The mansion was quiet. The echo of the dinner, the tension, the anger, all of it lingered in Dante’s mind as he stepped into the empty living room. The chandelier above threw pale reflections across the polished floors, but the space felt cold, distant. Naya was gone. And his father? Andreano had long since retreated to his study, leaving Dante with a gnawing emptiness he couldn’t shake.
He walked around the house, looking for his friend. He got to the sitting room upstairs, pushed the door open quietly. Leonardo sat in the armchair by the fireplace, a glass of deep red wine resting in his hand.
“Hey,” Leonardo said simply, without looking up from his glass.
“Hey,” Dante replied, voice low, as he approached and settled into the armchair next to him. The room smelled faintly of oak and
