Evelyn's mind raced. Cornered, she knew a complete fabrication wouldn't hold up against Sandro's sharp intellect. She needed a believable half-truth, something that explained her presence without revealing her journalistic investigation into his criminal activities.
"I… I came here researching my family history," she said, her voice as steady as she could make it. "My grandmother… she grew up in Little Italy. I wanted to learn more about her life, the community she was a part of."
She hoped the vulnerability in her tone, the universal appeal of seeking one's roots, would resonate with him.
Sandro's gaze remained intense, scrutinizing her every reaction. "And this family history… it led you to believe I might be a relevant subject of your research?"
Evelyn hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Your family… the Morettis… it's a well-known name in Little Italy. I came across it in some old records I found. I was simply curious to understand the prominent families of the community my grandmother belonged to."
It was a flimsy explanation, but it was the best she could come up with on the spot. She watched Sandro, waiting for his reaction.
He remained silent for a long moment, his expression still unreadable. He took another sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. The tension in the room was a palpable thing, a tightrope she was precariously balanced upon.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and thoughtful. "Family history can be a powerful draw. It can reveal truths we never expected."
He took a step back, the menacing edge to his demeanor softening slightly, replaced by a contemplative air. "Tell me, Signorina Rossi, what truths were you hoping to uncover about my family?"
Evelyn seized on this slight shift in his tone. "I… I don't know," she said, trying to sound genuinely uncertain. "Old stories, perhaps. The struggles and triumphs of immigrants building a life in a new land."
Sandro's gaze searched hers, as if trying to see beyond her words, into the depths of her true intentions. "And did you find what you were looking for?"
Evelyn shook her head slowly. "Not yet. My… research was interrupted." She gestured vaguely to her still-healing head.
A flicker of something – perhaps sympathy, perhaps calculation – crossed Sandro's face. He lowered his glass to the desk, the clink echoing in the quiet room.
"Perhaps," he said slowly, his voice regaining some of its earlier smooth quality, "I can help you with your research, Signorina Rossi. My family has deep roots in this community. I know many stories."
Evelyn's heart skipped a beat. Was this an offer of genuine assistance? Or a way to control her narrative, to steer her away from the truths he wanted to keep hidden?
"I… I would appreciate that, Signor Moretti," she replied cautiously, trying to mask the suspicion churning within her.
Sandro offered a small, enigmatic smile. "Then perhaps we can discuss it further. But for now," his gaze flickered back to the journal in her hand, "I think it's time for you to rest. You are still recovering."
He extended his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, Evelyn reluctantly placed the journal in his palm. He closed his fingers around it, his touch sending a strange mix of unease and something else she couldn't quite identify through her.
"Goodnight, Signorina Rossi," he said, his eyes holding hers for a long, lingering moment before he turned and left the study, the leather-bound journal disappearing into the shadows with him.
Evelyn stood there, the silence of the room amplifying the frantic beating of her heart. She had survived this encounter, but she knew she was walking a far more dangerous path now. Sandro was suspicious, his interest piqued. The game had become even more intricate, the lines between investigator and… something else… blurring with every shared glance and veiled conversation.