The Cap-Ferrat villa was a cascade of white stone and glowing glass that spilled down the cliffs to the sea. It was old-world beauty perfected, and to Isabella, the most dangerous place she had ever entered.
The air smelled of jasmine, cigar smoke, and champagne. The crowd was a low, cultured hum of money and influence. Women in couture glittered; men in tuxedos stood in clusters. Alessandro’s hand was a firm pressure on her back as they ascended the steps, his presence a dark, focused energy. Their arrival was a declaration.
Giancarlo Russo met them inside, a vision in a white dinner jacket. “Alessandro! Isabella! You honor my home.” His smile was warm, but his eyes were ice. He took Isabella’s hand. “Your lecture was so… provocative. You’ve stirred the hornet’s nest.”
“Truth has a way
