Ciro’s jaw tightened slightly.
Just enough to show the question had landed.
But not enough to give anything away.
“I can’t give you any update on him right now.”
Always the same answer. Always like slamming into a closed door.
“Why not?”
“Vincenzo’s orders.”
The ground beneath me felt suddenly unstable.
“Is he dead?”
The question slipped out faster than I intended.
Ciro’s eyes widened slightly.
“What?”
“Is Renzo dead?” I repeated, voice cracking now. “Seven days in the dark cell—no food, no light—if he passed out—if he—”
“He’s not dead.”
His voice cut through mine.
The tension in my chest didn’t fully release—but it shifted.
Ciro’s gaze stayed firm.
“That’s all I can say. For anything else... Ask Vincenzo yourself.”
His gaze locked onto mine.
“After all... you see him every night.”
There was something in the way he said it—an edge, a hint of jealousy, maybe.
As if he wasn’t pleased with me being with Vincenzo every night.
Or maybe I was reading too much into it—maybe his tone and expression meant something else entirely.
I forced a breath through my teeth.
Steadying myself.
“What were you doing in that corner with those boys?” he asked, shifting the subject.
“I told you,” I said flatly. “It was just a discussion.”
Then, carefully, I added, “I have a request.”
Ciro raised an eyebrow.
“Switch my hall to the Hall of Shadows.”
