Chapter 2: The Kiss
From behind the cypress trees, Vittorio had a clear view of the front gate.
The man standing beside his car was definitely not Enzo.
Now that he was looking properly, the differences were obvious. The man’s hair was slightly longer. His stance was more aggressive. And the way he kept glancing toward the villa — as if waiting for something — made Vittorio’s instincts sharpen.
Then the front door of the villa opened.
Isabella stepped out.
She was wearing a cream-colored silk dress, the one Vittorio had bought for her in Milan last year. Her hair was perfectly styled, and she walked with the graceful confidence she always carried in public.
But something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Instead of walking toward the car to ask where her husband was, Isabella walked straight up to the fake driver. She stopped right in front of him, looked up, and smiled.
Then she kissed him.
It wasn’t a polite or hurried kiss.
It was slow. Familiar. Intimate.
The man’s hand slid around Isabella’s waist as he pulled her closer, kissing her back without any hesitation. Isabella’s fingers even reached up to fix the collar of his shirt, like she had done it a hundred times before.
Vittorio felt something cold settle in his chest.
He had survived assassination attempts, betrayals from rival families, and years of living with a target on his back. But nothing had prepared him for this.
His wife.
Kissing the man who had come to kill him.
From behind the trees, Sophia’s small voice broke the silence.
“They do that every morning,” she whispered. “When you’re not home.”
Vittorio didn’t answer. His eyes remained fixed on the scene in front of him.
Isabella finally pulled away from the kiss and said something to the man. He nodded, then opened the rear door of the sedan. As he did, Vittorio caught a glimpse of something small and red blinking underneath the seat.
A bomb.
They hadn’t just planned to shoot him.
They had planned to blow him up.
Vittorio slowly reached into his pocket and took out his phone. His fingers moved across the screen as he typed a single message to his most trusted captain:
“Do not come to the villa. Wait for my signal.”
He put the phone away and looked down at Sophia.
The little girl was still watching the car, her expression unreadable.
“How long have you known?” Vittorio asked quietly.
Sophia didn’t look at him.
“A long time,” she answered. “Papa told me to watch. He said bad people smile the most when they’re about to do something terrible.”
Vittorio was silent for a few seconds.
Then he asked the question he already knew the answer to.
“Where is your father now?”
Sophia finally turned to look at him. Her gray eyes were filled with something that no seven-year-old should have to carry.
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“They took him last night,” she said. “After you went to sleep.”
