Chapter 4 4

Morning at Lake Como arrived quietly, the kind of quiet that made every sound feel deliberate. Isabella woke to the distant call of birds and the soft lap of water against stone. For a few seconds, she forgot why she was there. Then memory rushed back, documents, danger, Matteo's warning eyes in the dark.

She sat up slowly. The villa felt different now, occupied, alert. As if it knew it was no longer a refuge but a frontline.

Isabella dressed and padded downstairs. Matteo was already awake, standing at the long wooden table in the kitchen, laptop open, papers spread around him with military precision. He looked up when he heard her.

"Coffee's ready," he said.

"Of course it is," she replied.

She poured herself a cup and leaned against the counter, watching him. In daylight, the sharpness she'd noticed before was more pronounced. Everything about him suggested control, his posture, his stillness, the way his attention never fully rested.

"You didn't sleep," she said.

"I rested."

"That's not the same."

"It's enough."

She didn't argue. Instead, she gestured to the papers. "What did you find?"

Matteo rotated the laptop toward her. "I ran some of the company names through international registries. They link back to three holding groups in Monaco. One of them is moving assets."

"When?"

"Tomorrow night."

Isabella's stomach tightened. "That soon?"

"Yes."

She set her coffee down, mind already shifting into analysis mode. "If it's a consolidation transfer, they'll be routing through a clean intermediary first. Something charitable. Cultural preservation, maybe."

Matteo studied her. "You're very calm."

"This is what I do," she said. "Panic comes later."

A door creaked softly behind them. Lucia entered the kitchen, looking exhausted but determined.

"They're watching Valenti Group closely now," Lucia said. "Internal audits, external pressure. De Luca is nervous."

"Good," Isabella replied. "Nervous men make mistakes."

Lucia gave her a sad smile. "You sound like your mother."

Isabella's chest tightened, but she didn't look away. "She taught me to pay attention."

They spent the next hours working through the documents together. Isabella led, connecting numbers, tracing inconsistencies, annotating patterns. Matteo listened, asked sharp questions, filled in gaps with information from his contacts. Lucia provided names, histories, context.

By noon, the picture was clearer and darker.

"This isn't just laundering," Lucia said quietly. "It's political."

Matteo nodded. "De Luca funds campaigns. In return, he gets protection."

"And silence," Isabella added.

Silence. The word echoed unpleasantly.

A sudden knock at the gate broke their concentration.

Matteo was on his feet instantly, hand going to his weapon. He checked the monitor.

"It's a delivery," he said, frowning. "Courier."

"I didn't order anything," Isabella said.

"Neither did I," Lucia added.

Matteo hesitated, then moved outside, keeping the gate closed as he spoke to the courier through the intercom. Moments later, he returned, holding a slim envelope.

"There was no return address," he said.

Isabella took it, fingers cold. Inside was a single sheet of paper.

You should have stayed invisible.

No signature.

Lucia swore softly. "They know."

"Yes," Matteo said. "And now they're pushing."

Isabella folded the paper carefully. "Good."

Both of them looked at her.

"If they're warning us," she continued, "it means they don't have full control yet."

Matteo's gaze sharpened. "Or they're testing you."

"Then they'll learn something," Isabella said.

That afternoon, Matteo insisted on a perimeter sweep. Isabella watched him move through the property with practiced efficiency, checking sightlines, testing vulnerabilities. It was unsettling and oddly reassuring.

When he returned, sweat-darkened and serious, she handed him water. Their fingers brushed. Neither pulled away immediately.

"Thank you," he said.

"For the water?"

"For trusting me," he replied.

She met his eyes. "I don't trust easily."

"I know."

The honesty between them felt fragile, like thin glass. Isabella broke it first. "Why did you really take this job?"

Matteo looked away toward the lake. "Because your mother died thinking no one finished what she started."

"And you think we can?"

"I think you can," he said. "I'm just here to make sure you survive it."

The words settled heavily between them.

As evening approached, tension crept back into the villa. Lucia received a call and stepped outside to answer it. When she returned, her face was pale.

"They're accelerating the transfer," she said. "Tomorrow afternoon. Monaco."

Matteo cursed under his breath. "That gives us less than twenty-four hours."

Isabella straightened. "Then we move faster."

"Isabella-" Lucia began.

"No," Isabella interrupted. "I won't run again. Not from this."

Matteo watched her closely.

"Going to Monaco puts you directly in his line of sight."

"I've been in his blind spot my whole life," she replied. "That's how this works."

Silence followed. Then Matteo nodded. "All right."

They planned late into the night, routes, contingencies, fail-safes. Isabella drafted a preliminary report, careful to encrypt and duplicate it. Matteo set up secure communications, arranging safe houses and exit strategies.

At some point, Lucia excused herself, leaving Isabella and Matteo alone again.

The villa felt smaller after that.

Isabella stepped onto the balcony, needing air. Matteo followed a moment later.

"You don't have to be brave all the time," he said quietly.

She hugged her arms around herself. "If I stop, I might fall apart."

"Then fall," he said. "Just not alone."

She looked at him then, really looked at him. The lines of strain, the restraint, the something unspoken behind his eyes.

"Were you always like this?" she asked.

"No," he said. "I used to believe I could fix things."

"And now?"

"Now I believe I can protect people while they fix things themselves."

She considered that. "That sounds lonely."

"It is."

Impulsively, she reached for his hand. He stiffened, then relaxed, allowing it.

For a moment, they stood there, connected by warmth and shared risk.

"I'm scared," she admitted softly.

"So am I," he replied. "That's how I know this matters."

Below them, the lake reflected the moon, fractured and beautiful.

Later, as Isabella lay in bed, sleep came slowly. Her mind replayed numbers, conversations, Matteo's steady presence. Somewhere between fear and determination, something else was growing, dangerous in its own way.

Trust.

Outside, unseen, a car idled briefly on the road beyond the trees before driving on.

And far away, in Monaco, Alessandro De Luca prepared to secure his empire, unaware that the quiet woman he had dismissed was already unraveling it thread by careful thread.