Antonio's POV:

The day began like any other—quiet, tense, and filled with the unrelenting grind of this life I had chosen. My men were still recovering from the aftermath of our war with Giovanni Russo, patching up what was left of the operations we had destroyed. Though Giovanni was gone, the victory tasted bitter. Every move I made seemed to widen the chasm between me and the part of me that once felt alive—the part that belonged to Isabella.

Even now, with her father eliminated and his empire reduced to ashes, I couldn't shake the hollow ache in my chest. I had made my choice, knowing it would cost me her trust, perhaps even her love. But this? This was something else entirely.

I didn't realize how much worse it could get until Enzo stormed into my study, his face pale, his expression grim.

"Boss," he said, holding a small envelope in his hand. "This just came in. You need to see it."

The tension in his voice was enough to put me on edge. I gestured for him to hand it over, my brows knitting together as I examined the plain, unmarked envelope. Something about it felt off—too deliberate, too calculated.

"What is this?" I asked, my voice sharp.

Enzo hesitated, his jaw tightening. "A message, I think. And... a tape."

I didn't like the sound of that. My gut twisted as I opened the envelope, pulling out a small USB drive. There was nothing else inside—no note, no explanation. Just the drive.

"Play it," I ordered, my voice colder than I intended.

Enzo moved quickly, plugging the drive into the laptop on my desk. The screen flickered to life, and for a moment, the video was nothing but static. Then, it focused, revealing a dimly lit room.

At first, I couldn't make sense of what I was seeing. The angle was skewed, the footage grainy and distorted, but then I saw her—Isabella. She was struggling, her wrists bound, her face pale and streaked with what looked like tears. My heart stopped.

The video played on, and a figure emerged from the shadows—a woman, her movements deliberate, her face obscured by the angle of the camera. She held a knife, the blade catching the light as she moved closer to Isabella. My pulse thundered in my ears as I watched, my body frozen, my mind screaming at me to stop the tape.

But I couldn't look away.

The figure leaned down, whispering something to Isabella, but the audio was too muffled to make out the words. Then, without warning, the knife plunged downward. Blood pooled across the floor as Isabella went still, her body slumping forward, lifeless.

The screen cut to black.

I stared at the laptop, my breathing uneven, my hands gripping the edge of the desk so tightly that my knuckles turned white. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the sound of Enzo shifting uncomfortably behind me.

"Boss," he said carefully, his voice low. "What do we do?"

I didn't answer him immediately. My mind was racing, piecing together the fragments of what I had just seen. The video was a message—a warning, a challenge. But it was also something else. A lie.

Because as much as the tape had been crafted to look convincing, something about it didn't sit right. The figure's movements, the way they hesitated before striking, the angle that conveniently hid their face—it was all too perfect, too staged. And there was something familiar about the way they moved, something I couldn't ignore.

"Sofia," I murmured, the name slipping from my lips like a curse.

Enzo frowned, his expression darkening. "You think it's her?"

I nodded slowly, my eyes still fixed on the now-black screen. "Who else would it be? She's the only one who stands to gain from this."

Sofia had always been unpredictable, her loyalty more of a convenience than a true allegiance. I had known that from the start, but I had underestimated just how far she would go to get what she wanted. The thought that she could have done this—that she could have hurt Isabella, killed her—made my blood boil.

But there was one problem.

As much as I hated to admit it, I wasn't entirely sure that Isabella was dead. The tape was convincing, but it wasn't definitive. There were no timestamps, no proof of where it had been filmed, no concrete evidence beyond what I had seen.

And deep down, in the part of me that still clung to hope, I couldn't accept that she was gone.

"Sofia's been too quiet lately," I said, pacing the room as my mind worked through the possibilities. "She's been keeping her distance, but she hasn't disappeared. She's still in the city, still trying to worm her way back into my good graces. This... this is her move. I know it."

Enzo nodded, his expression grim. "If it's her, we'll find her. What do you want to do?"

I stopped pacing, turning to face him. "Bring her to me. Quietly. No alarms, no scenes. If she's behind this, I'll get it out of her."

Hours later, Enzo returned with Sofia in tow. She looked as composed as ever, her lips curving into a faint smile as she stepped into my study.

"Antonio," she said smoothly, her tone deceptively warm. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

I didn't answer immediately, my eyes narrowing as I studied her. She was good—too good. Her expression gave nothing away, her body language relaxed and confident. But I could see it in her eyes, the flicker of something she was trying to hide.

"You've been busy," I said finally, my voice cold. "Haven't you?"

Her smile faltered slightly. "I'm not sure what you mean."

I leaned forward, my hands braced on the desk as I fixed her with a steely glare. "Don't play games with me, Sofia. I saw the tape. I know what you did."

For a moment, she looked genuinely confused, but then realization dawned on her face. "The tape?" she repeated, her voice soft. "You think I had something to do with that?"

"I don't think," I said sharply. "I know. You've wanted Isabella gone from the moment you met her. You saw her as a threat, and now you've taken her out of the equation."

Sofia's composure cracked, her expression twisting into something darker. "Antonio, you have no idea what you're talking about. I didn't kill Isabella. I would never—"

"Enough," I snapped, cutting her off. "You've lied to me before. Why should I believe you now?"

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the mask dropped completely. "Because if I wanted Isabella dead," she said coldly, "I wouldn't need to send you a tape to prove it."

Her words hung in the air, chilling and calculated. And for the first time, I hesitated.

Was she telling the truth? Or was this just another layer of her manipulation, another way to throw me off her trail?

I didn't know.

But one thing was certain—until I found out the truth, I couldn't trust anyone.