The press conference is perfect. That is the problem.
Cameras flash like a storm. Journalists pack the front rows, recorders out, phones raised. The room is all sharp light and expensive suits. Isabella stands beside Luca on a low platform, smiling at a crowd of strangers, wearing a dress she did not choose for herself.
Luca speaks clearly into the microphones.
"To unity," he says. "And stability."
There it is again. That word. She has started to notice how often he uses it, the way some people use words when they want to avoid saying what they actually mean.
His hand rests at her waist.
It is light. Barely there. But it is deliberate, she knows that. Everything about him is deliberate. The pressure of his hand, the angle of his body, the calm expression that does not shift no matter how many cameras are pointed at his face.
She smiles. She nods. She plays the role she agreed to play.
But she is also watching the room.
Most of the people here are doing what people do at these things. Taking photos. Writing things down. Talking quietly to the person beside them. Normal behavior. Easy to read.
One person is not doing any of that.
A man near the back. Grey suit. Standing still in a room full of movement. Not writing. Not photographing. Just watching. And not watching Luca. Watching her.
She keeps her expression neutral. Leans slightly toward Luca without turning her head.
"The man in the grey suit," she says quietly. "Back left."
Luca does not look. Does not react at all in any way the cameras would catch.
"I see him," he says.
"Reporter?"
"No."
"Then who is he?"
A pause. Half a second.
"A problem," Luca says.
More cameras flash. Someone in the front row shouts a question about the timeline of the wedding. Luca answers smoothly. His hand stays at her waist. His thumb presses in, just slightly. She recognizes it for what it is.
Stay close. Stay calm.
Later, in the back of the car heading home, the city slides past the windows and Isabella turns to face him.
"You knew he was going to be there."
"Yes."
"And you did not tell me."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I needed your reaction to be natural."
She stares at him. "You used me to confirm something."
"No." His voice stays even but something sharpens in it. "I used the situation. There is a difference."
"That is a very fine line."
"Most useful lines are."
She looks away. Outside, the city moves. People walking, cars stopping, the ordinary business of a world that has no idea what just happened in that room.
"What did you confirm?" she asks.
"Who he reports to. We had two suspects. Now we have one."
"And what happens to him?"
Luca is quiet for a moment.
"He will be watched," he says. "For now."
She nods slowly. She does not ask what comes after now. She is not sure she wants that answer yet.
What unsettles her most is not that Luca used the moment. It is that she understands why he did it. The logic is clean. The result is useful. She can follow the thinking without agreeing with it, and that distinction matters to her.
But she also noticed something else.
When she spotted the man before Luca pointed him out, something changed in the way Luca looked at her. Just for a second. Quick enough that you would miss it if you were not paying attention.
She was paying attention.
He had not expected her to see it. And the fact that she did meant something to him. She could tell.
She files that away without comment.
The car pulls through the estate gates. They close behind it.
She stares out the window at the darkening sky and thinks about the man in the grey suit, and what it means that he was there, and how many more like him are out in that city right now, watching and waiting and reporting back to someone who has already decided what to do about her family.
The thought should frighten her.
It does, a little.
But mostly it makes her want to understand the game better. Fast.