"Of course."
Isabella walked to the windows, looking out at the city Dimitri had claimed as his empire.
She'd heard the rumors, of course. Antonio had been eager to share, his son had taken up with some American nobody. A divorced woman who ran a talent agency. Someone completely unsuitable for the life they led.
Someone who would break easily when the pressure came.
Isabella had been raised among killers. Trained by her father's best men. She spoke five languages, could disassemble and reassemble a Glock 19 in under thirty seconds, and had been taught from childhood that emotion was weakness.
This Eve Thorne, whoever she was, couldn't possibly compete.
The knock came at exactly nine o'clock.
Punctual. That was something Isabella had always appreciated about Dimitri.
She opened the door herself, letting Chiara handle the shadows.
And there he was.
