Moonlight spilled across the space, silvering the edges of the lake beyond the glass railings.
The water outside was calm.
Like it hadn’t witnessed anything at all.
“Careful... with that much fury, you might just set the whole house on fire.”
The voice came from the shadows behind me.
I froze.
Then turned.
Renzo stepped into the light like he owned it, arms crossed over his broad chest.
Dark eyes pinned me in place.
His black shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbows, exposing tattooed forearms.
“Jealous?” he asked, voice low and mocking. “Jealous that Vincenzo had a grand dinner with Violet. Let me tell you something—Violet is the right woman for him. She always will be. You? You’re nothing but a convenience. A passing moment he could discard whenever he chose.”
He took a step closer, gaze never leaving mine.
“Do you think you have any right to be angry? There’s no love in your marriage. Only control. Only humiliation. So take a chill pill and stop pretending you matter to anyone in this house.”
His words struck like ice in my chest, pain flaring where it had always throbbed.
But I didn’t flinch.
I walked forward anyway, letting the hurt sit silent, and settled onto the small couch in the living room.
My hands rested on my knees, calm but tense.
“My reason for leaving my room,” I said evenly, deliberately ignoring the sting of his cruelty, “Matteo Alvarez sent a wedding gift. Peach liqueur. The one thing I’m allergic to. One whiff, one drop, and I stop breathing.”
I let the pause hang, heavy.
“So tell me,” I added, voice steady despite the edge, “how the hell did Violet’s father know I’m allergic to peach?”
Renzo’s smirk faltered.
For a single, fragile heartbeat, something unguarded flickered across his face.
He straightened slightly.
“You’re allergic to peaches?”
His voice lost its edge, replaced by something more cautious
Almost disbelieving.
“Yes,” I snapped, my voice cutting through the space like glass. “And I want to know how Matteo fucking Alvarez knows something only Vincenzo should know.”
His eyes narrowed.
When he spoke again, his voice had dropped—stripped of its usual mockery, edged instead with something darker.
“On the wedding day. Right before the priest began the vows... I saw Matteo lean in and whisper to one of our servers. Quiet. Quick. Almost hidden.”
