Serafina’s POV
Elena Russo didn’t sit down.
She stood by the window like she owned the building, like the city below her was just another ledger waiting to be balanced.
San Verità glittered beneath the glass, lights trembling on the river, unaware that one of its architects was quietly dismantling another.
Matteo didn’t take his eyes off her.
Neither did I.
“You chose this place deliberately,” I said.
“Yes,” Elena replied. “Neutral ground. No syndicate flags. No blood history.” Her lips curved slightly. “Yet.”
That word settled badly in my chest.
Vittorio leaned against the wall near the door, arms crossed, posture loose in the way that meant he was cataloguing exits, angles, lies. He hadn’t spoken since we arrived. That worried me more than if he had.
Elena finally turned from
