He scans every corner, every doorway, every shadow.
Every room my father leads us through gets a full tactical sweep of Rocco’s gaze before we step into it.
My father still doesn’t look at me.
He stops abruptly when a familiar figure enters.
My mother.
Surprise flickering in her eyes before she shifts her attention to Alessandro and Rocco.
“Mr. Moretti. Mr. Rocco.”
She greets them before she greets her daughter.
Typical. Her eyes finally land on me.
I nod—small. Controlled. “Mother.”
She folds her hands and appraises me like I’m a vase she’s deciding whether to keep or replace.
Viktor clears his throat. “Let the women fetch refreshments. We men will talk business.”
He doesn’t look at me when he says it. Probably forgot I’m considered one of “the women” in his own house.
My mother turns stiffly and I follow her to the kitchen, Rocco staying a careful half-step behind me.
She barely speaks. “Are you well?”
“I’m happy,” I answer honestly.
She stops mid-step. Like I spoke nonsense. Like happiness is a foreign language. Her lips part in shock, but she says nothing—just walks again in silence.
Rocco shifts beside me, jaw tight.
He sees all of it.
When we return to the sitting room where my father and Alessandro wait, my father is mid-sentence—something about trade routes and neutrality agreements.
Alessandro looks up at me immediately.
His expression softens just a fraction.
“Dove, the numbers you ran the other day—what was the discrepancy you caught in the port invoices?”
I answer without thinking, slipping effortlessly into the analytical tone he always encourages. “It was a thirty percent increase disguised as a logistical surcharge—”
My father scoffs. Loud. Sharp. Cutting.
“Girl,” he says with disdain, “you don’t understand the complexities of port taxation. Leave these matters to your husband.”
The words slice across the room like a blade. My spine straightens. My shoulders lock. My face goes cold. The mask drops into place so hard I almost hear it.
Alessandro sees it. And his expression turns murderous.
His jaw flexes. His nostrils flare. His entire body goes still—like a predator coiling before the strike.
He looks at my father with eyes I’ve only seen in the warehouse.
