The estate sat like a crown on the hills outside the city, all terraced gardens and stone walls that had weathered generations of Vitales. I’d seen photos during my due diligence on the family, but nothing prepared me for the quiet weight of it in person, the way the morning light softened the edges of marble fountains and clipped hedges, making even power feel almost domestic.
Dario drove us himself, the sleek black car eating up the winding roads with effortless precision. He’d traded his usual tailored suits for a charcoal shirt and slacks, the sleeves rolled to his forearms. It was disconcertingly casual. I wore a simple linen dress in deep emerald, modest enough for a family assessment but sharp enough to remind everyone I wasn’t just decorative.
“You’re quiet,” he observed, glancin
