The flight back to New York felt endless.
Dimitri sat in the leather seat of his private jet, staring out at the darkness, his mind replaying Dr. Armani's confession on an endless loop.
"Antonio provides it to me monthly. Pre-packaged. Pre-measured."
"It's addictive. Highly addictive."
"She has no idea she's being poisoned."
Eight years.
Since Isabella was fifteen.
Antonio had been systematically poisoning Lorenzo Russo's daughter, making her dependent, making her controllable.
And if he could do that to Isabella...
If he could poison a girl under her father's protection for nearly a decade without anyone detecting it....
He could do it to Eve.
The thought made Dimitri's blood run cold.
Eve. His Eve. The woman he loved more than life itself.
His father could decide she was a threat. Could decide to eliminate her. Could poison her slowly, methodically, just like he'd done to Isabella.
And Dimitri might not know until it was too late.
