The day after the shareholder meeting, the house seemed calm. Too calm. No footsteps echoed in the hallways, no voices carried from the garden—just silence pressing against the walls. But inside my head, the storm hadn't quieted. I knew this calm wouldn't last. I needed alliances to protect my family, and the chaos from yesterday's meeting was still a shadow over me.
I sat in my office, reviewing files, when a voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
"Sir, everyone is waiting for you," Leo, my assistant, reminded me.
I straightened, setting the papers aside, and entered the meeting.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen. I trust you received the proposal I sent and had time to review the terms."
Across the screen, Mr. Alex leaned forward, his expression calm but cautious.
"Yes, Mr. North Polson. Your proposal is impressive, and I like what I see. But my partner was also taken with another company's pitch. This hotel is important to us—it carries history. Your plan respects that, and I admire it. But the other company wants to modernize, change everything. My partner is tempted by their vision. We need more time."
I exhaled, leaning closer to the screen.
"I understand, sir. Our company doesn't build overnight. We've worked for decades, crafting trust. Whatever your decision, I'll respect it—but I hope to prove that we are the right choice."
Alex considered me, then nodded.
"Perhaps you should visit in person. See the hotel yourself, share your ideas on site. The other company will be coming next week. If you can come as well, it might help us decide."
"Agreed," I said, making the note. A trip to New York would decide more than just one project.
When the call ended, I asked Leo, "Find out everything you can about that other company."
"I already did," he replied. "They go by MS. Just two years in the market, yet their growth has been… unusual. Almost too fast. They don't publish much about their leadership."
That unsettled me. "Dig deeper. I want names, partners, anyone tied to them."
By the time I returned home, the weight of the morning pressed heavy on me. At the library, Father and Uncle Lynn were waiting.
"How was it?" Father asked.
"There's another company," I admitted. "They're still deciding, but I'll go to New York to see it through."
Uncle Lynn gave me a firm look. "Be careful, Dante. You know your uncle still wants everything we built. And shadows move in silence—you must watch who you trust."
I nodded. Father's gaze softened. "You can do this. Just don't forget to breathe, son."
In the hallway, laughter pulled me from my thoughts. It was coming from the garden. When I stepped outside, I found all six of my brothers circled around Isabella.
"Tell us about Italy," Giovanni pressed.
"It was good," Isabella replied with a faint smile. "I wasn't on vacation. I was… searching. But I met people, saw places. It was worth it."
Marco leaned forward. "Isa, if there's anything we can do to help, you know you can count on us."
She shook her head gently. "Not yet. First I need to find it on my own. Just trust me."
Luca chimed in, teasing. "So, you went to Italy and didn't bring us anything? No gifts?"
She smacked the back of his head. "You forgot how I came back? You nearly lost me, and you still want gifts?"
They all burst into laughter. For a moment, their joy filled the garden like sunlight.
Fabio smirked. "Come on, Isa. Did you meet anyone special there?"
Her smile froze for a second. "What do you mean?"
"You know… someone for you."
She kicked his foot under the table. "Stupid question. Do you have someone?"
Fabio leaned back dramatically. "Why would I want just one girlfriend? I'm popular enough at college—"
"Popular?" Rafael interrupted. "More like infamous. Everyone remembers you because every week a girl catches you cheating."
The circle erupted into laughter again, Fabio groaning into his chair like a victim of torture.
That night at dinner, Isabella entered last, her voice carrying before her.
"Hey! Don't start without me!"
She sat down, and Uncle Lynn greeted her with a teasing smile.
"Well, the princess of North Polson is back."
The table shook with laughter as Isabella rolled her eyes.
Then Father turned serious. "Dante is going to New York next week. Isabella, I want you to go with him. Learn from him. It's time."
Isabella blinked in surprise, then nodded. "Yes, Father."
Rafael raised his hand quickly. "Can I go too? I need to shop—"
"No," Father cut him off with one arched brow. "This is business, not vacation. Next time, perhaps."
After dinner, Uncle Lynn said his goodbyes and left for home. Father returned to his library, and I caught Isabella's arm before she could slip away.
"Isa, come to my room. We need to go over the details."
In my study, I laid the files before her.
"Alex wants his hotel preserved. Just minor changes, not a complete redesign. He liked my proposal. But the rival company—MS—they've only been around two years. I told Leo to investigate, but for now that's all we know."
She nodded. "Okay, big brother."
I studied her, then asked, "Isa, are you sure you don't want us to help you with… whatever it is you're searching for?"
She shook her head firmly.
I sighed, smiling faintly before my voice turned serious. "Isa… why does Uncle Andrew think you're dead?"
Her eyes flickered. Silence stretched.
"Did something happen in Italy?" I pressed.
She hesitated. Should I tell him everything? The thought passed in her eyes before she looked away.
"Nothing much, big brother. Just an accident. Maybe someone thought I died. That's all."
I wanted to believe her, but something in her tone carried shadows.
"Alright," I said finally. "Our flight is next Monday. Rest well until then. And Isa—if you hear anything about that company… or its owner—tell me."
I leaned back, shaking my head. "For now, we don't know who stands behind MS. That worries me."
She left quietly, and the study returned to silence. Only the sound of rustling papers remained as I sat alone, wondering just how deep the shadows around us really reached.
That night, in her room, Isabella began unpacking her bags. A familiar sketchbook slipped from the bottom, landing on the floor. She picked it up, brushing her hand gently over the worn cover.
Flipping through, she paused at a page ruined by a splash of old coffee. A small smile tugged at her lips. I remember that day.
Turning further, her breath caught. A sketch of a half-finished face stared back at her—the same face she had once seen in Italy, sitting across from Sky.
Her fingers traced the lines, trying to remember when she had drawn it. Why she had drawn it. The other half of the page was missing, torn away.
Only one letter remained at the bottom of the paper.
C.
Isabella froze, heart pounding.