(Luca)
I had learned, over the years, to recognize the difference between danger and inconvenience.
Danger announced itself through patterns—disrupted routes, unfamiliar names, men who suddenly forgot their place. Inconvenience was louder. Emotional. Messy.
Alice was becoming the second.
Vincenzo stood across from my desk, arms folded, jaw tight in a way that told me he’d already formed an opinion.
“She showed up unannounced,” he said. “Again.”
I didn’t look up from the document I was signing. “Where?”
“The west wing. The rooms she still insists are hers.”
They weren’t. They never had been. But Alice had always treated space the way she treated people—possessively.
“She’s upset,” Vincenzo added.
That made me pause.
“Upset how?” I asked.
“She was crying,” he said flatly. “Then s
