Isabella sat on the balcony, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders as the cool night breeze played with the loose strands. The darkness stretched out before her, the estate’s gardens bathed in silver moonlight. From her vantage point, she had watched her father return an hour ago, his silhouette barely visible as he moved with purpose through the shadows. She didn’t need to ask what had happened— his success was written in the tension of his movements, the stiffness in his posture. Matteo Cattaneo was no more, and with that thought, Isabella’s stomach twisted.
Her thoughts drifted to Sofia, who was far away by now, hopefully on her way to a new life. She hoped that Sofia wouldn’t blame herself for whatever tragic news would eventually reach her. The weight of the betrayal sat heavy on I
