Isabella's pov

“Do you always stand so close to the door?”

The deep voice startled me. I turned and saw Adrian leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed on me with a teasing smile.

“I like to know who’s coming in,” I replied, trying to sound calm. My heart wasn’t calm. It was racing.

He stepped closer, his cologne wrapping around me like an invisible net. “Or maybe you were waiting for me?”

I forced a small laugh. “You think too highly of yourself.”

He chuckled, but I could see the spark in his eyes. Adrian was dangerous in his way—not because of what he could do to my plan, but because of what he could do to my heart. I couldn’t let him distract me. My goal was clear. I needed Vincenzo.

And tonight was my chance.

The gallery lights were warm, casting a golden glow over the paintings I had carefully selected.

It wasn’t just an exhibition—it was bait. The client I invited tonight was someone Vincenzo respected. I knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse the invitation.

And I was right.

The room went quiet when he walked in. Black suit, sharp jaw, eyes that didn’t miss a single detail. Four bodyguards followed him like shadows. His gaze moved slowly, studying every face, every corner, until it landed on me.

“Miss Isabella,” he said, his tone smooth but unreadable.

“Mr. Moretti,” I replied with a polite smile. “I’m glad you could make it.”

His eyes were dark, almost cold, but there was something behind them. Calculation. Curiosity. And maybe, just maybe… recognition.

We spoke politely at first—about art, about the client we had in common. But I could feel his mind working, as if he were trying to place me somewhere in his past.

Across the room, I caught Gabriel’s eye. He was pretending to examine a painting, but I knew what he was doing—watching me, making sure I didn’t slip.

We had spent years planning this revenge. Years of collecting pieces of a puzzle that all pointed back to Vincenzo. One wrong move tonight and all of it could fall apart.

“Careful,” Gabriel had told me earlier. “Vincenzo doesn’t forgive mistakes.”

I knew that. But what Gabriel didn’t know was how easily Adrian’s smile was already breaking my focus.

Later in the evening, Vincenzo asked me to step into a quieter room. I followed him, trying to keep my breathing steady.

“You have an interesting eye for art,” he said, glancing at the paintings on the wall.

“I choose what speaks to me,” I replied.

His lips curved slightly. “Your mother was the same.”

The words hit me like ice water. I froze. “You… knew my mother?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze moved to a small sculpture in the corner. “I remember her. She was a strong woman. Brave.”

I swallowed hard. “Did you know her well?”

His voice dropped, almost softer. “Well enough to remember. Well enough to regret.”

Regret. That wasn’t something men like Vincenzo admitted easily. My chest tightened. What exactly did he regret? What had he done?

Before I could ask, the door opened and one of his men stepped in. He whispered something in Vincenzo’s ear.

The change in Vincenzo’s face was instant. His eyes hardened. His jaw tightened.

He turned back to me, stepping closer until there was barely any space between us.

“If you want to survive in my world, Isabella,” he said, his voice low and sharp, “you should tell me why you’re here.”

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

“What do you mean?” I forced out, my tone light, but my hands were cold.

His eyes bored into mine. “You’re not just an art dealer. And I don’t think you came to me by accident.”

My mind raced. Has Gabriel been seen? Has someone found out about our plan?

“I came here because I respect your work,” I said carefully.

He smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. “People don’t respect me, Isabella. They fear me. Which one are you?”

I wanted to say “neither.” But the truth was, I feared him. And part of me respected the power he carried so effortlessly.

The door opened again. Adrian stepped in, his eyes moving between us. “Am I interrupting?”

“Yes,” Vincenzo said sharply.

“No,” I said at the same time.

Adrian’s gaze lingered on me, then shifted to Vincenzo. “Your guest list is impressive tonight. But some people are wondering why you disappeared.”

“I’ll be back,” Vincenzo replied, his tone dismissing Adrian completely.

Adrian’s jaw tightened. He looked at me once more, as if trying to read my expression, then left.

Vincenzo watched him go, then turned back to me. “Be careful with that one. He smiles too easily.”

The irony almost made me laugh. “And you don’t?”

His eyes locked on mine. “I don’t smile when I’m hunting.”

A chill ran through me.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. I greeted guests, smiled for photographs, and answered questions about the artwork. But inside, my thoughts were tangled.

Adrian’s charm. Vincenzo’s suspicion. My mother’s name on his lips. And that question—why was I here?

When the last guest left, Gabriel came to me. “What happened?”

“He knows,” I whispered. “I don’t know how, but he knows I’m not who I say I am.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “Then we have to move faster.”

I shook my head. “If we rush, he’ll see everything.”

“He already does,” Gabriel said. “You’re playing with fire, Isabella. And if you’re not careful, it will burn you alive.”

I went home that night but couldn’t sleep. I replayed every word Vincenzo had said. Every look in his eyes. Every pause in his speech.

Was he warning me? Threatening me? Or… testing me?

And then there was Adrian. His easy smile. The way he had stepped into that room was like he belonged there. The way he looked at me was as if he knew I was hiding something, but didn’t care.

I shouldn’t have thought about him. I shouldn’t have felt my chest tighten when I remembered his voice. But I did.

The next morning, I walked into the gallery early. Adrian was already there, leaning against the counter with two cups of coffee.

“You start early,” he said, handing me one.

“And you break into places early?” I asked, taking the cup.

“I knocked. You didn’t hear.”

We sipped our coffee in silence for a moment before he spoke again. “You looked… tense last night.”

“Did I?” I tried to sound casual.

“Yes. With Vincenzo.” He leaned in slightly. “You should be careful around him. My father is not the kind of man you can outsmart easily.”

I forced a smile. “Maybe I’m not trying to outsmart him.”

Adrian’s eyes searched mine. “Aren’t you?”

Before I could answer, the door opened. Vincenzo walked in, alone this time. His gaze moved between Adrian and me.

“I need to speak with you,” he said to me.

Adrian’s hand brushed mine as he stepped back. “I’ll be around,” he murmured and left.

Vincenzo watched him go, then turned to me. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation,” he said. “And I’ve decided something.”

“What?” I asked, my voice steady even though my pulse was not.

His lips curved slightly. “If you want to survive here, you’ll tell me the truth. Now.”

I swallowed. “And if I don’t?”

His gaze darkened. “Then I’ll find out for myself.”

He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto mine. “So… Isabella… who are you?”

Was he giving me a chance to confess, or was this the moment he would destroy everything I had worked for?