Maybe I just destroyed the one person who didn’tdeserve it.
Chapter 15
The crash of glass shattering makes me flinch.
It comes from down the hall—from Dante’s office. A heartbeat later, raised voices follow, sharp and cutting.
Alessandro’s fury.
Dante’s rage.
My name somewhere in the middle.
I stand frozen in the hall outside the kitchen, staring at the closed door while my pulse hammers in my ears.
They’re arguing about me.
The air feels too thin. Too dangerous.
I don’t think. I move.
My feet hit the hardwood hard as I sprint down the hall, slipping into my room and slamming the lock into place. My hands shake as I grab my phone from the nightstand—screen lighting up with a flood of missed calls and messages.
Dad. Danny. Casey.Miles.
I ignore them all. There’s only one call that matters right now.
Miles picks up on the first ring, voice bright with the kind of excitement that makes me sick.
“Isabella! Jesus, I was wondering when you’d call. The article’s blowing up—front page on three syndicates, trending across—”
“I didn’t send you that information.”
The words come out as a whisper, shaking, but deadly serious.
He laughs like he didn’t hear me right. “What?”
“I didn’t send you that information,” I repeat, lower now, because I swear I can hear footsteps outside my door. “None of it came from me.”
Silence. I can picture the blood draining from his face.
“Isa, what are you talking about?”
I move fast—into the bathroom, shutting and locking that door, too. My reflection looks like someone else’s—wide eyes, hair falling loose, a tremor in my hands that won’t stop.
“Listen to me,” I hiss. “I didn’t send it. I didn’t email you, I didn’t attach anything. How did you get it?”
He hesitates. “I—I got it from your account. Last night. Same as always. Timestamp, signature, headers… it all checked out. Isa, you’re scaring me.”
“It’s fake. Someone used my credentials. You need to retract it.”
“Retract it?” His voice cracks like he’s trying to hold onto reason. “You realize that would look like a confession? The mayor’soffice is already denying the story, and your byline is the only thing keeping it alive. If I pull it, we look like liars—like the paper’s compromised.”
“You are compromised,” I snap. “That article is a setup. You need to pull it, Miles, now.”
“I can’t. Not without—”
A bang rattles the bedroom door. I freeze, heart seizing.
