POV: DIMITRI
Dimitri's phone buzzed as he was reviewing contracts in his office.
A text from Marco.
Minor intel development on Isabella's companion. Nothing urgent. Will brief you fully tomorrow when I have complete picture.
Dimitri stared at the message.
Minor intel.
Nothing urgent.
Which meant something was happening, but Marco didn't think it required immediate action.
He trusted Marco's judgment. If it was critical, Marco would have called.
Still...
Dimitri typed back: Keep me posted. Any changes to Saturday security?
Already handled. You focus on the gala. I've got the rest.
Dimitri pocketed his phone, tried to ignore the unease crawling up his spine.
Saturday was two days away.
Eve would be on his arm, beautiful and perfect and completely his.
And Isabella would be somewhere in that ballroom, watching them.
Hating them.
Plotting God knew what.
But Dimitri had eyes on her. Had protocols in place. Had Marco handling the security.
Nothing would go wrong.
