Page 65 of The Devils in the Details

Two sets of footsteps. One measured, unhurried, the cadence of a man who had never needed to hurry because rooms had always waited for him. The other lighter, quicker, the rhythm of someone who had learned to move through powerful spaces without seeming to occupy them.

Alexios’s voice carried from near the door. Smooth. Warm. The ease of a man who believed he was walking into a room he already owned, deploying charm the way another man might deploy a firearm—with precision and the quiet confidence of someone who had used it enough times to know it would work.

“—appreciate the invitation. My father mentioned the D’Angelo property had been restored. He undersold it. The stonework alone is worth the drive from Florence.”

The voice rounded the corner. And there he was.

Alexios Romano. Fifty-five years old, silver-haired, impeccably groomed, the polished surface of a man who had always moved in business circles.

His suit was expensive. Well-tailored. Pocket square, cufflinks, the attention to detail that suggested he had dressed for this room specifically, which he had, because Alexios Romano did nothing without calculation and the calculation was always visible if you knew where to look.

Behind him, Theo.

Dark olive complexion. Sharp jaw. Dark brown eyes that carried the quality of careful, patient attention that read as warmth until it didn’t. Tailored clothing, expensive watch, the polished presentation of someone who had never had to work hard for anything and had developed opinions about people who had.

His eyes found the room. Moved across it once, inventorying, the look of a man reading a space he had decided belonged to him and noting the changes.

They found Zephyr.

I felt it. The fractional shift in Zephyr’s posture, the way his shoulder pressed slightly warmer against mine, the tension that happened when Zephyr’s body registered a threat before his brain had fully categorized it.

He did not look at Theo. His eyes stayed on me. Blue, steady, holding my gaze with the intensity of a man who had decided that whatever was happening in the doorway was secondary to whatever was happening between us, and the warmth behind that decision cost me something every time I felt it.

I did not look back. I was already watching the door, had been watching it since the hinges creaked, and the room full of men arranged behind me had decided, at least for today, that they were watching it with me.

Alexios’s smile was perfect. Warm. Calculated. The kind of warmth that seemed genuine without quite arriving there, because arriving there would have required admitting that he meant it, and Alexios Romano had built his life on meaning nothing that couldn’t be weaponized later.

“You didn’t mention you’d be bringing company, Ari.” His eyes moved to Zephyr. Assessed. Dismissed. The look of a man who had decided that the five-foot-five blond with bare feet and a laptop bag was beneath his attention and was now making sure everyone in the room understood that he had reached this conclusion deliberately.

“I’m not required to supply you with my itinerary.” My voice was flat. Even. The tone I used for statements that were not subject to discussion.

“Clearly.” Alexios’s smile didn’t change. Didn’t need to. The warmth stayed, steady as bedrock.

Theo’s eyes were still on Zephyr.

I could feel them without looking. The lighter clicked in my hand. Open. Held. The small orange flame danced against the diffuse light pouring through the window behind me, and I watched it for a count of three before snapping it shut.

The sound was final.

Alexios Romano believed he was walking into a room he owned. He was wrong. The room belonged to the men standing in it, and at least for today, those men had decided that standing meant something more complicated than whatever plan my uncle had brought with him.

Chapter Sixteen

~ Zephyr ~

The lighter click had landed with the weight of punctuation, and the room held its breath for exactly the count it needed to decide what came next.

I stood at Ari’s shoulder with my laptop bag cutting across my oversized T-shirt and my bare feet on marble that cost more than everything I’d owned at twenty-two. I’d refused the fancy suit.

I’d rather go naked.

I watched Alexios Romano work a room the way a surgeon works a cadaver — with precision, with detachment, and with the quiet confidence of a man who had done this enough times to know the anatomy by heart.

The silence had its own language. I’d heard silences before. This one said: we are watching you now, and the watching will continue until someone decides to speak.

That someone, predictably, was Alexios.

He moved to Tony first. Of course he did. Tony D’Angelo stood by the fireplace with his whiskey glass and his honey eyes and the stillness of a man who had inherited power he never asked for and was still learning its vocabulary.