The second day blurred into the third without change. The monitor beside Isabella continued its relentless, maddening rhythm. I moved only between her bedside and the NICU, ignoring the stack of reports Domenico kept trying to leave on the visitor’s table—reports concerning the swift, brutal elimination of Damon’s remaining assets and the necessary shoring up of our own position. The empire could crumble; I didn't care.

I was feeding Ivan, the elder twin, a bottle of formula in the soft ...