CHAPTER NINE

Isabella Moreno wasn't used to being this nervous.

As a world-famous fashion model who started her career at sixteen, she had become accustomed to people gawking at her. But this was different.

After a decade in the industry, she was launching her own fashion line for the first time. As she left Monica, Monica!, the Beverly Grove boutique belonging to her fashion designer friend, Monica Bertoni, she finally allowed herself to breathe.

She looked at the time. It was 11:17. She thought that her fifteen-minute pitch to Monica had gone well. She took the elevator down to the parking level and used the alone time to allow her body to recalibrate.

Monica had invited her to come pitch her line as a practice run for going to the bigger designers, one of whom might agree to partner with her. She'd envisioned something like "Isabella by Dior" or "Isabella + Versace."

Of course, she didn't really need their help to make her dream a reality. Her father, Carlo Moreno, was the chairman of Moreno Venture Capital, or MVC, which was valued, at least according to CNBC, at between $3-3.5 billion. His personal wealth was estimated at half that. Isabella had access to about $250 million of it without having to get Daddy's authorization, not to mention another $18 million she'd earned all on her own through modeling and endorsements.

So she could make this fashion line happen on her own. But the endeavor would be more credible, and generate more buzz, if she could partner with a respected design house.

As she studied her image in the elevator mirror, loosening her silk top so that her curves weren't so prominent when she got out to walk to her car, she acknowledged to herself that she had choices. She had an offer on the table from One Nite Only, the lingerie company that had exploded after she started modeling for them five years ago, when she turned twenty-one.

But as lucrative as that deal was for her, she wanted the imprimatur of one of the big names for this line. She hadn't graduated from Parsons while modeling to end up being called a joke or a nepo baby. She'd worked hard to establish her credibility outside of her looks or Daddy's influence. Though she loved him dearly, she wanted something that she could call her own. She deserved this moment. But she had to play it just right.

The elevator dinged and the door opened. She was just stepping forward to get out when someone leapt in from out of nowhere and slammed her back into the corner. They were dressed all in black and wearing a ski mask.

Isabella's right hip slammed into the metal railing of the elevator. Despite the pain and the fear, Isabella tried to remain calm. This wasn't the first time she'd been mugged. It had happened twice in New York.

"I don't have any cash," she said, keeping her voice even, aware that panic would only escalate the situation.

"I'm not interested in money," the person said, their voice muffled somewhat by the mask, which covered their mouth.

Then, before Isabella could fully process it, the mugger pulled out a long, serrated hunting knife. It was only then that she realized the person was wearing gloves too. Everything became clear at once. This wasn't a mugging or even a rape attempt. Her attacker was prepared. Their face was hidden, and their hands were covered. This was planned.

Isabella tried to reposition herself in the pose that she'd learned from the self-defense expert her father had hired for her back when he worried regularly that she might be kidnapped for ransom. But before her fists were even up in front of her, the knife flashed before her eyes.

She knew it must have gotten her neck, because she saw her own blood spurting wildly against the elevator door and ceiling. She watched a second knife swing come at her, but it missed, mostly because she had lost strength in her legs and collapsed to the ground. She felt terror start to take hold and tried to scream, but it only came out as a gurgle.

She lifted her hands to cover the spot where the blood was shooting out, but as she did, she caught a glimpse of the knife coming down in the direction of her chest. The last fully formed thought she had before they would stop forever was a surprise to her.

I want my daddy.