The storm had passed by morning, but Elena felt as though she was still standing in the eye of it. Sleep had never come. She had lain awake replaying every second of the night before: Matteo's touch, his forehead against hers, the brush of his lips that wasn't quite a kiss. And the interruption that had left her both relieved and furious.
By noon, the mansion was a hive of activity. Men in dark suits moved quickly through the halls, their conversations low and urgent. Something had happened, something more than the storm.
Elena found Matteo in the study, leaning over a map spread across the desk. His jaw was tense, his eyes sharp, his presence radiating command.
"What's going on?" she asked, stepping into the room.
He didn't look up. "You should be in your room."
"I'm tired of being kept in the dark."
His pen stilled, but he still didn't raise his head. "Last night, while I was upstairs, there was an attempt on our property. Two cars, masked men. They didn't get far."
