At dawn, Isabella wandered into the grand kitchen of Fernando's estate. The scent of dark coffee and cinnamon lingered. She wasn't used to the silence—no city noise, no early morning footsteps of her roommate Ana rushing off to the hospital where she interned.
Ana had called twice. Isabella ignored them.
She couldn't explain this to her.
Fernando entered quietly. Not in a suit like usual, but in a dark sweater and jeans. Still dangerous. Still untouchable.
"Did you sleep?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Not really."
They sat across from each other.
"I've been thinking about your family," he said. "You haven't spoken to your father in years, right?"
Isabella looked away. "He made it clear he wanted nothing to do with me after I refused law school. Journalism was 'too risky' for his perfect image."
Fernando gave a grim smile. "My father would've said the same. Except he preferred I learn how to cover up crimes instead of write about them."
They both laughed—but there was sadness underneath.
"I have people looking into last night," he continued. "And someone hacked my sister's email too. This goes beyond us."
"Your sister? Camila?" Isabella frowned. "She's a tech analyst, isn't she?"
"Yes. And they tried to pose as you."
Her blood ran cold.
Everything was connecting. Her work at the paper, the investigation into political corruption she'd been digging into—was this bigger than she'd feared?
She stood, pacing. "If they're targeting Camila… and me… maybe even Ana's in danger too. She's my emergency contact."
Fernando moved fast, his voice firm. "Then we warn everyone. But you stay here."
"I can't hide!"
"You're not hiding. You're surviving. Until we know who's behind this."
But outside, a car pulled up.
And inside that car was someone they didn't expect.
Isabella's estranged brother—Marco.
Whom she hadn't seen in five years.
Marco stepped out of the car, drenched from the sudden morning rain, his shirt clinging to his chest, eyes darting wildly like a hunted animal.
Isabella froze in the doorway. "Marco?"
He looked thinner than she remembered. Hardened. Like life had taken chunks out of him.
"You're not safe," he said before she could ask anything. "Neither are you."
Fernando was already moving—subtly positioning himself between Marco and Isabella. "Start talking."
Marco's eyes flicked to him. "You must be Fernando Son of Armando Rossi.Of course."
Fernando's jaw clenched. "You know my father?"
Marco exhaled sharply. "Everyone in the underground knows your father. And your name keeps showing up on files that were never supposed to exist."
"What files?" Isabella demanded.
Marco looked at her. "The ones you were investigating. The ones you thought were about city council bribes and construction scandals? They go deeper. Armando Rossi was bankrolling half of them."
Fernando's face darkened.
Fernando turned away, fists clenched. "I left that world. I built a life away from my father. And now his ghosts are following us."
Marco stepped closer. "You're not the only one with a complicated past. I used to run jobs for them. Nothing major—just messages, pickups. I didn't know the weight of what I carried."
Fernando stared at him. "But now you do?"
"Now I'm trying to clean it up. But I can't do it alone."
Isabella looked between the two men. Her brother—once a stranger. Fernando—a man with a name wrapped in shadows. And herself, caught in the middle.
"What do we do?" she asked.
Marco opened the small case he carried. Inside was a flash drive. "You publish what's on this."
"And if it gets me killed?" she whispered.
Fernando touched her hand. "Then we make sure it doesn't. But if we don't face it, your family, my family, the people you care about—they'll all stay targets."
The queen of his crime had a choice.
To stay silent.
"My sources are being hunted down," Marco continued. "And the minute someone figured out you are my sister
"They come for me," Isabella finished softly.
Marco nodded.