POV: ISABELLA
The estate looked exactly the same as she remembered.
That was the strange part. Isabella had been taken, used as leverage, dragged through a war that wasn't hers, and the Russo estate still stood exactly as it always had, the same cream stucco walls, the same manicured hedges lining the driveway, the same fountain in the courtyard that hadn't worked properly since she was twelve.
Her father's men escorted her through the front gates in silence. No one spoke to her during the drive from the airport. No one asked if she was okay.
She wasn't.
The car stopped in the circular drive, and Isabella sat there for a moment, staring at the front door, dreading what waited behind it more than she'd dreaded anything in the warehouse.
One of the men opened her door. "Signorina Russo. Your mother is waiting."
