POV: ISABELLA
Three Weeks Later
Isabella sat in the corner booth of a quiet café in Tribeca, her untouched cappuccino growing cold in front of her.
She'd been here for twenty minutes.
Waiting.
Her phone buzzed.
I'm outside.
Isabella's heart jumped.
She smoothed her hair, checked her reflection in the window....she looked tired, thinner than she'd been three weeks ago, dark circles barely concealed by makeup.
The past three weeks had been hell.
Staying in the city. Maintaining her cover. Acting like an innocent woman who'd been falsely accused and vindicated.
All while completely, utterly alone.
Her father called daily, still trying to convince her to come home to Rome.
Antonio had checked in once....a cold, professional call reminding her to stay out of sight, to avoid Dimitri, to not make any more mistakes.
And Enzo....
Enzo hadn't contacted her once.
Not since the night he'd pulled her out of the gala.
Three weeks of silence.
