“Don’t refer to Evie unless I permit it,” I bark.
His mouth tightens. “Evie. My bride to be… or so she was.”
My hand closes once at my side. Then opens. Control is maintained.
“The north wing is restricted,” I say. “You won’t enter it.”
His gaze flicks to the upper windows. “North wing.”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
Giulio steps forward. “These terms may be severe, Alessandro. Integration requires?—”
“Council voted return,” I say. “Not access.”
Giulio stops. The line is clean. He cannot cross it publicly without admitting what he wants: proximity as a test.
Dante watches the exchange. Learning nothing useful. Resenting everything.
“The south rooms are prepared,” Marco says.
Dante turns to him. “Marco.”
“Dante.” No warmth.
Dante smiles. “You look older.”
“You look tired.”
Dante laughs. “Still loyal, then.”
“Yes.”
The answer is simple. It irritates him. Everything simple irritates him because simple things don’t give him enough surface to distort.
I turn toward the door. “Come.”
We enter the house. The hall has been cleared. No staff visible. No unnecessary witnesses.
No Evie. That absence has been enforced. She’s in the north rooms with Teresa. Luca’s secondary man outside. Two internal guards at the corridor turn. No weapons visible, but present.
Dante’s gaze moves through the hall. Portraits. Staircase. Doors.
His eyes pause on the north corridor. Too long.
I stop walking. He stops one pace later. Still undisciplined.
“Look at me,” I say.
He does.
“You don’t approach her.”
His smile fades. “Afraid I’ll upset your guest?”
“No.”
