Veil of Vengeance

Chapter 9: The Thin Line

Isabella's POV

The morning after Alessandro's surprise visit felt surreal, like I was caught in some twisted chess game where the stakes were higher than I'd ever imagined. The whole night, I tossed and turned, replaying his words in my head. But no matter how I looked at it, the question remained—could I trust him?

Claire's voice snapped me out of my thoughts as we walked through the parking lot toward the office. "You're too quiet. I don't like it."

I shot her a sideways glance. "Just trying to wrap my head around the fact that Alessandro Moretti walked into my apartment last night and offered to help us."

Claire snorted. "Offered to help himself, you mean. You really think a man like that does anything without an agenda?"

"I don't know what to think," I admitted, stopping in front of the car. "But if he's right, we're in deep trouble."

"Well, you've got that part right," Claire said, leaning against the car door. "But he's not right. We've come this far without his 'help,' and I'm not about to start relying on him now."

I sighed, unlocking the car. "I'm not saying we trust him. But we need to be smart about this. If he knows something we don't—"

"—then we get the information and drop him like a bad habit," Claire finished, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You're too nice sometimes, Isabella. Don't forget that men like Moretti are all about power. He's playing a game, and he's good at it."

"Don't worry," I said, sliding into the driver's seat. "I know exactly what he is. And I won't let my guard down."

But even as I said the words, I couldn't help but remember the look in Alessandro's eyes. There had been something there, something more than just manipulation. A flash of genuine concern? I shook my head, pushing the thought away. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. I couldn't afford to get caught up in it.

Not with so much at stake.

Alessandro's POV

I couldn't help but chuckle to myself as I walked through the busy streets of downtown, thinking back to Isabella's fierce expression from the night before. She had every right to be suspicious, but I could tell she was struggling with the idea that maybe—just maybe—I wasn't the villain she'd painted me to be.

Of course, that didn't mean I was a saint. Far from it. But there were shades of gray in every story, and I intended to make sure she saw all of them.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see a text from Marco.

Marco: "Everything's in place. You sure about this?"

I typed back a quick response.

Me: "Just follow the plan. Rossi's smarter than most, but she's still a rookie in this world. She'll come around."

As I hit send, I noticed a familiar figure approaching from the corner of my eye. Speak of the devil.

"Alessandro," Isabella called out, her voice cutting through the noise of the city. I turned to see her marching toward me, her expression a mix of determination and irritation.

"Bella," I greeted, flashing her my most charming smile. "What a pleasant surprise. Couldn't stay away, could you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. We need to talk."

"Is that what this is?" I asked, feigning confusion. "Because it feels more like an ambush."

"Call it what you want," she shot back, her tone sharp. "But I'm not here for your games. What's your real angle, Moretti? Why the sudden concern for my well-being?"