Chapter Four: Isabella

I shouldn’t have looked back.

But I did.

Just once. Just for a moment. Enough to catch a final glimpse of him as he disappeared into the crowd like a shadow slipping beneath the skin of the night.

Alessandro Moretti.

He was everything they said—and nothing like I expected.

I had imagined arrogance. Brutality. Cold control honed into violence. But instead, he was quiet. Watchful. Dangerous in a way that required no display. He didn’t project power.

He embodied it.

And when he said my name, I felt the cracks begin.

Isabella.

I’d chosen the name for its elegance, its familiarity. It was simple. Safe. Not uncommon in a place like this. But when he said it, it didn’t feel like a disguise anymore.

It felt like a warning.

I slipped away from the bar without drawing attention, weaving through the clusters of high society like a thread through silk. Smiles. Nods. Not too fast. Not too slow. A performance down to the breath.

My heels clicked against the marble as I turned toward the corridor near the elevators. I could still feel him. Like he had stitched something into my spine with his eyes. I hated that.

But I hated what came next more.

I stepped into the bathroom and locked the door behind me. The silence was deafening. The crystal chandelier hummed faintly above as I leaned over the sink and stared at myself in the mirror.

And there she was.

The girl behind the red dress.

The spy behind the smile.

The traitor.

I dug into my clutch and pulled out the burner phone. One press. One ring. No more.

The line clicked.

“You’re late,” a low voice said on the other end.

I closed my eyes. “I made contact.”

A beat of silence.

“With him?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“He noticed me. Spoke to me. Nothing direct. But he’s curious.”

A breath. Not hers. His.

Luciano Russo.

I hadn’t spoken his name aloud in months.

I didn’t need to.

“You’re doing well, Bella, but don’t let him see too much,” he said, his voice coiled like a whip in the dark. “Alessandro’s not like the others. He studies people before he kills them.”

“I know who he is,” I said.

“Do you?” His tone sharpened. “Because I saw the footage. I saw the way you looked at him. Don’t let the suit and cheekbones fool you. That man would slit your throat before you could say please.”

I bit down on the tremor rising in my chest.

“I haven’t forgotten why I’m here,” I said quietly.

There was another pause. This one is longer.

“I hope not,” Russo said. “Because when the time comes, you’re going to have to choose between finishing this job… and walking away.”

I knew what he meant.

And I hated that he was right.

“Did you get anything useful?” he asked finally.

“Not yet,” I said. “But I think I’m in. He doesn’t trust me. But he noticed me. That’s the start.”

“Good,” he murmured. “Keep working him. Learn his patterns. Find his weakness. Every man has one.”

The line went dead.

I stared at the black screen for a long time after that. My hands clenched tight around the phone. I didn’t want to admit the truth—not to him, not to myself.

Because Alessandro Moretti was supposed to be my enemy.

But the way he looked at me...

He didn’t see a threat.

He didn’t see a toy.

He saw a puzzle.

And I think part of me wanted him to solve it.

I shoved the phone back into my clutch and pressed cold water against my neck. The woman in the mirror didn’t blink. She’d done worse things than lie to a Moretti. She’d watched men die and said nothing.

This wasn’t different.

This couldn’t be different.

I dried my hands, smoothed the red silk down my sides, and stepped back into the world I was learning to pretend I belonged to.

And as I walked away, I heard his voice echo in my mind.

“Do you like playing with fire?”

I’d lied when I didn’t answer.

Because the truth was worse.

I wasn’t afraid of the fire.

I was starting to crave it.

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