The Don's Ruthless Empire
"Then let me prove it's not me. Let me go in first."
"Absolutely not," Isabella said from the back seat, sharp and immediate. "If this is a trap, you're not the one who walks into it alone."
The lighthouse stood exactly as Valentina had described it, weathered and abandoned, the kind of place a man could disappear into for weeks without anyone thinking to look twice. Its paint had peeled to bare gray wood in long strips, and the lamp room at its crown sat dark and shattered, glass long since claimed by salt and storms. Gulls wheeled overhead, crying out against the wind, and somewhere below us the waves struck the rocks with a rhythm that felt almost like breathing. We approached carefully,