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“And Isabella?”

“She has a handgun.”

Maggie's fingers tighten around my sleeve. “She'll use it,” she says softly. “She already threatened to kill me twice.”

Enzo speaks for the first time. “She won't leave quietly.”

Roman turns toward him. “Explain.”

Enzo swallows hard. “The Morettis value appearances above everything. If she knows she's trapped, she'll want witnesses.”

Hatred coils through me. “She doesn’t leave this building.”

“No,” Roman agrees. “She doesn't.”

A gunshot explodes from inside the warehouse. Every man on the property raises his weapon. Then a woman's voice echoes through the building.

“Alexei!”

The sound roots me to the spot. It isn't Clara, yet the resemblance is close enough to send grief slicing through me with renewed force.

“Come inside,” Isabella calls. “Alone.”

Roman catches my arm before I can move. “No.”

I remove his hand. “She wants me.”

“She wants you dead,” he growls.

“She already failed once.”

Roman studies me for a long moment. Then he nods. “Five minutes,” he says. “After that, we're coming through the walls.”

I turn toward Maggie. “You stay here.”

“Alexei—”

“No.”

She grabs my hand before I can walk away. “Come back to us.”

Us.

I brush my thumb across her bruised knuckles.

“I will.”

Then I enter the warehouse alone.

Dust covers every surface. Broken machinery sits abandoned beneath skylights clouded by years of neglect. Shafts of evening sunlight spill through cracked glass, illuminating decades of decay. At the center of the warehouse stands Isabella Moretti.

She’s beautiful. The realization horrifies me.

Silver threads weave through dark hair. Pearls rest against her throat. Even after the crash, she carries herself with aristocratic grace. And she has Clara's eyes.

For one terrible instant, I cannot breathe.

Isabella smiles. “You see her, don't you?”