ISABELLA
The night air outside the estate felt colder than it should have. Not winter‑cold, but something else. Something that crawled under the skin.
The meeting hall doors slammed shut behind me, the echo rolling across the courtyard like a warning shot. Luca walked at my side, stiff and silent, while Adrian’s men formed a tight perimeter around us.
Two weeks. Fourteen days to prove I could run an empire built on blood and fear. I didn’t get the luxury of easing into it. Because the moment we stepped off the last stone step, Vito approached at a near‑run, face pale beneath the security lights.
“Bella,” he said, breath sharp, “we have a problem.”
Of course we did.
“What kind of problem?” I asked.
He swallowed. “A car was waiting outside the gates. Blacked‑out windows. No plates.”
