A deathly hush fell over the ballroom as Giancarlo ascended a small, velvet-draped dais. The air, once thick with perfumed gossip, now seemed to crystallize, every breath a shard of ice in the lungs. The orchestra had stalled. The only sound was the whisper of silk and the frantic, drum-like beat of Isabella’s heart.
Alessandro’s hand found the small of her back, a steadying pressure that felt both like an anchor and a brand. The heat from their balcony encounter still simmered between them, a private inferno against the public chill. Giancarlo’s parting words about her bracelet lingered, a serpent’s whisper in her ear, but she forced the fear down, locking it away in a deep, dark compartment. Now, she needed the sharp, analytical clarity of the conservator.
“My friends,” Giancarlo’s voi
