It was a small, quiet, almost awkward morning inside the Moretti dining room. Everyone sat around the long mahogany table, but not a single person looked comfortable. Emilia had arrived at the Moretti estate around 7 a.m. with Dante and Leonardo.
The welcome at the door was unexpectedly warm—too warm. Almost like a village-style welcome, full of smiles that didn’t match the tension in the air. Stefan avoided her gaze entirely. Marie didn’t look at her either. Only Leonardo seemed genuinely neutral.
It was obvious to Emilia: something was wrong.
Thomas kept glancing at her anxiously between bites of food. Mr. Moretti, her father, attempted to act warm and fatherly, but the stiffness in his shoulders betrayed him. Celia, however, didn’t dare look in Emilia’s direction. Her face was tight,
