Chapter 62: Isabella Meets Eve

POV: EVE

Three days.

Isabella Russo had been in the city for three days, and Eve had felt her presence like a storm cloud on the horizon....heavy, inevitable, waiting to break.

Dimitri had been tense. he had become more careful. He’d doubled her security again, Marco plus three others, rotating shifts, always watching. He kissed her longer in the mornings, held her tighter at night, like he was preparing for a battle he knew was coming.

But Isabella hadn’t made contact.

Not with Dimitri. Not with Eve. Not with anyone in their circle.

Which somehow made it worse.

"She’s waiting," Eve had said last night, curled against Dimitri’s chest in the darkness. "Building a strategy."

"I know."

"What do you think she’ll do?"

"Whatever hurts most." His arms had tightened around her. "She’ll find your weaknesses and exploit them. That’s how she was trained."

"Then it’s a good thing I don’t have any," Eve had said, and felt him smile against her hair.

Now, standing in line at Café Noir...her favorite coffee shop three blocks from Phoenix Talent...Eve tried to shake the feeling that she was being watched.

Paranoid, probably. Marco was outside, visible through the window. Two more men were stationed at her office building. She was as safe as she could be.

Still.

The feeling persisted.

She ordered her usual....oat milk latte, extra shot and moved to the waiting area, pulling out her phone to check emails.

"Excuse me." The voice was smooth, cultured, with just a hint of an Italian accent. "Are you Eve Thorne?"

Eve looked up.

The woman standing before her was stunning. Mid-twenties, with the kind of classical beauty that belonged on magazine covers. sharp cheekbones, full lips, dark hair that fell in perfect waves past her shoulders. She wore a cream-colored suit that probably cost more than Eve’s monthly mortgage used to, and diamond studs glinted at her ears.

Every instinct Eve had developed over the past seven weeks started screaming.

"I am," Eve said carefully, not confirming or denying anything beyond her name.

The woman smiled.....warm, friendly, completely unthreatening. "I thought so. I’ve seen your work with Phoenix Talent. Very impressive for someone so young." She extended a perfectly manicured hand. "Isabella Russo."

Time stopped.

Eve’s heart kicked against her ribs, but she kept her expression neutral, professional. She took Isabella’s hand, shook it firmly, and released it.

"Ms. Russo." Eve’s voice was steady. "What a coincidence."

"Isn’t it?" Isabella’s smile widened, and there was nothing friendly about it now. Just calculation. "Though I suppose in a city this size, we were bound to run into each other eventually. Especially since we have so much in common."

"Do we?"

"Of course. We’re both successful businesswomen. Both navigating male-dominated industries." Isabella paused, her eyes glittering with something sharp. "Both intimately familiar with Dimitri Valentino."

The barista called Eve’s name.

Eve held Isabella’s gaze for another beat, then turned to collect her coffee. When she came back, Isabella had claimed the small table by the window....the one with two chairs.

An invitation. Or a challenge.

Eve could walk away. Should walk away. Text Marco, have him escort her out, avoid this entire conversation.

But she’d told Dimitri she wanted to be a partner. That she could handle his world.

Time to prove it.

She sat down.

"So," Eve said, cradling her latte. "How long have you been following me?"

Isabella laughed, a genuine sound of surprised delight. "Direct. I like that. Most women would have pretended this was actually a coincidence."

"I’m not most women."

"No." Isabella’s eyes swept over her, assessing, cataloging. "No, I suppose you’re not. Dimitri wouldn’t have broken a fourteen-year engagement for ’most women.’"

The words landed exactly as intended, a reminder of history, of promises, of everything Eve was disrupting just by existing.

Eve took a sip of her coffee, let the silence stretch.

"He told you about me," Isabella said finally. Not a question.

"He tells me everything."

"Does he?" Isabella leaned back in her chair, crossing one long leg over the other. "Did he tell you that I’ve loved him since I was nine years old? That I’ve spent fourteen years preparing to be his wife? That our fathers arranged our engagement to unite the two most powerful families in the organization?"

"Yes to all three."

Isabella’s eyebrow arched. "And you’re still here. Still playing house with him in that penthouse. Still pretending you can survive in a world you don’t understand."

"I’m not pretending anything," Eve said quietly. "I know exactly what world I’m in. I’ve seen what Dimitri does. I’ve watched him torture a man. I’ve seen the blood. I’ve chosen to stay anyway."

"Watching is different from living it." Isabella’s voice was silk over steel. "You’ve been with him what....two months? I’ve been preparing for this life since I was a child. I speak five languages. I can kill a man six different ways with my bare hands. I’ve been trained by the best soldiers my father could buy." She leaned forward. "What exactly do you bring to the table, Eve? Besides being a warm body in his bed?"

The insult was designed to sting.

It didn’t.

"I bring him peace," Eve said simply. "I bring him laughter. I bring him someone who sees past the Devil to the man underneath. Someone who doesn’t want him for his power or his name or what he represents." She met Isabella’s eyes. "I bring him love. Real love. Not the manufactured devotion of someone who’s been groomed to play a role."

Isabella’s jaw tightened. Just slightly.

"Love," she repeated, and there was something almost pitying in her voice. "You think love is enough in this world? Love makes you weak. It makes you a target. It gets you killed."

"Then I’ll die," Eve said. "But I’ll die having lived. Having felt something real. Not performing some part my father wrote for me before I was old enough to choose."