"That you killed the man who hired someone to sell me into slavery?" She looks at me like I'm insane. "Why would I be upset about that?"
"Most people would be disturbed by torture and execution."
"Most people haven't been through what I've been through." She turns back to the window. "Alessandro tried to have me murdered or sold to rapists. You made him pay for it. That seems fair."
The calm acceptance in her voice is unsettling. This isn't the reaction of a traumatized victim. This is something else entirely.
"The villa should be safe," I continue, trying to return to safer ground. "Security has swept it twice while we were gone. No one has been near the property."
She nods but doesn't respond.
"I know returning there might be difficult. Where Kozlov... where you had to..." I struggle with the words. "We can go somewhere else if you prefer. I have other properties."
"No." Her voice is steady. "The villa is fine."
"Are you sure? There might still be evidence of what happened in the salon."
"Blood, you mean." She turns to look at me. "From when I drove a fountain pen through a man's throat."
The matter-of-fact way she says it catches me off guard. No trauma, no revulsion. Just clinical assessment of facts.
"Yes. The cleanup crew worked fast, but there might be stains."
"I'm not fragile, Renato. I won't break because I see bloodstains from a man who deserved to die."
Her composure should reassure me. Instead, it makes me uneasy. This isn't how victims usually respond to rescue.
"What exactly is my status now?" she asks suddenly. "Am I returning to the villa as your guest? Your lover? Your prisoner?"
"You're..." I hesitate, realizing I haven't thought this through clearly. "You're under my protection. Safe and free to make your own choices."
"Free." She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "That's an interesting word coming from you."
"Camilla, you're not my prisoner anymore."
"Anymore. That's the operative word here, isn't it?" She studies my face. "Tell me something, Renato. The auction. How serious were you about actually selling me? Because from where I was standing, you seemed pretty damn serious."
The question I've been dreading. I keep my eyes on the road, buying time.
"The auction needed to serve multiple purposes."
"That's not what I asked." Her voice sharpens. "Were you actually planning to sell me to Kozlov? To Al-Rashid? To let them take me away?"
I can feel her stare boring into me, demanding honesty.
"The auction was... a negotiating tactic. The buyers were real, the interest was genuine. But the families needed to believe the threat was real enough to pay."
"You mean it was fake."
The silence stretches while I think how to explain. "Not entirely fake. But I never intended to actually complete a sale."
She goes very still, very quiet. "Pull the car over."
"Camilla—"
"Pull the fucking car over! Now!"
I find a scenic overlook and stop the car. Below us, Lake Maggiore stretches like glass. She gets out without a word. I follow, watching as she walks to the stone barrier.
