Chapter 59 -THE SECRET MEETING
The rain began just as Isabella slipped out of the De Luca estate.
Fine, misting droplets at first—soft enough to disguise her absence from the wandering eyes of the guards. By the time she reached the city’s older district, the rain had thickened into a cold curtain, turning the cobblestones slick beneath her boots. She pulled her hood lower and kept walking.
Every step throbbed with the risk of being followed.
Every shadow felt like a set of eyes.
But she couldn’t ignore the message she’d received that morning, tucked under her office door in handwriting she recognized from her childhood:
We need to talk. Old alley. One hour. — R
R.
Riccardo Ventresca.
Her father’s old friend. Disappeared right after her father’s death, branded disloyal by the city’s criminal elite. But she remembered him—laugh lines, warm voice, a man who used to bring her sweets when she was a girl.
If he was reaching out now, it wasn’t nostalgia.
It was survival.
She turned into the narrow alley behind an abandoned tailor shop, heart hammering. A faint figure waited near the rusted delivery door, half-hidden beneath a dripping overhang.
“Isabella,” the man said, stepping into the light.
He was older than she remembered—hair more gray than black, beard untrimmed, shoulders tighter with years of fear—but the eyes were the same: tired, kind, and sharp.
“Riccardo.” Her voice cracked. “You’re alive.”
“Barely,” he murmured. “Come. We don’t have long.”
He gestured toward the back door. She hesitated.
“Trust me,” Riccardo said, reading her perfectly. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would have stayed away. You’re safer with me than out there.”
She swallowed and stepped inside.
The back room smelled of dust and disuse—old fabrics, forgotten mannequins, sewing machines quiet for decades. A single lantern glowed on a wooden crate in the center of the room.
Riccardo locked the door behind them.
“You shouldn’t have contacted me,” Isabella whispered. “Lorenzo—his men are everywhere.”
Riccardo scoffed. “De Lucas think they rule Milan, but they’ve never watched the places that don’t shine.”
He sat on a crate across from her. His eyes softened as he looked at her.
“You look just like your father.”
Her throat tightened. “Don’t say that. I’m not—”
“You are,” he cut in gently. “You have his courage. His stubbornness. And his fatal loyalty.”
She exhaled shakily. “Loyalty to who?”
“To the truth,” Riccardo said. “And that’s why you’re here.”
He leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper.
“Isabella… your father never betrayed the De Lucas.”
The world seemed to tilt beneath her feet.
Her pulse drummed in her ears. “No. No, Lorenzo’s father said—everyone said—”
“Everyone was told to say it,” Riccardo replied. “Your father was framed.”
She shook her head, breath uneven. “By who?”
Riccardo hesitated, emotions warring across his face. When he finally spoke, his words were a blade.
“By someone inside the De Luca family.”
Silence crashed between them.
Her heartbeat thudded painfully.
“You’re lying,” she whispered, though something inside her—the part that always sensed truth—knew he wasn’t.
Riccardo frowned. “I would never lie to you. Not about this. Your father was loyal to Lorenzo’s father. They were partners. Friends.”
“Then why would the De Lucas accuse him? Why destroy him?”
“Because someone made sure they had no choice,” Riccardo said. “Someone who wanted Romano Enterprises for themselves. Someone who wanted your father gone.”
She felt cold all over.
“Who?” she demanded.
“Isabella…” Riccardo rubbed a trembling hand over his face. “All I know is that a document was forged. An account linked to your father. False transfers to a rival family. It was enough to condemn him, enough to ruin him.”
Her breath caught. Her mind raced.
“But who would orchestrate something so… calculated?”
Riccardo lifted his gaze, pained. “I suspected. I confronted one of the De Luca advisors at the time. Two days later, I disappeared. Your father died.”
Her knees weakened. She grabbed the edge of the table.
“You think Lorenzo’s father—?”
“No,” Riccardo said firmly. “Don Arturo trusted your father more than half his blood. The betrayal came from someone else. A brother. A sister. An uncle.”
Her heart stopped.
An uncle.
She had heard that story.
The murmurings from staff. The whispers in corridors.
Lorenzo killed his uncle to save his mother.
Her father died because of a De Luca uncle.
A man Lorenzo later destroyed.
But was that vengeance for his mother?
Or vengeance for Isabella’s father?
The thought hit her like lightning.
“Riccardo… what if Lorenzo doesn’t know the full truth either?”
Riccardo’s expression shifted—fearful, curious, almost hopeful. “Then he’s a victim too.”
Her stomach twisted.
If Lorenzo had suffered lies just as she had…
If he’d grown up believing betrayal where there was none…
If everything between them was built on foundations poisoned long before they met…
“Why now?” she asked softly. “Why tell me this today?”
Riccardo looked at her with an agony she didn’t understand.
“Because I heard what happened to your journalist friend. Gianni Bianchi.”
Her heart clenched painfully. “He was innocent.”
“He was persistent,” Riccardo corrected. “He was getting too close. And someone knew it. If they discover you’ve been asking questions—”
“I’m already suspect,” she whispered.
Riccardo reached forward and grabbed her hands tightly. “Then you must leave Milan. Tonight.”
She shook her head viciously. “No. I came here for the truth.”
“And now you have it.”
“It’s not enough.” Her voice broke. “I need proof.”
Riccardo froze. “Proof will get you killed.”
“It will get my father justice.”
“And what about the man you’re falling for?” he asked quietly.
She stiffened. “I’m not—”
“Don’t lie,” Riccardo said, soft and tired. “You have his eyes in your voice.”
Her breath shook. “It doesn’t matter. When he learns the truth… everything will implode.”
“Then run,” Riccardo urged. “Before it’s too late.”
She pulled her hands from his. “No. I can’t leave now.”
“Isabella—”
“I’m too deep. Lorenzo already suspects me. If I disappear, he’ll hunt me. If I stay, I might uncover the rest.”
Riccardo exhaled shakily, defeated. “Then at least let me walk you out safely.”
She nodded, her mind spinning—fractured with revelations she could barely process.
He extinguished the lantern. The room fell into near darkness except for the faint streetlight bleeding through cracks in the boards.
They walked toward the door, his steps slow, hers unsteady.
Just as Riccardo reached for the lock—
A gunshot cracked the air.
The bullet punched through the door.
Riccardo slammed into her, knocking her to the ground as more shots tore through the wood, splintering the frame.
“Get down!” he hissed, dragging her behind an overturned sewing table.
Adrenaline surged like fire through her veins.
“Who is it?” she whispered.
Riccardo’s expression turned grave.
“Someone who doesn’t want you learning the truth.”
Another bullet hit the wall an inch from her head.
Another.
Another.
Her heart thundered.
They had been followed.
And now, someone wanted her dead.