There was something amusing about Mara’s return; her husband hadn’t even been buried, and already vultures circled.

Nikolai leaned against the west wing’s balustrade, one hand cradling the wine. Victor never let anyone touch him, the other gripping an unlit cigarette.

He didn’t smoke.

He was never the type to; good health mattered more than a failed lung. It was the pause he enjoyed. The thought of calmness that filled his mind in a violent storm.

From the balcony, he could see the entire Moretti estate.

He remembered his first day here; he was a young orphan at that time, and then Victor had taken him under his wing. He’d been here for far too long. Leaving first would feel like defeat.

It fascinated him.

Not the estate, or his journey from rags to riches—her.

She hadn’t complained about the chair. Not even the wine. Not even at the hint that maybe, just maybe, he might know more about her husband’s death than he lets on.

Was she acting clueless on purpose?

Nikolai let out a breath. He dropped the wine on the floor, lit the cigarette between his fingers, and let the first drag simmer before diving back into thought.

Mara Moretti

Beautiful…always had been. But this version? Cold, poised, her tongue is lethal. Now he understood why Victor kept her hidden.

Footsteps creaked on the floorboard. Nikolai didn’t turn.

“Luca,” he called. “You’re late.”

“Apologies.”

Nikolai glanced over his shoulder. “It was not a complaint.”

Luca stepped beside him.

“I heard she came. She’s not the same girl,” Luca said.

“She was never a girl,” Nikolai said, eyes fixed on the Moretti Mansion.

“What was her reaction?”

“She walked in like she never left…” A curt smile curved the corner of Nikolai's lips. “Like she owned the place.”

“She does.”

“For now,” Nikolai murmured, brushing past him.

“Did you sit on Victor’s chair like you said you would?”

Nikolai didn’t respond, but his eyes did.

“In front of her?”

“I was tired.” Nikolai shrugged.

“She’s going to see it as a dare.”

Nikolai's eyes flicked up in amusement. “Good. I want to see that side of her—if it exists.”

Luca asked, his voice taut. “Is that what this is? A game to you?”

Nikolai chuckled. “What do you think?”

“And if she makes a move first? She has Moretti men behind her.”

“Luca, I’d be most flattered.” He said, placing a hand to his chest, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Luca stared at him, searching. “Did you kill him?”

“No,” Nikolai answered. "But I didn’t stop it either.”

Luca didn’t speak.

Nikolai leaned in slightly, eyes glittering. “You think she’ll ask?”

“I don’t think she’s caught on.”

“Then we’re ahead of her. I’ll wait till she catches on.”

“I’ve been waiting to meet the real Mara Vittoria Moretti,” he murmured to himself.

--

When Nikolai entered the east drawing room, two men were already waiting.

They barely glanced at him.

“Vescari,” said Giovanni De Rossi, the first to turn. Victor’s old friend, legal advisor—and a man who had outlived more assassins than he could count.

“Gentlemen,” Nikolai drawled. “Hope I didn’t keep you too long.”

“Not for long,” Giovanni replied.

Nikolai smiled, easing into the nearest armchair; he smoothed his hand on it. "This feels less comfortable." He looked at them again. “To what do I owe this meeting?”

To Giovanni’s left, Alfredo Domenico, the Moretti family accountant, cleared his throat. “We assumed you’d be leaving after the will reading.”

“Why? That old man left me out?” Nikolai stayed relaxed.

Giovanni folded his hands. “Aren’t you more bothered about her finding out?”

“About what?” Nikolai arched his brows.

“Don’t play coy, Vescari,” Giovanni said flatly.

“I know nothing except Victor is dead,” Nikolai said firmly.

“Victor’s estate isn’t your property.” Giovanni pressed.

“It will be,” Nikolai said.

“Victor had no will naming you,” Alfredo said carefully. “Legally, it all goes to her.”

“She doesn’t want it,” Nikolai said. “And I don’t think either of you should talk me out of what rightfully belongs to me.”

“We’re just concerned.” Alfredo cut in.

“Leave it to me,” Nikolai said curtly. “She’s been away five years. Victor never taught her what mattered. I give her a week.”

“Are you sure?” Giovanni raised doubts.

Nikolai scoffed. “Have I ever been wrong?”

Silence stretched between them.

Nikolai added quickly, “Still, we shouldn’t underestimate her.”

He recalled the Mara he encountered today; she was different from the lady he had known five years ago. But some part of him still wanted to be wrong about her.

---

After they left, Nikolai paced his office. He opened the file from Victor’s study, weighing it in his hands. It felt too light for the secrets it carried.

His phone buzzed on the table, distracting him.

He brought it up to his face, reading the notification.

It read, "She's already asking questions.”

He smiled faintly, set the phone down, and pulled out his lighter.

Nikolai stared as the file burned in his hand.

Whatever it once held is gone, into the dust.