e. What about my daughter? By morning, her tears had dried, leaving behind something colder than sadness. Anger. If Vittorio Moretti believed she would quietly accept being

gs: old letters, jewellery, and photographs from happier days. Then she discovered a small photograph tucked inside an envelope. Her mother stood beside a dark-haired man outside what looked like a grand Italian estate. Isabella's breath caught. The man looked remarkably like Dante. She turned the photograph over. Four words were written across the back in faded ink. Trust no De Luca. Her fingers tightened around the paper. Why had her mother written that warning? Had she known Dante? And if she had, why had nobody ever mentioned it? A knock interrupted her thoughts. Luca entered without waiting for permission. "Father wants you downstairs." "Does Father ever want anything that doesn't involve controlling my life?" "Don't start." "Tell me something, Luca. Did you know he was going to give me away?" Her brother's expression changed. "I knew the family was in trouble." "That wasn't my question." He looked away. "I'm sorry, Isabella." She stared at him, waiting for more. Nothing came. "Get out." "Isabella-" "Get out!" Luca left quietly. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the photograph. Her family was hiding something, and she was beginning to suspect that her mother's death was connected to the secrets surrounding her marriage. That evening, she overheard voices coming from her father's study. "She wasn't supposed to find out about the first agreement!" Vittorio snapped. Another man answered too quietly for her to understand. Isabella leaned closer. The floor creaked beneath her foot. The conversation stopped. She hurried away before anyone could discover her listening. The first agreement. Whatev