They’re dancing around something. I can feel it.
Finally, Valentina clears her throat. “We’ve noticed you’ve been restless and not yourself.”
“That’s one way to say it.”
“Mara,” she says gently. “You know why we’re here.”
“Coffee?”
Alessia sighs. “Don’t do that.”
I set my cup down. “Do what?”
“Pretend you don’t know what we’re talking about.”
I glance between them; they’re both watching me with a look of sympathy.
“What do you guys want from me? To be happy about my upcoming prison sentence?” I ask.
Valentina exchanges a look with Alessia. “You thought that the Castello was going to be a prison. You don’t seem to have minded being the?—”
“This one is permanent,” I interrupt. “I’m literally being traded like cattle and you two are sitting here trying to convince me that it’s for my benefit.”
“Mara—”
“Just tell me.” My voice is sharper now. “Whatever it is, just say it.”
Valentina hesitates, then sighs. “He’s arranged something.”
My stomach twists. “Arranged?”
“A meeting,” Alessia says carefully. “With Orlo Chernov.”
The name hits like a cold slap.
“Chernov,” I repeat slowly. “As in?—”
“Yes,” Alessia says. “The Chernovs. Eastern Europe. They’re old money. Powerful. Loyal.”
“Dangerous,” I mutter.
Valentina folds her hands. “He’s not like the rest of them.”
“Sure,” I say, bitterness creeping in. “And Nicolo wasn’t like the rest of them either.”
That gets me a look. The kind that says they’re not sure whether to tell me to let it go or grow up.
I look out the window instead. The street outside is alive: people moving, laughing, living. All of them free.
“When?”
“In five minutes,” Valentina says softly. “He flew in last night.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Of course he did.”
The table falls silent. The only sound is the faint clink of cutlery from another corner and the soft hiss of the espresso machine.
“I don’t want this,” I finally say.
