When Nicoletta stepped into the house, it was already dark. Only a single light burned in the hall, casting a soft golden glow across the marble floor. The silence felt dense, alert—like the air before a storm.
She slipped off her coat, kicked off her heels, and took a few steps inside before freezing.
He was here.
Marcus sat in an armchair by the window, his back to the light, his face turned toward the night. His silhouette looked carved from steel—still, controlled, dangerous. A predator at rest, coiled and waiting. A glass of wine rested in his hand, untouched. On the table beside him lay his watch, his phone, his keys—as if he had prepared to leave hours ago and simply… hadn’t.
“You’re still here?” she asked quietly.
He turned. His eyes caught the dim light.
“I said I’d wait,” h
