Chapter 2 - Shadows in the BrownstoneThe creak came from the second-floor landing, directly outside our master bedroom.
I checked my watch: 11:42 PM. Isabella always went to bed by ten, claiming her skin regimen required eight solid hours.
I slipped the Beretta from the safe, feeling the cold, familiar weight of the steel against my palm. I didn't cock it—not yet. I wanted silence on my side. Max moved with me, stepping like a ghost across the Persian rug, his claws making zero sound against the thick wool.
We reached the base of the grand staircase. The house was pitch black except for the amber glow of the city lights filtering through the stained-glass window on the landing.
There she stood.
Isabella was no longer wearing the casual silk blouse from dinner. She was dressed in a dark, form-fitting turtleneck and black tactical pants. In her hand, she held a set of master keys—keys I didn't even know existed, capable of opening every lock in every property I owned across three states.
She wasn't talking on the phone. She was typing furiously into a sleek, encrypted laptop resting on the mahogany console table.
"You always did have terrible posture when you lied," I said.
The voice cut through the silence of the hallway like a gunshot. Isabella froze. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a fraction of a second before she slowly closed the laptop screen.
When she turned around, there was no panic in her face. No gasping, no tears, no desperate excuses. Just a cold, calculating mask that I had never seen before in the seven years of our marriage.
"You should be in bed, Alessandro," she said, her voice entirely devoid of warmth.
"Who are you working for?" I asked, raising the Beretta, keeping the barrel pointed steadily at the center of her chest. "Chicago? The Bratva? Or are you just freelancing for the FBI?"
Isabella let out a soft, humorless laugh. She leaned back against the console table, crossing her arms. "The FBI? Please, darling. They lack imagination. And Chicago is too loud. No, I’m working for someone much closer to home."
"Name them."
"You built an empire by stepping on everyone in your path," Isabella said, taking a slow step forward, ignoring the black muzzle of my gun. "You think you're untouchable because you bought the judges and silenced the witnesses. But you forgot one simple rule of the underworld, Alex: a kingdom built on blood always invites a parasite."
"Isabella," I warned, my finger tightening slightly on the trigger. "Don't test me."
"You think I'm the first betrayal you've faced?" she smiled, her dark eyes flashing with a terrifying brilliance. "Look closer, husband. Look at who really brought me into your life."
Before I could process the words, a heavy thud echoed from the front foyer downstairs.
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Max didn't growl. He didn't bark.
He lunged.
