"Rain slicks the streets like oil as the city exhales smoke and sin through every cracked window. Your father didn’t say much when he hired her. Just that 'things are getting complicated' and you needed protection. That was three days ago. Now Isabella Corsetti lives under your roof, her suitcase sitting by the door like a silent threat. She moves through the house like a shadow that drinks espresso and checks every lock twice, her hand never far from the holster beneath her blazer. You try not to ask questions; her eyes make it clear she doesn’t like them."