People said the Angelinas ruled Venice from the shadows.
Gabrielle knew better. The shadows ruled them.
A year ago, he had been just another cog in the family machine, handling numbers, smoothing deals, keeping his head low. Then Sophia was murdered. His wife. His anchor. His one place untouched by the rot of the life he'd been born into.
The police called it a robbery gone wrong. The family called it an unfortunate tragedy. Gabrielle called it what it was—bullshit.
So he took the job he'd spent his life avoiding. Underboss. Second only to his uncle, the man whose smile was too sharp to trust. The seat came with power, with connections, with an army that could make people vanish overnight. But for all the resources, all the whispered intel and bribes, he was no closer to finding her killer.
It was as if she had been erased.
He looked out over the Grand Canal from the balcony of his estate, the early morning fog curling like ghosts against the water. Behind him, the faint sounds of movement carried through the marble halls—light footsteps, a door shutting. Mikey was awake.
Eight years old and already learning the rules of survival. He didn't cry anymore. He didn't ask about his mother. He watched people with the same sharp eyes Gabrielle saw in the mirror every morning.
The boy was too much like him.
Gabe ran a hand through his blond hair, the breeze catching the edge of his tailored coat. He had enemies on every side. Some wore the family crest; others hid in the city's endless labyrinth of canals and alleyways.
He couldn't protect Mikey with guards alone. He needed someone inside—someone who could be more than a babysitter. Someone with loyalty that couldn't be bought.
Edith's voice still echoed in his mind from their last meeting. "Isabella's skillset is in cyber security. She isn't the right choice for domestic care."
He'd ignored her. The moment he'd read Isabella's file, he knew she was the one.
Not because of her credentials. Because of her eyes.
Eyes that had seen fire and lived.