Matteo carved another slice of roasted lamb with the practiced grace of a man who had lived long enough to command every room he stepped into. He chewed slowly, his sharp gaze flicking between Lucien and Caroline like a hawk assessing prey. The silence at the dining table stretched until it felt like the chandelier above was humming with tension. Finally, Matteo dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin and spoke in that gravelly, authoritative tone that carried more weight than thunder.
"Is there a problem?" he asked, his words laced with a deliberate slowness, as though daring anyone to contradict him.
