By the time the sun dipped toward the horizon, staining the sky with bruised gold, a black car pulled into the driveway.
Nicoletta recognized it instantly.
Marcus entered the house the same way he always did—confident, commanding, as if the very air parted for him. His eyes found her immediately among the piles of fabrics and catalogs.
“Giulia,” he said without even glancing at the woman hovering beside him. “Leave us.”
Giulia rolled her eyes but obeyed, brushing her hand against Marcus’s shoulder as if reminding him she existed. When the door shut behind her, silence settled—heavy, sharp.
“We need to talk, Nicoletta,” Marcus said, stepping closer. “Without unnecessary ears. Without pretending.”
She straightened automatically, her spine lifting with that old trained nobility—poise ev
