ADRIAN
New York looks different when you return with a target on your back.
The city is still loud, still alive, still pulsing with the same restless energy it always has — but tonight, it feels like it’s watching us. Like every window hides a pair of eyes. Like every shadow is waiting to move.
The car ride from the private airstrip to the Salvatore mansion is silent. Isabella leans against the window, her fingers curled loosely in her lap. Tobias sits in the front, scrolling through encrypted files on a burner tablet. Vito is beside me, laptop open, typing with the kind of speed that makes me wonder if he even needs to look at the keys.
I watch him from the corner of my eye.
He’s too skilled. Too calm… and familiar. The resemblance — the one I can’t unsee — sits in the back of my min
