Alessio didn't return to his office.
He went underground.
The corridor beneath the villa smelled of stone and oil, older than the house above it. Maps lined one wall—territories marked not by borders but by names. Crossed-out names. Rewritten ones. Phones sat charging in neat rows, each labeled, each silent.
Marco was already there.
"You embarrassed me," Marco said without preamble.
Alessio removed his jacket and hung it with care. "You embarrassed yourself."
Marco scoffed. "You bring her to the table like a trophy and expect us to stay quiet?"
"She's not a trophy."
"Then what is she?"
Alessio turned slowly. "Insurance."
Marco stepped closer. "You're risking too much for a woman."
Alessio's gaze sharpened. "I'm risking nothing. You're the one panicking."
"I'm realistic," Marco snapped. "Ricci is watching. He knows you don't take hostages unless you intend to use them."
"Yes," Alessio said. "And?"
"And if he moves first—"
"He won't," Alessio cut in. "He's already compromised."
Marco frowned. "Explain."
Alessio picked up a phone and slid it across the table. "He thinks Sofia is isolated."
"She is."
"No," Alessio said calmly. "She's visible."
Marco stared at him. "You're drawing attention."
"I'm controlling it."
"You're assuming she won't talk."
"I'm counting on it."
Marco's laugh was sharp. "You trust her?"
Alessio didn't answer.
That was enough.
---
Upstairs, Sofia learned Rule Three by accident.
It came in the form of a maid who lingered too long.
"You shouldn't be here," the girl whispered, eyes darting. "In the west corridor. They don't—"
"—like witnesses?" Sofia finished.
The girl nodded. "There's talk."
"About me?"
"About him," the maid corrected. "You're just… part of it."
Sofia smiled gently. "That's usually how it starts."
The maid swallowed. "You didn't hear it from me."
"I won't say a word," Sofia promised. "But tell me.. what kind of talk?"
The maid hesitated. Then: "They say Marco is pushing back. That some families think Alessio's gone soft."
Sofia raised a brow. "Because of me?"
"Because you're still breathing."
Interesting.
Later that evening, Giulia brought dinner herself.
"You shouldn't encourage staff conversation," Giulia said.
"I didn't," Sofia replied. "I listened."
"That's worse."
Sofia took the tray. "Is it true? About Marco?"
Giulia didn't answer immediately. Then: "Power doesn't like unpredictability."
"And I'm unpredictable."
"You're a variable," Giulia said. "One Alessio introduced on purpose."
"Why?"
Giulia met her gaze. "Because stalemates require pressure."
After she left, Sofia sat on the bed and stared at the door Alessio had shown her earlier the service corridor, the cameras, the almost permission.
She didn't move toward it.
Not yet.
Instead, she took the small notebook she'd found in the desk drawer empty, placed there deliberately and began to write names.
Marco.
Luca.
Ricci.
Lines formed between them. Dotted ones. Question marks.
Above all of it, she wrote one word:
LEVERAGE
When Alessio returned that night, he paused outside her door longer than necessary.
Inside, Sofia closed the notebook and slid it beneath the mattress.
She lay back, staring at the ceiling, fully aware of two things:
Someone in the house wanted her gone.
And Alessio had made sure she would be noticed before that could happen.