Cassian Pov

I stared at the clock on the wall at 8:15 p.m., perfectly on time. The restaurant was a discreet appointment with low-lit, plush leather booths, soft classical music hovering between tables. There was an air of quiet wealth here crystal glasses, candlelight flickering in polished silverware. The kind of place where nothing happened by accident. I’d asked Isabella, the senator’s daughter, to meet here. Alone.

I should have seen the irony in inviting someone connected to the ...