year. We got ambushed by the Italian mafia-- butchered all your brothers. My poor son-- your father... there was so much blood. He's buried in our family plot. I'm sure he would be happy if you visited him."

My mind falls to pieces. A mixture of sorrow and ecstasy develops in my chest, merging to assemble a disoriented batch of feelings. He's never given me anything but pain. Yet, it's bittersweet to know he's gone. Tragic to know I didn't take part in it.

One monster gone.

Only one left to scratch off the list.

"I-I think I'm okay," I say, sipping on my spoon.

Abuela clears her throat. "Anyway, now that the sad news is out of the way. Tell me what you've been up to." A knowing, cheeky smile grows on her face as she darts her brown eyes to the figure beside me-- Lorenzo. "For starters? ¿Por qué hay un hombre aleatorio en mi casa?"

(Why is there a random man in my house?)

My pulse quickens.

Just remember what we practiced.

I grip my thighs, taut and tight, while I begin, "Abuela, I want to introduce you to my husband, Lorenzo..." Is it hot in here, or only me?

Her mouth slacks open. "Que?"

Lorenzo hoists from the couch, straightening his light gray suit and dusting any particles off it. "I'm thrilled to have the pleasure of meeting my wife's family." He sports a smile as he plants a kiss on my Abuela's knuckles. "I'm Lorenzo Moltisanti."

Abuela's olive cheeks glimmer with a light pink sheen. "What a gentleman. I can't believe this! Why were none of us invited to the wedding? My only granddaughter and I couldn't watch her walk down the aisle."

Lorenzo returns to his spot on the couch, leaning closer to me and relaxing his palm on my backside. His other hand lies over mine on my lap, playing with my hand until our fingertips meet.

"It was something small," I say, glancing at the intricate design of leaves on the carpet. "Don't blame Lorenzo. He urged me to invite you guys, but we didn't end things on a civilized note... I wasn't sure how you would all react to an invitation to my wedding." I gnaw at my lip, letting out a hiss when I accidentally nibble on the cut. "I guess I was afraid of nobody coming."

Abuela sighs. "My Chiquita, of course, we would've gone. Family is family. Your father always dreamt of giving you to your soulmate."

A cruel laugh slips past my lips. "I doubt that."

Abuela's features tighten with irritation. "No empieces las cosas."

(Don't start things.)

I clear my throat. "What? I didn't say anything untruthful."

Abuela grinds her teeth as she flashes a quick glance at Lorenzo. "Lorenzo, would you mind helping Esmeralda in the kitchen with the dishes? Here, take these. I need a couple of minutes alone with my granddaughter."

"I'm glad to be of help," Lorenzo adds, clutching onto our dirty mugs.

My eyes fall back to the floor. At least we're convincing enough for my Abuela to believe. I love her, but she's defiantly my father's mother. She's a hard ass with a chancla and everything.

Abuela grabs my chin, itching my face upward to meet her brown eyes. She narrows her eyes, lathering her thumb with the saliva in her mouth as she swabs away my lipstick. The cut. How did she notice it? My eyes widen in alert as I try to look away, but she swats my hand, tightly gripping my chin.

Her nostrils flare with disappointment. "How long has this, hijo de puta, been hurting you? Tell me!"

I squeeze my eyes shut. "It's not what you think."

"All you do is drag this family into shit!" Abuela spats, her spit landing on my face. "First with your father, and now this. I knew, you coming back was too good to be true. You're a blood-sucking leech!"

I couldn't believe my ears. "What happened to family is family?

Abuela clicks her tongue. "Where was that when you were planning to call the cops on my son about a made-up story? You aren't innocent, Isabela. Do you think it's easy for your father to raise six children on his own? He gave you everything, and you repaid him by saying he touched you? Please."

I grit my teeth. "He did touch me."

Abuela rolls her eyes. "Gosh, you're just like your mother. Por favor, deja de ser dramático."

(Please stop being dramatic.)

My jaw ticks. No one believed me. They heard me wailing and screaming every night for him to stop and did nothing. To my family, I'm just the tragic girl who cried werewolves. Family is family until I fucking needed them.

Who did I think I was going after the Jefe at fourteen-year-old?

My chin wobbles as I slap Abuela's hands off my face. Goddamnit, I hate when I get so furious I cry! Why did I think they would help me in the first place when all they do is damn me?

"Dramatic?" Tears stream down my cheeks as I break into outrageous laughter. I'm losing it. "He raped me, Abuela! What? Is it too much to bear? To see your son capable of raping his own daughter? Is that why you sided with him?"

Abuela arches a brow. "I sided with him porque eres un maldito mentiroso."

(Because you're a big fucking liar.)

My hands curl into fists. Tears dripping down my chin. Why am I crying? I'm not even sad-- I'm furious.

"I don't even know why I came back here, to begin with," I choke out through my sobs. "No one cared about me. Only Indigo and he's fucking dead now. You say, poor Dad, but what about fucking me? I left in hopes of escaping the abuse. Do you know all I shit I'd to go through ever since I ran away?"

Abuela leans back on the sofa. "Nothing you didn't already deserve."

Shock courses through me. "Oh, fuck you. Do you think I wanted to leave? Abuela, I was fourteen. I didn't know anything. I couldn't even speak English when I left. Dad drove your little Chiquita away. I wished things were different. Maybe then I wouldn't have run into Diablo and got myself entangled in the sex industry or trafficked to the Moltisantis at fifteen to live a life of relentless abuse. The only good thing I had left me when I needed him the most."

My shoulders sink as I release everything I've held in. "Do you know how scary it is to lie in my bed, waiting for if I'm going be raped tonight or not? To cry myself to sleep in hopes of the pain stopping? You know what, Abuela, you're right-- I deserve it." I wipe the tears off my cheeks. "Coming here was a mistake. It was stupid of me to think anyone would support me. I guess I still haven't learned."

I don't spare a glance at my abuela.

Boosting myself from the couch, I dart around for an exit. Gosh, Damien is going to kill me for failing to convince my familia to work with his.

Abuela clears her throat. "Wait." I halt in place, refusing to face her. "Like I said, we might not see eye-to-eye, but family is family. I can't just sit by. You deserve a better life."

I purse my lips. "I know I do."

"I get why you came here," Abuela drawls, her foot placements causing creaks on the olden wooden planks, gripping my shoulder. "You want to be Jefe."

My breath hitches. "Will you support me?"

She rubs my backside. "I'm nothing, Chiquita. You don't need my support-- you need theirs. Your cousin Romeo has them."

My lips twitch. "How do I change that?"

Abuela laughs. "He's celebrating his last day as Capo at Diablo's Paraiso." She plays with my hair, shifting a few strands on my face. "Challenge him. I'm sure you won't be the only one, but your claim is the strongest. Strong enough to begin the games."

My eyebrows furrow. "What game?"

"Eliminador."

(The eliminator.)

My lovely readers how you guys feel? Do you have respect for Isabela's abuela? Anyone interested in reading the big blow out between Isabela and her family 👀👀(just asking... idk if I'll write lol)

First of all, who's happy Lorenzo socked his brother in face? I sure am!! It was very fun to write hehehhe...

What do you think about Eliminador? What are you hoping for?

Now, a personal question— do you think Isabela would forgive Julian if he comes back into her life? Do you think she should or shouldn't— why? What would it take for you guys to forgive him. Or he has no shot whatsoever?

Very interested to read your responses!!!! Thank you so much for getting Tainted hearts to 215 already!!! Like I literally get so surprised everytime I see the number when I wake up like wow it's not a dream.

I appreciate all your support soooo much

Love ya 💜❤️💜💜💜❤️💜❤️