“For what purpose?” she asked.
“He hasn’t stated one.”
She straightened slightly, shoulders aligning with subtle dignity. “Then he’s come to retrieve what he believes is his.”
Magnus watched the way she phrased it. Not who.What.
“He’ll be disappointed,” Magnus replied.
A flicker of something warmer than fear moved through her eyes. Trust. Or the beginning of it.“Do you want me present?” she asked.
The question was calculated. Not submission. Not avoidance. Achoice.
“Yes.”
Her chin lifted a fraction. “Then I’llstand with you.”
He studied her for a moment, measuring not her courage but her readiness. Lorenzo wouldn’t come easily. He would come entitled, sharp with inherited authority and accustomed to compliance.
Magnus extended his hand.
She looked at it once, then placed her fingers in his palm without hesitation.
He didn’t grip tightly. He didn’t needto.
They descended together.
The reception hall of Severin territory was designed for clarity. White stone. Clean lines. No gilded excess. Power didn’t need ornament.Lorenzo stood near the far window, immaculate in a tailored suit that signaled lineage more than achievement. His posture was relaxed in a way that suggested he believed he’d already determined the outcome.
His gaze shifted when Magnus entered.
Then it shifted again when he saw Elia at Magnus’sside.
“Captain Severin,” Lorenzo said smoothly, offering a faint incline of his head that stopped short of respect. “I trust this isn’t an inconvenience.”
“Inconvenience implies surprise,” Magnus replied. “You were expected.”
A slight pause. Lorenzo hadn’t anticipated that.His gaze moved to Elia openly now, assessing. “You left without farewell.”
“I wasn’t aware I required permission,” she answered evenly. “Especially when yourmother sold me.”
Lorenzo’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You were under Donati protection.”
“Protection,” Magnus repeated, tone neutral. “An interesting interpretation.”
Lorenzo’s attention returned to Magnus. “There’s been a misunderstanding regarding the terms of her transfer.”
“There hasn’t.” The simplicity of the response landed harder than argument wouldhave.
Magnus didn’t embellish it. Didn’t explain. He could have outlined clauses, cited subparagraphs, dissected language until Lorenzo drowned in it. Instead, he gave him nothing but certainty. He watched the impact register in the minute tightening at the corner of Lorenzo’s mouth. Precision unsettled men who preferred noise.
Beside him, Elia went very still. Not shrinking. Not bracing. Watching.
Lorenzo’s gaze shifted between them. “My father was not consulted.”
A conscious move. Shift authority upward. Invoke Vittorio. Magnus understood the play immediately. Lorenzo was testing whether Severin would hesitate at the mention of a patriarch.
“The Donati signature stands.”
