His gaze flicks to me for half a second—checking in—before he turns back to the others.
“We need everything she can give us. How Una became involved with the Cosa Nostra. If there’s anyone else tied to this. Anything she knows could matter.”
Ciaran and Declan position themselves near one of the workbenches. Liam and Aidan take up posts by the door, immovable, like nothing short of a bomb could get past them. Brennan moves quickly, efficiently, securing Isabella to a metalchair before taking a seat beside Jonathan on some turned over crates.
I step closer, crouching down beside her, trying to anchor her with my presence, the rhythm of my own shaky breathing.
“We need the truth,” I add softly. “All of it. Now.”
She swallows, panic flickering across her face. “I-I can’t. They… they’ll—”
“They’re already dead,” I interrupt quietly, my voice low and unyielding. “The only people you need to worry about now are us.”
Her breath stutters.
“I don’t want to hate you,” I continue, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I really hope you’re just another girl trapped by awful parents, just like I was. But if you refuse to talk, we can’t help you.”
I lean in just enough for her to hear the truth beneath the threat.
“If you tell us everything—everything—we might be able to work something out. We’re not them. We don’t hurt people who tell the truth.”
Her eyes finally lift to mine.
“You tell us what you know,” I say softly, “and you survive.”
A tremor runs through her entire body.
“You can start,” I add, “by telling us who kidnapped me and how Una and Antonio got together.”
Her lips quiver. Her throat bobs as she swallows again.
And then—
She breaks.
“They have… had… ties. Connections,” she blurts, words tripping over each other. “Interns—girls who would do anything to get promoted. All it took was handing out a business card and textingPapàwhen you arrived. Easy work. They always said yes. It’s how Nico recruited the girls he couldn’t charm.”
She wets her lips, eyes flickering over my face.
“Ms. Rossi wouldn’t have even been in the building that day,” she rushes on. “She never even knew her intern came to our showcase.”
Declan’s jaw tightens, eyes narrowing. “How do you… know all this?” His voice is sharp, clipped, disbelief threading through the words like a knife.
Isabella swallows hard, eyes darting to the floor. “They wanted me involved. Told me I had to take a more active role, help keep things running. But I never wanted to. I never wanted any of it.”
Her hands tremble in her lap. “I just… watched. I listened. I learned. And I tried to stay out of it.”
Ciaran’s jaw flexes, anger coiling like steel cables in his muscles. He steps forward, arms folded tight. “How did they even meet? How old are you?”
“Twenty-one,” Isabella answers, voice trembling. “Mum… she always said it was on a girls’ holiday to the vineyards, but—”
He cuts her off with a curse, punching the wall hard enough to break the skin, the shock rattling the room. His eyes go wide, realisation hitting him like a physical blow.
“For the timeline to add up… she would have been pregnant with Matt. She went on that trip just before he was born.” He explains, and the betrayal sinks in like ice through bone. Knowing his wife was cheating on him before Matt was evenborn, years before he caught her sleeping with her bodyguard—that’s got to hurt.
And how twisted is that? Una, married to Ciaran, secretly entwined with Antonio, and yet still sneaking around with some random bodyguard. Meanwhile, Antonio was married to Vera and plotting how to bring Una to Turin. A storm of lies and betrayal—a match made in hell.
“Fucking hell. I need a smoke,” Ciaran grunts, running a hand through his hair before making his way past the Finlay brothers. Declan shoots a look at Jonathan, then follows Ciaran out, leaving a heavy silence in their wake.
