(Isabella’s POV)
The bubble of peace we had found at the beach house popped the moment our car re-entered the city. We returned to the penthouse, to the war room, and to the heavy weight of our reality. While Alessandro was immediately consumed by meetings, a new, restless energy coursed through me. I was desperate to contribute more, to speed up the hunt.
I knew he was focusing on Viktor and the Albanian syndicate. But Vittorio Bianchi moved in circles Alessandro’s underworld contacts couldn't easily penetrate—the world of high-end art auctions and private collections. My world.
On a reckless impulse, I used a burner phone to call an old contact in New York, a curator named Julian. I kept the request vague, asking him to discreetly look into any associations connected to Bianchi’s priv
