ISABELLA
The restaurant was too quiet for my liking. Private dining room. There is a vacant table on the other side of the room. Tinted windows. Two allied family heads sitting across from me, both smiling like they weren’t asking me to commit a federal crime. I cut into my steak, keeping my expression neutral.
“So,” I said, “you want the Salvatores to back a new venture.”
Draco leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Not just any venture. We’re talking high‑value, high‑demand, low‑traceability.”
His cousin, Raffaele, grinned. “Black‑market pharmaceuticals. Counterfeit cancer drugs. The profit margin is—”
“No.” I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to. “Call it what it is. You want to sell fake medicine to desperate people.”
Raffaele shrugged. “Desperate people pay well.”
“And they d
