The bald man released Isabella, who stumbled sideways into the arms of one of Adrian's men.
The gunmen scattered.
Enzo's men moved between the civilians and the confrontation.
Adrian did not chase anyone.
He went directly to Isabella.
He placed both hands on her shoulders.
"Look at me."
She was shaking.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
She nodded.
Then she looked at the man lying several feet away.
"Adrian..."
"Don't look."
"What happened?"
"Something that should never have happened."
He pulled her into his arms.
For the first time since entering the hotel, his composure broke.
He held her as if the entire building could collapse around them.
Isabella buried her face against his chest.
"I thought you weren't coming."
Adrian closed his eyes.
"I will always come."
Behind them, Marco approached.
"Adrian."
He looked over his shoulder.
"What?"
Marco held up a small device.
"We found this in the man's jacket."
It was a recording device.
Adrian examined it.
"Take it."
Marco nodded.
"There's another problem."
Adrian looked at him.
"The police have been notified."
"By whom?"
Marco glanced toward the corridor.
"Someone who knew exactly when we'd arrive."
Adrian's eyes narrowed.
The trap had not been designed simply to capture Isabella.
It had been designed to put Adrian Moretti inside a building filled with witnesses, armed men, and surveillance cameras.
Someone wanted a public confrontation.
Someone wanted him exposed.
And someone inside his own organization had known the exact time he would come.
***
The Moretti estate was silent when they returned.
Isabella sat in Adrian's private study with a blanket around her shoulders.
A doctor had examined her and confirmed that she had suffered no serious injuries.
Adrian stood near the window.
Marco was speaking quietly with Enzo.
"Three cameras were disabled," Marco said. "The fourth recorded the entire confrontation."
"Can we recover the footage?"
"Yes."
"Then recover it."
Enzo placed a small envelope on the desk.
"We found this in the hotel room."
Adrian opened it.
Inside was a photograph of Daniel Romano.
His father.
The picture had been taken outside a Manhattan office building, perhaps fifteen years earlier.
On the back, someone had written a single sentence.
YOUR FATHER KNEW.
Adrian stared at it.
Isabella noticed his expression.
"What is it?"
He folded the photograph.
"Nothing."
"Adrian."
He looked at her.
She stood.
"Don't do that again."
"Do what?"
"Lie to me while pretending you're protecting me."
He glanced at Marco.
"Leave us."
Marco and Enzo exited.
Adrian waited until the door closed.
Then he placed the photograph on the desk.
Isabella picked it up.
Her face changed.
"Where did you get this?"
"At the hotel."
She turned it over.
Her fingers trembled.
"What does this mean?"
"I don't know yet."
"Who took this?"
"We're finding out."
She looked at him.
"Did my father know your father?"
Adrian hesitated.
It was a small pause.
But she noticed.
"Adrian."
He sat down.
"Your father worked for a financial firm that handled several of our family's accounts."
"Several?"
"More than several."
She looked away.
"How much did he know?"
"Enough to become dangerous."
The room seemed to lose its warmth.
Isabella placed the photograph on the desk.
"Did you know him?"
"Your father?"
"Yes."
"Not personally."
"But your father did."
Adrian nodded.
"My father trusted him."
She looked back.
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't know the full story."
"You're telling me that my father worked for your family, that he died under suspicious circumstances, and that you never thought I deserved to know?"
"I was trying to establish what happened before I involved you."
"You involved me the moment you let me fall in love with you."
Adrian stood.
"Isabella—"
"No."
She stepped away.
"Do you know what hurts most?"
He said nothing.
"It's not that you kept secrets. It's that I was standing beside you, asking questions, and you watched me believe I was imagining things."
He moved toward her.
She raised a hand.
"Don't."
He stopped.
For several seconds, he simply looked at her.
Then he said something he had never told another person.
"My father was murdered."
Isabella's eyes widened.
"What?"
"Everyone was told it was a car accident. The police report said his driver lost control on a wet road."
"Was that true?"
"No."
Adrian looked at the photograph.
"Someone tampered with the car. My father knew he was being followed. He had been investigating financial records connected to the D'Angelo organization."