Chapter 12 - ISABELLA’S SECOND ACCOUNT
Isabella decided to cooperate.
Not because she became good.
Because Enzo had tried to leave without her.
Self-preservation accomplished what remorse could not.
She gave investigators passwords.
Account numbers.
Encrypted messages.
Names.
The second account Enzo mentioned belonged to Isabella alone.
It held nearly three million dollars.
Money siphoned from shell companies connected to Romano Maritime.
Alessandro had believed Isabella joined Enzo for love and wealth.
The truth was colder.
She planned to betray Enzo after Alessandro died.
She had copied documents proving Enzo’s involvement.
Once she controlled Alessandro’s widow provisions, she intended to report Enzo anonymously.
He would go to prison.
She would keep the company influence.
And the money.
Alessandro sat across from her during one final interview.
“You never loved anyone.”
Isabella looked tired.
“That isn’t true.”
“Who?”
“Myself.”
He almost laughed.
At least she was finally honest.
“Why me?”
“Because you had everything.”
“I had money.”
“You had a name.”
“Power.”
“People who moved when you entered a room.”
“And you wanted that?”
“I wanted never to be powerless again.”
Alessandro studied her.
“What happened to you?”
She stiffened.
“Don’t psychoanalyze me.”
“I’m not.”
“I’m trying to understand how the woman who cried when my dog died agreed to slowly poison me.”
Her expression cracked.
For a moment, he saw shame.
Then it vanished.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try.”
She looked away.
“My father abandoned us.”
“My mother begged relatives for money.”
“I watched people decide whether we deserved groceries.”
“So when Enzo showed me your world, I decided I would never ask anyone for anything again.”
Alessandro shook his head.
“You became the person you hated.”
Isabella said nothing.
He stood.
“Did you order Sofia harmed?”
“No.”
“Did you know Enzo might?”
Her eyes lowered.
That was answer enough.
Alessandro walked toward the door.
“Alessandro.”
He stopped.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked back.
“For what?”
She began crying.
“All of it.”
He watched her quietly.
Then he said.
“Being sorry because you lost is not the same as being sorry because you did it.”
He left.
That evening, Sofia drew a picture for him.
Four people stood beside a large house.
Sofia.
Elena.
Luca.
And Alessandro.
Alessandro pointed to himself.
“Why am I here?”
Sofia smiled.
“Because you listened.”
Three words.
That was all.
May you like
He had built his life believing power came from knowing who to distrust.
A six-year-old had reminded him that sometimes survival depended on knowing who to believe.
