I draw in a breath.
She turns a moment later, just as I step forward. Her eyes land on me with a flicker of surprise that disappears quickly. Her expression shifts into something neutral. Not cold. Not warm. Just… waiting.
“Liliana,” she says.
I nod once, measured.
She doesn’t speak again, but her head tilts slightly, her gaze curious.
I hesitate. My feet want to back away. My spine tells me to stay. My fingers tighten at my sides. I sign slowly. I’m going to see my father.
Word travels fast in this sort of world. I'm sure she knows already that my father and I don't exactly have a loving relationship. He'd sold me off to Giovanni to fix his debt after all.
Her brow lifts just slightly. “Alone?”
I shake my head. She waits.
I shouldn’t ask her. I know I shouldn’t. But she’s here. And she’s looking at me without disdain, without judgment. Just… looking.
I sign again. Would you come with me?
There’s a pause. She blinks once, as though the question hit her somewhere unexpected. Then her arms fold lightly in front of her, and she studies me.
“Why?”
I hesitate, but I answer truthfully. Because I can’t go alone. And I need to.
Her expression doesn’t shift. Not right away. “Giovanni would kill anyone who helps you with this mad plan.”
I nod once. That’s why I’m asking you. I need someone he wouldn’t kill.
She blinks at that. Then, slowly, her mouth tips up in something that’s almost a smile. “Alright. Let’s get past the guards, then.”
It shouldn’t be that easy. But she doesn’t press. Doesn’t question the impulse. She just rises, smooths the front of her slacks, and nods once.
We slip out through the east corridor, where one of the side entrances connects to the garden gate. We move quietly, avoiding the extra security Giovanni stationed after the party. The security is tight, but we time it well. No questions. No alerts.
We don’t speak during the drive. The silence isn’t hostile, but it isn’t easy either. It sits between us, shifting with every bump in the road, filling the space with things neither of us are ready to say.
My thoughts are loud, dissecting Martelli’s insinuations, the way his gaze lingered, knowing and predatory. My father’s contempt has always been a weight, but if anyone knows what Martelli meant, it’s him.
His mansion looms ahead, cold stone and iron gates, a place that never felt like home. The estate gate opens without question. My last name still holds weight here, even if my presence doesn’t.
I park, my stomach knotting, and Camilla glances at me, her eyes calm but searching.
We’ll be fine, she signs, and I nod, my smile tight, and grateful but still cautious. Her presence is a lifeline I’m not sure I fully trust. The guards recognize me, their faces blank as they wave us through, and my heart pounds, each step toward the door a reminder of the man inside, his disdain a constant I’ve never outrun.
The house hasn’t changed. White stone. Wide stairs. Cold glass windows. The kind of place that looks beautiful on the outside, but never invites warmth. I walk up slowly, each step steadier than the last.
The door opens before we knock. One of the older staff members looks startled to see me, but he steps aside quickly. Camilla follows me in without waiting for permission.
I know where he’ll be. He always retreats to the study when he wants control over the room.
My father’s seated at his desk, head bent over papers, as if he didn’t hear us enter. The door is half-open, and I pause, my breath catching. His face is etched with the same hard lines I’ve known forever. Camilla stays close.
I knock lightly, stepping inside. His eyes lift, dark and sharp, and his disapproval washes over me, heavy as ever. “Liliana,” he says flatly. His voice holds no warmth. “What are you doing here? Finally decided to honour my invitation?”
I don’t flinch. I step forward.
