Chapter 3 No Mistakes

By the time Elena woke again, her wounds had been cleaned and bandaged. Sunlight spilled into the room through high arched windows. Someone had left fresh clothes at the foot of the bed. No logos. Soft. Elegant. Expensive.

She dressed slowly, every movement shadowed by dull pain.

The door opened before she could knock.

Marco stood there-broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed, and clearly not fond of her.

"Follow me."

He led her through silent corridors, guarded doors, and marble staircases. The house wasn't a mansion. It was a fortress.

She was brought to a study where Alessandro stood at a bar cart, pouring espresso into a porcelain cup.

"Sit," he said without turning.

Elena obeyed.

He faced her. "I have questions."

"I don't know anything," she said quickly.

"Wrong answer."

His voice sliced through the air. Elena flinched.

He placed a file in front of her. Inside were photos-of her apartment, her job at the gallery, even her trip to Florence last month.

"We've looked into you," he said. "You're clean. But accidents don't happen in my city without a reason."

"You think I was part of it?"

"I think someone wanted you dead. Or they wanted me to find you."

She shook her head, trembling now. "I swear, I'm just a painter. I have no family, no enemies-"

"No mistakes," he interrupted. "I don't allow them. If you're lying-"

"I'm not."

Their eyes locked. Hers were wide with desperation. His, sharp with scrutiny. Something flickered in his gaze.

"You don't lie well," he said quietly. "That may save your life."

Silence hung between them.

Then he nodded to Marco. "She stays. Under watch."

Marco hesitated. "You're sure?"

"I am."

Elena stood slowly. "Thank you," she murmured.

"I'm not doing this for you," Alessandro said.

But even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true.

Something about her unsettled him. And in his world, that made her dangerous.