Isla’s POV
Vincenzo’s house was quiet in a way that felt rehearsed. Not peaceful. Not welcoming. Controlled.
The kind of silence that settled into corners and stayed there, polished, expensive and deliberate. Every surface gleamed—marble floors without a footprint, walls the color of soft smoke, lighting so carefully placed it made shadows look intentional. Even the air felt filtered, like nothing unpleasant was allowed to linger long enough to be noticed.
A man I didn’t recognize nodded at me from near the staircase. He was dressed simply—dark suit, no tie—but his posture gave him away. Still. Alert. Watching without looking like he was watching.
I hadn’t asked for security. Yet there he was.
Another presence moved near the far end of the hall. Then another. Not intrusive. Not obviou
