My knuckles ache where they’ve been broken too many times.
That’s too far.
She’s an asset. Why do I care if Dante threatens her.
Isabella stiffens. But she holds. Doesn’t beg.
“Understood.” Her voice is flat. Controlled. “Then I accept your terms.”
“You won’t refuse.”
The words just land. No filter. Both of them turn to look at me. Dante’s expression is unreadable. Isabella’s is different. A look that pins me in place.
“You seem certain.” Her voice is quiet.
Silence is easier. Because I am certain, and the reason sits too deep to reach.
“The deal.” Dante reclaims control of the conversation. “Your intel for our resources. You stay here until the Benedetti operation is dismantled. You work with Lorenzo to coordinate the intelligence.”
“Work with Lorenzo.”
“He’s the one who found you. He knows your methods better than anyone in this organization.”
“Fine.” She turns back to Dante. “But I want updates. On every operation, every move against the Benedettis. If you’re using my intel to find my sister, I want to know what’s happening.”
“You’ll know what you need to know.”
“That’s not good enough.”
Dante’s mouth curves, not quite a smile. “You’re not in a position to negotiate.”
“I’m the only one who knows where the Benedettis are running their trafficking operation. The actual location, not a guess. That puts me in exactly the best position to negotiate.”
Pressure builds behind my eyes until my skull aches.
“She gets updates.”
The words come out rough. Both of them look at me again. Dante’s expression tightens a fraction. A question he doesn’t ask. Not here. Not in front of her.
“Weekly briefings,” he says. “You’ll know what we know, within reason.”
Isabella nods. Her shoulders drop a fraction of an inch, tension releasing.
“Then we have a deal.”
Dante stands. Extends his hand. She takes it, her fingers disappearing into his grip for a moment before he releases her.
“Renzo.” Dante’s voice shifts, addressing me now. “Show her to her room.”
I nod. Isabella rises, rolling her left shoulder with a wince. Years of hunching over keyboards. Forgetting to take care of herself while she searched.
She catches me staring. Her spine straightens. I move first.
The hallway to the guest wing is quiet. Isabella walks beside me, matching my pace.
“Room,” she says. “I thought I was a prisoner.”
“You are.”
