Novels by Princee

It took eleven days to trace the photographs.Dante's men and Matteo's contact arrived at the same answer independently, which unsettled me more than if they'd disagreed — a private investigator named Corsi, hired under a shell account that led, after three more layers of digging, to an account controlled by a woman who hadn't used her real name in over a decade of professional discretion.Valentina.I wasn't surprised. I think some part of me had known since the night of the break-in, since the exact particular cruelty of it — not theft, not violence, just the quiet reminder that she'd been watching, that she could get close enough to touch what I'd built if she wanted to.Dante came to my parents' estate to tell me himself, which surprised me more than the information did."I wanted you to hear it from me before it became gossip," he said, standing in the same library where my father had once asked if I still loved him."Why wo

I didn't call Matteo. I told myself that for a week, right up until the night someone tried to break into the Romano Shield office.It happened at 2 a.m. The alarm system I'd installed myself did exactly what it was supposed to — cameras rolling, silent alert to my phone, the intruder gone before the police even turned onto the street. Nothing was taken. Nothing was damaged except the back door lock.But someone had left a folder on my desk. Inside it: photographs. Of me. At the hotel, at the café with Matteo's card in my hand, at my parents' estate. Someone had been watching me for longer than a week.I called my father first, out of habit, and immediately regretted it — not because he wasn't helpful, but because his first reaction was to reach for his own men, to handle it the way Romanos always handled things."I can protect myself," I told him. "That's the whole point of what I built.""This isn't about pride, Isabella. Someone is sending a message.""Then I'll answer it my way."

Two weeks after the gala, Elena called me early, her voice careful in a way I didn't like."We got a new request.""From who?"A pause. "The Falcone Grand Hotel. Directly."I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes. "What kind of request?""Ongoing security consulting. For the whole property, not just one event." She hesitated. "Isabella, this would be the biggest contract we've had."I already knew what that meant. Not just money. Not just reputation. It meant seeing Dante regularly. It meant working inside his world without being his wife anymore."Who signed off on it?" I asked."No one yet. They wanted to know if you were interested first.""They, or him?"Elena went quiet a beat too long. "He called. Personally."I stared at the wall of what used to be my childhood bedroom, now my makeshift office, and thought about every reason I had for saying no. Then I thought about every reason I had for saying yes, and realized none of them were about the contract at all."Tell them we'll review t

The first time I saw Dante again, I was in a black suit, carrying a security file underneath my arm. He was standing under the hotel's chandelier, as if he'd been mounted there.Three weeks. Apparently long enough for his appearance to change, or maybe mine. He stood among the hotel staff, perfect suit, perfect hair, and the same calculating mask, but this time I didn't slow my pace at the sight of him. The old Isabella would have taken a second to wonder if he was angry, if he missed me, if any of it kept him awake at night the way it had me.The new Isabella just walked up to him."Mr. Falcone."His eyes searched mine for something before settling on whatever he found. "Isabella.""I'm here for the Vale gala.""I know.""Let's discuss arrangements, then."His gaze traveled up and down, not that it hadn't done so before, but it held a certain interest, as if he were reading something he wasn't supposed to find. "Romano Shield.""That's right.""You actually did it.""You sound surpri

By seven the next morning, the whole Romano household knew I'd left my husband. By eight, probably every family in the city knew. By nine, I had twelve messages from people who hadn't once asked how I was doing during the year I actually needed them to.That's how this world works. Nobody notices you suffering quietly. They notice the second it becomes interesting.I sat behind my old desk, watching messages stack up on my phone.Is it true?Deleted.What happened between you and Dante?Deleted.Please tell me this isn't what I think it is.Deleted. I understood, finally, why my father carried three separate phones. One for business. One for family. One for problems.I had apparently become a problem.I looked around the study. Nothing had moved. Same books on the shelf I'd collected as a teenager, same little tear in the leather chair by the window, my mother's lamp still crooked on the corner of the desk the way it always sat. A photo of myself at nineteen, still smiling like nothin

I knew my marriage was over the moment Dante looked at me and chose her.He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.I stood at the far end of the private dining room with my fingers wrapped so tight around the champagne stem I thought it might snap, watching everyone at the table watch the woman sitting beside my husband.Valentina.His childhood sweetheart. The one everyone assumed he'd marry, back before my father and his father sat down and decided otherwise. For a year I'd told myself she didn't matter. Tonight she made sure I couldn't keep telling myself that."This is ridiculous," she said, soft enough that half the table leaned in to hear it. "You should stop pretending, Isabella."I looked at her. She smiled — the kind of smile you wear when you already know how the evening ends."Pretending what?""That you're really his wife."A few people shifted in their seats. Nobody said a word. Somewhere behind me the old clock kept ticking like nothing was wrong.I looked at Dante. Bla