The words sent ice through Isabella's veins. His reflexes. Like they knew Antonio Moretti personally.
Isabella's hands started shaking. The cold from the marble floor seeped through her shoes. Her red dress suddenly felt too thin, too exposed. Like it offered no protection at all.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor above them. Multiple sets. Heavy boots against tile floors. The sound bounced off the walls and ceiling, getting closer with each second that passed.
Isabella counted the footsteps in her head. Five, maybe six. All moving with purpose. All heading their way.
"We need to move," Matteo said, his voice tight with control. But Isabella could hear the fear underneath. "Now."
He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the back of the building. Their footsteps were quiet against the marble, almost silent. But not silent enough.
