The other family heads had gone. Lucius back to Italy, O'Rourke to Ireland, Kurobane to Japan. Their private jets had sliced through the night sky hours ago, carrying them home.
But Isabeau remained.
She told no one. Not Marcello, not her own people. She checked into a hotel under a false name and began her work.
Something was wrong with Kyle. She could feel it. The way he had appeared out of nowhere. The way he carried himself—not like a man of power, but like a man pretending. No proof. Just instinct. And this instinct had kept her alive for decades.
Marcello would be furious if he knew she was doing this because his orders were clear.
"Treat him as an equal," he had commanded. "He is one of us now."
Isabeau was doing the opposite but this was because Kyle had humiliated her so it was personal for her now.
She dug and dug.
