He paused, looking at her face.
"But you're not broken," he continued quietly. "You're just lost. You let a man confuse you. Made you forget who you are. But underneath all that confusion, you're still a Russo. You still have the strength I bred into you."
Isabella felt tears starting to form. This time, she didn't try to stop them.
"I'm sorry, Father," she said, and she meant it with every fiber of her being. "I'm sorry for disappointing you. For being weak. For letting myself be used by a man who saw me as nothing but a tool."
"Sorry doesn't matter," Lorenzo said, his voice still clinical, still cold. "Results matter. You're going to fix this. You're going to make this family strong again. You're going to get Dimitri Valentino back, and when you do, you're going to do it the right way. Not as some desperate woman trying to win back a lover. But as a strategic asset to this family. As someone who understands power."
"Yes, Father," Isabella said.
He handed her back the gun.
