“I didn’t even know you had an heirloom ring.”
My brows furrowed as I tried to make sense of it.
“I didn’t know anything that belonged to your mother still existed in this house.”
A beat.
“And why the hell would I steal from you?”
My voice sharpened slightly now, frustration creeping in.
“You’ve given me access to your accounts, your cars, your entire damn wardrobe.”
I gestured faintly toward the house.
“What possible reason would I have to take some sentimental trinket?”
Silence stretched between us.
Heavy. Tense.
I spun toward Ciro, disbelief sharpening my tone until it cut clean through the air.
“You saw me put a ring in my brassiere?” My voice rose, edged with incredulity. “Where exactly? Because I sure as hell don’t remember doing anything of the kind.”
My gaze locked onto his.
Unblinking.
“You’ve had eyes on me for months—I get it.” A tight breath. “But if you think you saw that, you’re either mistaken...”
A beat.
“...or lying.”
The accusation hung there.
Heavy. Pointed.
Ciro’s expression didn’t change immediately, but something in his jaw tightened.
He cleared his throat, posture stiffening in that controlled, military way of his.
And then, his eyes shifted.
Past me.
To Renzo.
“Use the metal detector,” Ciro said flatly. “Sweep her.”
The order landed like a slap.
Renzo’s jaw clenched instantly.
His hand tightened around the device he was already holding—a sleek, wand-shaped detector, matte black with a small digital screen and a thin coil at the tip.
The kind used in high-security screenings, except heavier.
