POV: ANTONIO
Antonio Valentino sat in his study in Rome, a glass of forty-year-old scotch in hand, watching the sun rise over the Tiber.
His phone call with Lorenzo Russo had been... illuminating.
Isabella had failed spectacularly. Gotten caught. Been banished by Dimitri with threats of death if she returned.
Which meant the alliance, the carefully constructed partnership that had taken years to negotiate was crumbling.
All because his son had fallen in love.
Antonio took a sip of scotch, let it burn down his throat.
Love.
Such a pedestrian emotion. Such a weakness.
Claire had loved him once. Loved him enough to leave America, to marry into his world, to bear his child.
And it had gotten her killed.
Dimitri should have learned that lesson. Should have understood that sentiment was a luxury men like them couldn't afford.
Instead, he'd chosen a woman. A nobody. Someone with no training, no connections, no understanding of their world.
