CHAPTER 89
KATYA POV
The silence in the elevator pressed heavier than any scream.
Mr. Antonio stood stiff, jaw locked, refusing to meet Nonna's gaze. Miss Stella's arm stayed firm around my shoulders, guiding me gently like a child.
And me? I could still taste blood and fear coating my tongue. When the doors slid open, the air shifted—warmer, quieter.
The scent of roses and old books replaced the sharp, sterile tang of disinfectant. We stepped into a part of the house I'd never seen—marble floors softened by thick rugs, portraits of kings and saints staring down from the walls.
It didn't feel like a house at all.
It felt like a throne room—grand, heavy, untouchable.
Mr. Antonio hovered near the doorway, his shoulders rigid and tense. Nonna's sharp eyes snapped toward him. "You. Out."
"Signora—"
"Did I stutter?"
His throat bobbed. "No, Nonna." Then, quieter, he said. "I'll be outside."
