The mansion was silent by midnight, blanketed in the kind of stillness that made every creak of the old wood and groan of the wind sound like secrets unraveling. Yet Leora lay wide awake, her body motionless beneath the weight of silk sheets, her mind anything but still.
Sleep refused to come.
Not after the name that had been spoken like a curse.
Viviana Gattuso.
The syllables had detonated in her chest, leaving her breathless in their aftermath.
Leora pushed the covers away and sat up, the cool air instantly licking at her bare arms. The moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, painting ghostly patterns on the marble floor. She rose quietly, her feet bare against the cold stone, her silk nightgown flowing like water around her legs.
Her mind wouldn’t stop spinning.
Viviana.
