Elena

I remained seated at the breakfast table long after Giovanni left, my grip tightening around the goblet in my hand.

Something had shifted.

I had felt it the moment I entered the hall—the subtle change in the air, the way Giovanni’s eyes lingered on me just a second too long, the deliberate weight of his words.

I had the most interesting conversation with my brother last night.

It was a warning. A calculated move to make me uneasy.

And damn it, it was working.

I forced my ...