Vito’s POV
Private Dinner, Manhattan
The chandeliers cast golden light across the private dining room, illuminating the faces of New York's most powerful families. Crystal glasses clinked, expensive wine flowed, and conversations hummed with the careful politeness of people who could have each other killed over dessert.
I barely heard any of it.
My eyes kept drifting to the empty chair beside me—the one Isabella should have occupied. Instead, Maria sat there in a cream-colored gown, her blonde hair swept up elegantly, playing the part of the devoted companion.
This was supposed to make her jealous.
The plan had seemed so simple. Bring Maria to the dinner. Let Isabella stew at home, imagining what we were doing together. Wait for the tears, the accusations, the dramatic proof that she
