Rain still drummed against the city as dawn broke, gray light washing over the skyline. Alessandro sat at the kitchen table, laptop open to files Nico had compiled overnight: names of old enemies, rumors of new alliances, a list of anyone who might want him dead.
But one name had resurfaced unexpectedly—one he hadn't heard in years.
Nico placed a thin folder in front of Alessandro. "Her name is Isabella Cortez. She survived the massacre you ordered in Florence. She's here in the city."
Alessandro flipped through surveillance photos: Isabella outside a courthouse, Isabella meeting with an FBI contact, Isabella speaking to reporters. Each image was like a ghost crawling out of his past.
Rachel read over his shoulder, voice tight. "Why is she here now?"
Nico shook his head. "Sources say she's been gathering evidence against you. And there's more—word is, someone's funding her. Someone with serious resources."
A sudden knock rattled the apartment door. Alessandro reached for his gun, but Rachel put a hand on his arm. "She came to you," she whispered.
He nodded. "Let her in."
Isabella stood in the doorway, rain-soaked hair plastered to her face, eyes burning with a fury that made Alessandro feel ten years younger—and twice as haunted. She stepped inside without waiting to be invited.
"You don't remember my face, do you?" she said, voice trembling but strong. "You killed everyone I loved. And now you're playing hero?"
Alessandro looked her in the eye, refusing to flinch. "I remember what I did. And I know I can't undo it."
She tossed a folder onto the table; papers spilled out—photos of bodies, police reports, Alessandro's old orders signed in his hand. "You can't hide from this. I will see you pay for what you did. If the law won't do it, I will."
Rachel stepped between them. "What do you want?" she demanded.
Isabella's eyes flicked to Rachel, then back to Alessandro. "I want the truth. I want you to confess, publicly, to everything. Or I'll release this evidence. And The Consortium—whoever's backing me—will have exactly what they need to destroy you."
The silence was heavy enough to crush the walls.
Alessandro's voice was low, grave. "You think I'm afraid of dying? I'm not. But you have no idea what you're unleashing."
Isabella's eyes narrowed. "Then prove you've changed. Or watch everything you love burn."
She turned on her heel, slamming the door behind her and leaving only the echo of her rage.
Rachel's voice was almost a whisper. "She's not wrong, Alessandro. If you don't face your past, it will swallow you."
Outside, the storm was clearing—but the tension inside the room felt like the eye of a hurricane.