I didn’t move.
“Where’s the package?” I asked, holding out my hand.
Without looking up, he extended a small matte-black box tied with a thin silver ribbon.
I took it.
Turned it in my hands.
Heavy enough to matter. Light enough to be suspicious.
“Who’s it from?” I asked.
“Matteo Alvarez.”
“Violet’s father,” Ciro added.
He still didn’t look at me.
“Apparently, it’s a Spanish custom,” he said, voice steady but distant. “When they attend a wedding—even one they didn’t plan for—they bring a gift for the bride.”
A quiet, humorless breath slipped out of me.
I glanced down at the box again, my fingers tightening slightly around its edges.
“I displaced his daughter at her own wedding,” I said. “And they still sent a gift.”
I lifted my gaze, studying him now.
“From what I understand, the Spanish and the Italians are already at war,” I said, my voice even but edged. “And if anything, it escalated the moment Vincenzo chose me over Violet—their so-called princess. That marriage was supposed to stabilize things, not fracture them further.”
I let that settle before continuing.
“So you’ll forgive me if I’m not exactly eager to trust a gift from them,” I added, glancing down at the box before looking back at him. “Especially one that came from her father.”
A faint pause.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a bomb inside.”
That made him look up.
Just enough.
But enough to meet my eyes.
“It’s been scanned,” he said evenly. “It’s not a bomb.”
A beat.
Then—
“I should go.”
A brief pause, like he was choosing his words carefully.
“I’m... not entirely comfortable staying.”
His hand lifted in a vague gesture toward me, then stopped midway, as if even that felt like too much.
