ARMANDO
I strode into the house with my men behind me, each step deliberate, every move sending a message of who owned this place—and that wasn’t just a figure of speech. The others stayed outside, taking their positions at every entry point, covering each corner of the house the way they were trained to.
Inside, I shrugged off my hat and then my coat, passing both to one of the men who’d followed me in. He moved fast, hanging them on the coat stand without a sound.
Stepping farther into the room, I caught sight of Eleanor cleaning the seats, her hands moving quickly over the spotless leather. She’d been at it for a while from the looks of it. I expected her to greet me as usual, and she didn’t disappoint.
“Good evening, Mr. Armando,” she said, dropping a slight curtsy as she spoke. S
