Isabella planned the nightclub excursion the way she'd once planned hostile takeovers of European banks — with precision, ambition, and absolute refusal to accept anything less than total domination.
"I've reserved the entire upper level of LIV," she announced at dinner. "Bottle service. Private entrance. Security. The upper floor is all ours for the night."
"You reserved a nightclub on a Wednesday night?" Victoria asked.
"Every night is Saturday when you're Isabella Vane."
"You haven't been Isabella Vane, controller of European finance, for over a year."
"And a woman on vacation deserves bottle service, Victoria. Don't be provincial."
LIV was loud, expensive, and designed to make everyone feel either important or inadequate. The VIP section was a raised platform overlooking the dance floor, enclosed by velvet ropes and staffed by a bartender who looked terrified of Isabella.
