“You knew.”

Her voice wasn’t raised. That was worse. It was flat, cold, precise — the sound of a blade before it sinks in.

Alessandro didn’t answer. Not immediately. His jaw tightened, throat working as though words had weight.

Eva’s laugh was sharp, empty. “Of course you did. The great Alessandro Bianchi — always one step ahead, always with the truth in his pocket. Except when it came to me.”

“Eva—”

“Don’t.” She stepped closer, finger stabbing into his chest with ...