The image burned itself onto the back of Isabella’s eyelids. Lorenzo’s laughing, unguarded face, the vibrant chaos of his Neapolitan street, the terrifying normalcy of a moment captured just hours ago. It wasn’t a written threat. It was more potent, more visceral. It was a snapshot of a life that could be extinguished as easily as the camera’s shutter had clicked. Giancarlo wasn’t just threatening her anymore; he was holding a gun to the very soul of her world.
The exhilaration from her successful presentation evaporated, leaving a cold, metallic fear in its place. She stood frozen in the center of the opulent hotel suite, the phone clutched in her hand like a shard of ice. The glittering lights of Monaco through the floor-to-ceiling windows now seemed like a million accusing eyes.
Aless
