(Isabella Moretti)
Vivienne's file sits unopened on the desk, her threat, forty-eight hours, ticking like a bomb. I can't trust her, but Damien? After that kiss, that slap, his accusations? I shouldn't trust him either. But my dad's note, Start with Damien Cross, keeps echoing, and I'm running out of time.
I grab my phone and text him, short and sharp: Meet me. Sublevel 3, old vault. Midnight. I don't wait for a reply. If he's serious, he'll show. If not, I'm done playing his game.
I'm in the summit's lobby, blending with the late-night crowd, my hoodie up to avoid eyes. The elevator ride to Sublevel 3 is slow, the air getting colder as I descend. The doors open to a dim hallway, concrete walls lined with rusted pipes. The vault's down here, abandoned since the center was built, a relic from when this place was a bank. Rafi found it on the blueprints when we prepped security. Nobody comes here anymore.
I slip through a maintenance door, my flashlight cutting through the dark. The vault's ahead, its steel door cracked open, the lock long broken. I step inside, the air damp, the floor gritty under my sneakers. It's empty except for old filing cabinets and a metal table in the center.
"Nice hideout," Damien's voice cuts through the silence, and I spin, my flashlight landing on him. He's leaning against the doorframe, his jacket open, his blue eyes sharp in the beam.
"You came," I say, lowering the light. My heart's racing, but I keep my voice steady.
"You wrote," he says, stepping inside, his boots echoing. "What's this about, Isabella? Another trap?"
"No trap," I say, pulling a folder from my bag and slapping it on the table. "Proof. Vivienne forged my dad's death certificate. No autopsy. She said it was a heart attack, but I found records, his heart was fine."
Damien's eyes narrow, and he grabs the folder, flipping it open. "You're sure?" he says, scanning the papers. "This says he was poisoned."
I nod, my throat tight. "Trace amounts of a neurotoxin. Covered up. She didn't want anyone looking too close."
He looks up, his jaw tight. "Why tell me?"
I step closer, my voice low. "Because you're right. Our fathers didn't just die. They were killed. And I think Vivienne's behind it."
He sets the folder down, his hands steady, but his eyes are burning. "My mom worked for Moretti," he says, his voice low. "She was their accountant. Disappeared the week of your dad's funeral. I found a shell company, Vantage Corp. It's tied to her. And Vivienne."
My breath catches. "Vantage? That's in my dad's old files. Payments to an offshore account."
"Yeah," he says, stepping closer. "This isn't about Horizon or tech. It's about wiping out our families. The old kings had to go."
I swallow hard, the pieces clicking. "Vivienne's erasing anyone who knows the truth. Our parents, our pasts."
He nods, his voice hard. "And we're next if we don't stop her."
I meet his eyes, my pulse pounding. "Then we work together. No more games."
"Deal," he says, holding out his hand. I take it, his grip firm, and for a second, I remember the boy in Tuscany, passing me pastries. But that's gone. This is war.
I'm back in my suite by one a.m., my head spinning. Damien's gone to dig into Vantage, and I'm supposed to check my dad's old accounts. But Vivienne's file is still on my desk, and I can't ignore it anymore. I grab it, my hands shaking, and tear it open. Inside's a single page, a contract, unsigned, offering Damien a board seat at Moretti Group if he backs Horizon. It's a bribe, dressed up as a deal. Her handwriting's on the margin: Get him, or lose everything.
I toss it down, my stomach twisting. She's playing us both, and I'm her pawn. I need to talk to someone, anyone, who isn't neck-deep in this mess. I text Rafi: Meet me. Coffee shop. Now.
The summit's coffee shop is open late, and Rafi's already there when I arrive, her curly hair tied back, her eyes tired. She slides a latte across the table as I sit. "You look like you haven't slept in days," she says, her voice soft.
"I haven't," I say, sipping the coffee. It's too sweet, but I don't care. "Rafi, I'm in over my head. Vivienne's lying, Damien's… complicated, and I found proof my dad was murdered."
Her eyes widen, and she leans in. "Murdered? Bella, you need to go to the cops."
I shake my head, my voice low. "Not yet. Too many players. Vivienne's got people everywhere. And Damien, he knows things. About his mom, about Moretti."
Rafi grabs my hand, her grip tight. "Damien? You're trusting him now? After he broke into your room?"
"I'm not trusting him," I say, pulling back. "I'm using him. He's got as much to lose as I do."
She sighs, leaning back. "Just… don't get hurt, okay? I can't lose you."
I nod, but her words hit hard. Rafi's always been my rock, but this is bigger than us. I finish my coffee and head back, promising to keep her posted.
The next morning, I'm at a summit breakfast, forcing myself to smile through small talk with investors. Damien's across the room, talking to some tech rep, but his eyes keep flicking to me. We're playing normal, but nothing's normal. Not after last night.
Marco D'Angelo slides into the seat next to me, his salt-and-pepper hair neat, his smile too smooth. "Isabella," he says, cutting his pancakes, "you're doing well. The board's impressed."
"Thanks," I say, my voice flat. I don't trust Marco, not after Damien mentioned him in those Vantage files. "What's on your mind?"
He leans in, his voice low. "Vivienne's pushing hard for Horizon. But some of us… we're worried. About you. About Cross."
I stiffen, my fork pausing. "Worried? Why?"
He shrugs, but his eyes are sharp. "He's trouble. Always has been. Your dad knew it. Be careful, Isabella."
I nod, but my mind's racing. Marco's fishing, testing me. Does he know about the vault? About Reignfall? I excuse myself, my plate untouched, and head for the hallway, needing air.
I'm in the summit's library, a quiet corner with old books and no cameras. I'm digging through my dad's cloud account on my tablet, looking for Vantage. There's a folder, locked, labeled V.C. I crack the password, my birthday, sloppy for Dad, and find invoices. Payments to Vantage, signed by Marco. And one name: Elena Cross. Damien's mom.
My phone buzzes, Damien. Found something. Meet me. Same place. 2 p.m.
I'm about to reply when I hear footsteps. I shut my tablet and turn, expecting Damien, but it's Leo, my brother, his brown eyes tired, his jacket wrinkled.
"Bella," he says, shutting the door. "We need to talk."
I stand, my guard up. "What's wrong?"
He runs a hand through his hair, pacing. "Vivienne's got me doing stuff. Shady stuff. I didn't want to, but… she's got leverage."
My stomach drops. "Leverage? Leo, what did you do?"
He stops, his voice low. "I messed up, okay? A car accident, years ago. Someone got hurt. She's holding it over me."
I grab his arm, my voice sharp. "You're working for her? Against me?"
"No!" he says, pulling away. "I'm trying to protect you. But you're in deep with Cross, and it's freaking her out."
I step back, my heart pounding. Leo's caught, just like me. "We'll fix this," I say, my voice firm. "But you need to tell me everything."
He nods, but before he can, my phone buzzes again. Damien. Now or never. I glance at Leo. "Stay here. I'll be back."
I'm back in the vault by two, the air colder than last night. Damien's already there, a USB drive in his hand, his face grim. "Vantage was a front," he says, tossing me the drive. "Your dad and my mom were working together. Against Vivienne."
I catch it, my fingers trembling. "Against her? Why?"
He steps closer, his voice low. "They knew she was dirty. Reignfall was their way out, a deal to expose her. But they died before they could."
I swallow hard, the truth sinking in. "This was never about business," I say, my voice shaking. "It was about killing the old kings. Our parents."
"Exactly," he says, his eyes locked on mine. "And we're next."
I nod, gripping the drive. "We dig, or we die."