Chapter 100: The Summons

POV: ISABELLA

The car ride to Dimitri’s office felt like a funeral procession.

Isabella sat in the back of the town car Marco had sent, watching the city lights blur past the tinted windows, her heart hammering against her ribs.

9 PM. Dimitri’s office. Don’t be late.

She’d changed outfits three times before settling on something that walked the line between respectful and defiant, a black dress, elegant but not seductive, with her hair pulled back in a severe chignon that made her look older. More serious.

More like someone who understood the gravity of the situation.

Which she did.

One wrong word tonight and she was dead.

Not banished. Not sent home in disgrace.

Dead.

The car pulled up to the building, a sleek tower of glass and steel in the financial district, the kind of building that screamed power and money and legitimate business.

But Isabella knew better.

This was Dimitri’s empire. And nothing about the Devil was truly legitimate.

Marco was waiting at the entrance, his expression unreadable.

"Ms. Russo."

"Marco." She stepped out of the car, her heels clicking on the marble. "I assume he’s waiting?"

"Top floor. Private elevator." Marco gestured toward the entrance. "He’s alone. Asked me to stay downstairs."

That should have been reassuring, no witnesses meant he wasn’t planning to kill her tonight.

Or it meant he was, and he didn’t want anyone to see.

Isabella forced herself to walk with confidence, her chin up, her spine straight.

She would not cower.

Would not beg.

Would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her afraid.

Even if she was terrified.

The elevator ride to the top floor took forty-five seconds.

Forty-five seconds of watching her reflection in the polished steel doors, of forcing her breathing to stay steady, of reminding herself that she was Isabella Russo, daughter of Lorenzo, raised among killers, trained for this world.

She could handle Dimitri Valentino.

She had to.

The doors opened onto a penthouse office that took her breath away.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the entire city. Minimalist furniture in black and chrome. A massive desk that looked like it had been carved from a single piece of obsidian.

And standing at the windows, silhouetted against the city lights, was Dimitri.

He didn’t turn when she entered.

Didn’t acknowledge her at all.

Just stood there, hands in his pockets, looking out at his kingdom.

Isabella stepped into the office, heard the elevator doors close behind her with a soft chime that sounded impossibly loud in the silence.

"You’re late," Dimitri said quietly. Not turning. Not moving.

Isabella glanced at her watch. 9:02 PM.

"Traffic..."

"I don’t care." Now he turned, and the look in his eyes made her blood run cold. "I told you 9 PM. You arrived at 9:02. That’s two minutes of my time you’ve wasted. Two minutes I could have spent with Eve. Two minutes I’ll never get back because you couldn’t be punctual."

"I apologize..."

"No, you don’t." He moved away from the windows, each step deliberate, predatory. "You don’t apologize because you’re not sorry. You’re just afraid. And you should be."

He stopped about ten feet away, close enough that she could see the cold fury in his eyes but far enough that she couldn’t reach him.

Not that she’d dare try.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

Isabella moved to the chair, sat with as much grace as she could muster.

Dimitri didn’t sit. Just leaned against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, looking down at her like a judge delivering a sentence.

"Do you know why you’re here?" he asked.

"Because I was photographed at lunch."

"Partially." His eyes never left hers. "You’re here because twelve hours after I negotiated an arrangement that lets you stay in this city, twelve hours after I convinced Lorenzo and Antonio that you could be trusted to follow the terms, you were publicly photographed at an exclusive restaurant. Looking comfortable. Looking like you belong here. Looking like someone who hasn’t just been threatened with death."

"I didn’t think..."

"No. You didn’t. And that’s the problem." He pushed off the desk, began to pace. "The entire reason I allowed you to stay...against every instinct I have, was because my father assured me you understood the gravity of the situation. That you would be discreet. That you wouldn’t give me any reason to reconsider."

He stopped pacing, turned to face her directly.

"And the first thing you do, the very first thing....is go to a restaurant where you knew you’d be seen. Where photographers lurk. Where social media influencers document every notable person who walks through the door." His voice dropped to something even more dangerous. "So either you’re monumentally stupid, or you’re deliberately testing me. Which is it, Isabella?"

She swallowed hard. "I wasn’t testing you."

"Then you’re stupid."

The word hit like a slap.

"I just...I needed to get out. I’d been in the hotel for days, thinking. I wasn’t thinking about photographers..."

"That’s the problem!" His voice cracked like a whip, making her flinch. "You weren’t thinking. You were in your hotel room for twelve hours, Isabella. Not days. Twelve fucking hours. And you couldn’t even last that long before you needed to be seen. Needed to remind the world that Isabella Russo is still here, still relevant, still in the game."

He moved closer now, and Isabella had to force herself not to shrink back.

"Let me explain something to you," Dimitri said, his voice soft but lethal. "The only reason you’re alive right now, the only reason you’re sitting in this chair instead of decomposing in a landfill somewhere...is because I made a deal. A deal that benefits me by keeping Eve safer. Not a deal that benefits you."

He crouched in front of her chair, brought himself to eye level.

"You are not special, Isabella. You are not important. You are a inconvenience I’m tolerating because the alternative creates complications I don’t currently want to deal with." His silver-gray eyes were absolutely cold. "But the second you become more trouble than you’re worth, the second you give me a reason to regret letting you stay...that tolerance ends. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

"I don’t think you do." He stood, walked to his desk, pulled something from the drawer.

A folder.

He tossed it onto her lap.

"Open it."

Isabella’s hands shook slightly as she opened the folder.

Inside were photos.

Surveillance photos.

Of her. At the restaurant. But also leaving her hotel. Getting into cars. Walking through lobbies. Meeting with Enzo.

All timestamped. All from the past two days.

"I’ve been watching you," Dimitri said quietly. "Since the moment you arrived in this city, I’ve had eyes on you. Every move you make. Every person you meet. Every breath you take." He leaned against his desk again. "Did you really think I’d let you operate freely just because we made a deal?"

Isabella stared at the photos, her throat tight.

"The restaurant where you had lunch?" Dimitri continued. "I own it. The hotel where you’re staying? I own the building. The car service you’ve been using? I own the company." He smiled, and it was absolutely terrifying. "You exist in this city at my pleasure, Isabella. And the second I withdraw that pleasure, you cease to exist. Permanently."

She set the folder down with trembling hands. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to understand your position." He moved around the desk, sat in his chair, steepled his fingers. "You are here on probation. You follow the terms exactly. You stay away from Eve. You don’t get photographed in public places. You don’t test boundaries. You don’t make me regret this arrangement."

"I understand."

"Do you?" He pulled up something on his computer, turned the screen toward her.

It was a contract. Formal. Legal. Terrifying.

"This," Dimitri said, "is a formal agreement. You’re going to sign it. It states that you acknowledge the terms of your stay in this city. That you understand the consequences of violating those terms. And that you waive any right to protection from Lorenzo or my father if I decide to enforce those consequences."

Isabella’s eyes widened. "My father would never agree to this..."

"Your father already has." Dimitri slid a second document across the desk. Lorenzo’s signature at the bottom. "So has mine. They’ve both agreed that if you violate the terms, you’re on your own. No protection. No intervention. No rescue."

Her hands were shaking now. Really shaking.

"Sign it, Isabella."

"This is....you can’t..."

"I can. And I am." His voice was absolute. "You have two choices. Sign this agreement and follow the terms. Or refuse to sign and leave the city tonight. Those are your only options. Choose."