Dante felt something twist in his chest.
He reached for one of the bottles and opened it. Counted the remaining pills carefully. Based on the prescription date and the amount missing, she'd been taking approximately 20 pills per day when the recommended dose was 10.
Isabella had been medicating herself. Heavily. Which meant something about this situation, about him, about what he'd done to her, about her life in general, was affecting her enough that she needed chemical intervention to function.
For just a moment, Dante felt something that might have been guilt. Or concern. Or something equally inconvenient.
Then he pushed it down.
He pocketed three of the pills, enough to get a complete analysis without her noticing they were gone. He'd have them tested in his lab. Would find out exactly what she was taking and why.
