Vito’s POV
The silence in the auction hall was deafening. I watched Isabella freeze on the small stage, her face pale under the gallery's harsh spotlights as Maria's pointed question hung in the air like a loaded gun.
What period is this piece from, Mrs. Romano?
Even from my position in the back row, I could see Isabella's hands trembling slightly as she stared at the Renaissance painting. The crowd was waiting, expectant faces turned toward my wife like vultures circling wounded prey.
Without hesitation, I raised my hand.
Damn it. Even with everything that felt off about her lately, even with the nagging suspicion that she was hiding something from me, my protective instincts kicked in immediately. Whatever secrets Isabella might be keeping, I wouldn't let anyone humiliate her in pub
