Veil of Vengeance

Chapter 10: Beneath the Surface

Isabella's POV

As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, I blinked against the light, already feeling the weight of the day ahead. Last night's conversation with Alessandro replayed in my mind, his voice still lingering like a stubborn shadow.

I sighed, tossing the blankets aside and heading for the kitchen. Claire was already there, rummaging through the fridge like it had hidden secrets.

"Morning, sunshine," she said with a grin as she emerged with a carton of orange juice.

"Morning," I mumbled, grabbing a mug and pouring myself some much-needed coffee. "I feel like I didn't sleep at all."

"Maybe because you spent half the night texting Mr. Tall, Dark, and Mysterious?" Claire teased, raising an eyebrow.

I shot her a glare over the rim of my mug. "First of all, it was a call, not texting. Second, don't start with the nicknames."

She laughed, leaning against the counter. "Oh, come on. You have to admit there's something between you two. All this banter and late-night calls? Sounds like the beginning of a classic rom-com to me."

"More like a psychological thriller," I muttered, taking a long sip of coffee. "This is strictly business, Claire. He's useful, that's all."

"Uh-huh," she said, smirking. "And I'm sure that's the only reason you're meeting him today."

"Exactly," I insisted, even though a tiny part of me knew she wasn't entirely wrong. Alessandro Moretti had a way of getting under my skin, and I hated that he knew it. "Speaking of which, I'd better get going."

I finished my coffee and headed back to my room to get dressed. As I pulled on my jeans and a fitted jacket, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The dark circles under my eyes were a testament to the stress of the last few days, but there was also a spark there—determination, maybe, or just stubbornness.

I wasn't going to let Alessandro—or anyone—derail me from finding the truth.

Alessandro's POV

The penthouse was a fortress of glass and steel, perched high above the city like a king surveying his domain. It was modern, minimalist—cold, some might say—but it suited me. Every line, every angle was sharp, calculated, just like the life I led.

As I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the sprawling city below, I let my thoughts drift to the day ahead. The conversation with Isabella last night had been... intriguing. She was smart, sharper than most, and that made her a challenge. I liked challenges.

But as much as I enjoyed the game we were playing, there were darker matters to attend to. I turned away from the window and walked down the hall, my footsteps echoing in the silence. The door to my study was ajar, and I pushed it open to find Marco waiting inside.

"Everything's ready?" I asked, my voice steady.

Marco nodded, his expression grim. "We've got him downstairs. He's not talking, but I'm sure you can persuade him."

I smirked, the coldness in my chest spreading like frost. "Let's go see our guest, then."

The elevator ride down to the basement was silent. Marco stood beside me, his face a mask of professionalism, but I knew him well enough to sense his unease. He wasn't afraid of what was about to happen—no, Marco was far too seasoned for that. It was more a concern for me, as if he thought I might be getting too deep into this mess.

The basement was dimly lit, all concrete and metal, a stark contrast to the luxury upstairs. Our "guest" was tied to a chair in the center of the room, his head slumped forward, blood dripping from his nose.