"I didn't want him watching me try on clothes." She crosses her arms, defensive. "Is that a problem?"
"No problem. Just seems like poor security protocol." He reaches out and touches her hair, his fingers catching on a tangle, and I watch her force herself not to flinch. "Your hair is a mess."
"It's the style." She pulls away slightly, casual and natural. "Come on. I'm done here. Let's go find something to eat."
She takes his arm and starts walking him out of the store, chattering about nothing, about the stores she visited, about ridiculous throw pillows shaped like cactus, and I listen to her voice get fainter as they move away.
I wait thirty seconds after they're gone, then push the vent cover aside and drop down into the dressing room with significantly less grace than I went up.
My phone buzzes.
A text from Isabella, from the burner phone Matteo gave her when we got back to the mansion:Coast clear. Meet you at the food court in 5.
I look around the dressing room one more time, at the scarf still on the bench, at the evidence of what we just did, and I feel something dark and furious settling in my chest.
Vittorio touched her hair.
Put his hand on her arm.
Walked away with her like he had every right.
And in days he's going to have every right, legally and socially and in every way that matters to the world outside this mall.
I pick up the scarf and shove it in my pocket and leave before I put my fist through the mirror.
I find them at the food court ten minutes later.
Isabella is sitting at a table with Vittorio across from her, and she's smiling at something he's saying, and I know it's fake, can see the tension in her shoulders, can read the careful distance she's maintaining, but Vittorio can't.
Or doesn't care.
He sees me approaching and his expression shifts into something I don't like.
"Bianchi." He doesn't stand. "Nice of you to join us."
"I was checking the perimeter."
"For twenty minutes?"
"Security takes time."
"Apparently." He leans back in his chair, casual and assessing. "You know, I've been thinking. After the wedding, Isabella's security needs will change. She'll be living in De Luca territory. We have our own people." His eyes meet mine. "We probably won't need your services anymore."
The words land exactly how he intended them to.
"That's Matteo's decision," I say evenly.
"Of course. But I'll be making recommendations. And my recommendation will be that my wife doesn't need to be followed around by men who can't be bothered to stay within sight of her in an empty building." He smiles. "No offense."
Every word out of his mouth is designed to provoke, to establish dominance, to remind me that he's the one who gets to decide what happens to her after Saturday.
"None taken," I say, and my voice is flat and cold.
Isabella is looking at her phone, pretending not to hear this conversation, but I can see her jaw is tight.
Vittorio stands and puts his hand on her shoulder. "We should go. I have meetings this afternoon."
She stands and doesn't look at me as she walks past, and I watch them leave together, his hand on her lower back, as usual, possessive and certain.
