The city outside the car windows pulsed with light and filth- neon signs, steam from subway grates, the hum of a city that never slept and never forgave.
Isabella sat in the back seat of the black Escalade, legs crossed, eyes fixed on the rain as it blurred Manhattan's sharp edges. Nico sat besides her, quiet, coiled like a loaded gun.
She hadn't said a word since they left the house. He didn't mind silence-it was cleaner than lies.
Finally, she spoke.
"Did you know him? Matteo?"
Nico stared straight ahead, " I knew he wasn't ready for the life."
She glanced at him. "He was born into it"
"So was I. Doesn't mean we were built for it".
A beat of silence.
Then, Her voice low: " He was trying to get out."
That made Nico turn his head, just slightly.
"You sound sure."
"I am." Her nails tapped the edge of her clutch like a metronome. "He was pulling money. Quietly. Not just cash-ledgers, locations, names. He had a plan."
"Then he got sloppy."
"He got close." He voice sharpened." And someone noticed."
Nico leaned back, processing. If Matteo Moretti had been stealing from his own blood-trying to escape-he hadn't just betrayed the family. He'd signed his death warrant. And If Isabella knew about it now....
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"The bar on 57th.Matteo's office upstairs. He kept a safe."
"That's a bad idea."
"Are you going to stop me?"
She looked at him then-not defiant, but something fiercer. Something dangerous.
'I'm going to protect you," Nico said. "Even from yourself, if I have to."
She didn't flinch. Just turned to the window.
"Then stay close. I intend to find out who killed my brother."
The bar was closed, lights dimmed to ghosts. The lock on the private entrance gave with a soft click, and the two slipped inside like shadows. Upstairs, Matteo's office still smelled like leather and scotch. Everything untouched- too untouched.
Nico's hand hovered near his gun as Isabella crossed the rom. She moved to the bookshelf, pulled out a copy of the Prince, and the hidden safe behind it clicked open.
"Cute," Nico muttered.
Inside: a flash drive. A Ledger. A photograph of Matteo with an unknown man-face blurred in motion, hand on Matteo's shoulder.
Isabella stared at it too long.
"You recognize him?"
"No," she lied.
Before Nico could push, the sound of the front door creaking below sliced through the silence.
Isabella froze.
"Move," Nico said, pulling her back. "We're not alone."
And suddenly this wasn't about grief or questions anymore.
It was survival.