Chapter Eight
756 Words
Cassian
The conference room was silent.
No one sat until Cassian did.
The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Manhattan, but his attention remained fixed on the photograph lying in front of him.
It had been taken less than two hours earlier.
Him.
Walking beside Isabella.
She was laughing.
He wasn't.
But anyone looking at the picture would assume otherwise.
Luca closed the door behind him.
"We swept the area."
Cassian looked up.
"And?"
"The sedan disappeared before our team could intercept it."
Marco tossed another file onto the table.
"We ran the license plate."
"Stolen."
Cassian wasn't surprised.
"Traffic cameras?"
"They switched vehicles three blocks later."
Professional.
Disciplined.
Prepared.
Whoever they were, they hadn't stumbled onto Isabella by accident.
They'd been hunting her.
The same way he had.
Cassian slid the photograph across the table.
"How long?"
Marco frowned.
"How long what?"
"How long have we been watched?"
The room fell quiet.
Finally, Luca answered.
"If I had to guess..."
He exhaled slowly.
"Longer than we've been watching her."
A muscle tightened in Cassian's jaw.
He didn't like being someone's target.
Especially when he hadn't noticed.
"So what now?" Marco asked.
Cassian stood and walked toward the windows.
"We speed things up."
Luca exchanged a look with Marco.
"You mean the original plan?"
Cassian nodded.
"We bring Isabella in."
Silence.
Marco looked genuinely surprised.
"You want to kidnap her?"
Cassian's voice remained calm.
"I didn't say kidnap."
"What are you saying?"
Cassian turned around.
"If someone else wants her..."
"...she's safer where I can see her."
Luca stared at him.
"That's not what this started as."
"No."
"It isn't."
For the first time in years, Cassian admitted something to himself.
The plan had changed.
He just wasn't sure when.
Across town...
Isabella unlocked the door to her apartment.
"Finally."
She kicked off her shoes and dropped her bag beside the couch.
The apartment was small but cozy.
Bookshelves lined one wall.
Plants occupied nearly every windowsill.
Framed photographs of friends and family covered the mantle.
She smiled as she looked at one of them.
Her and her father.
Taken years ago.
Before his business trips became constant.
Before he started missing birthdays.
Before excuses replaced promises.
Her smile faded.
She missed him.
Even if she refused to admit it out loud.
Her phone buzzed.
Dad
She answered immediately.
"Hey."
His voice sounded different.
Sharper.
"When did you meet him?"
She blinked.
"What?"
"The man you've been seen with."
Confusion washed over her.
"What man?"
"The one from this afternoon."
She laughed softly.
"Dad..."
"What man?"
There was a long silence.
Then—
"His name."
"I...I think it was Adrian."
Another silence.
Longer this time.
"Dad?"
"Listen to me carefully."
His voice had changed completely.
It was no longer warm.
It was commanding.
"If he contacts you again..."
"...you tell me."
Her stomach tightened.
"Why?"
"I'll explain later."
"Dad, you're scaring me."
"I need you to trust me."
She swallowed.
"Okay."
"And Bella..."
"Yes?"
"Don't go anywhere alone."
The line went dead.
Isabella stared at her phone.
Her father had never spoken to her like that.
Not once in her entire life.
Miles away, inside a secluded estate outside the city...
Vincent Romano lowered his phone.
He walked toward the fireplace where an older man waited with two glasses of whiskey.
"So?"
The older man smiled.
"Is it him?"
Vincent stared into the flames.
"Moretti."
The name hung in the room like smoke.
"I thought he'd come for me."
He accepted the glass without drinking.
"I never imagined..."
"...he'd find her first."
The older man leaned back in his chair.
"What do you want to do?"
Vincent's expression hardened.
"For twenty-one years, I've stayed hidden."
He looked toward the photograph lying on the table.
Cassian.
Standing beside Isabella.
Smiling.
"This ends now."
Back at Moretti Tower, Cassian stood alone in his office.
The city lights reflected against the windows.
Luca entered quietly.
"She's home."
Cassian nodded.
"Our men?"
"In position."
"Good."
Luca hesitated.
"There is one more thing."
Cassian turned.
"What?"
Luca placed a small envelope on the desk.
"No return address."
Cassian opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
One he had never seen before.
A twelve-year-old boy.
Covered in blood.
Kneeling beside two bodies.
On the back, written in neat black ink, were six words.
I remember that night too.
Cassian's hand slowly tightened around the photograph.
Someone knew.
Not just about Isabella.
About him.
And for the first time since he was a child...
Cassian felt something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in decades.
Fear.
- Writer
