POV: ISABELLA
The ballroom was chaos.
Security personnel everywhere, blocking exits, corralling guests into groups, their faces grim and professional.
Marco's voice cut through the noise, calm but absolute. "No one leaves until we have answers. This is not a request."
Isabella stood frozen at Table 47, her heart hammering so hard she thought it might burst through her ribs.
They were going to find out.
The waiter would talk. The security footage would show her. The investigation would trace everything back to her.
And then Dimitri would come for her.
And she would die.
"Isabella." Catarina's voice was urgent, quiet. "We need to move. Now."
"There's nowhere to go. They've locked down the building..."
A hand closed around Isabella's wrist.
She spun, found herself staring into Enzo's face.
He looked furious. Disappointed. Disgusted.
"Follow me," he said, his voice low and hard. "Both of you. Now."
"Enzo, I can't just..."
