That was fast.
I barely stepped through the door before my older brother was on my neck.
"Why did you go by yourself?" he barked. "You know that's reckless."
I shrugged, kicking off my boots. "Never mind that. Did you get any intel on him?"
"We were waiting on you. Did the information reach the Italians?"
I shook my head. "No. I stopped it before it got to them."
He studied me, and I could tell he wanted to push more. But I didn't have the patience.
"Please excuse me," I muttered, already heading toward the stairs. "I feel sticky… there's blood everywhere."
"Alright," he called after me. "Go freshen up. Meet us in the study when you're done. Father's around."
I froze.
"He's here?" I turned slowly. "Why?"
My brother smirked. "You know him. The only time that man comes around… is when he's bringing trouble."
A dry laugh escaped me. "Perfect. Just what we needed."
After showering, she moved slowly—deliberately.
Every drop of blood had been scrubbed from her skin, but some stains were deeper than water could reach.
She slipped into a simple black dress. Nothing extravagant. She wasn't in the mood to impress—just survive.
Instead of heading straight to the study like her brother had instructed, she walked to the dining room.
The house staff froze when they saw her. Her presence was always like that—quiet, lethal, unexpected.
"Bring me something warm," she said. "Meat. No wine. Just water."
They nodded and scurried off.
She sat alone at the long table meant for family feasts that rarely happened. The silence was loud, but she liked it that way.
She picked up her fork with grace, cutting through the steak like she hadn't just ordered a man's limbs chopped off hours ago.
Whatever was waiting in that study wouldn't be easy.
And if her father was here, it meant one thing:
Either someone was about to die…
Or she was about to be forced into something she'd never come back from.
But none of that mattered right now.
Right now, she was eating.
And the devil could wait.
When she was done eating, she didn't rush.
She wiped her mouth, placed her napkin neatly on the table, and rose.
Then, with slow, deliberate steps, she made her way to the study.
Each heel click echoed through the hallway like a countdown.
She wasn't nervous—just... ready for whatever hell this man had come to deliver.
She opened the door.
The room was dimly lit, heavy with cigar smoke and inherited tension.
Her two brothers were already there.
One leaned against the desk, jaw clenched.
The other sat stiffly, hands fisted, expression carved from irritation.
From the looks on their faces, she could tell:
Whatever garbage their father was spewing... it wasn't going down well.
She stepped in. The old man turned his head.
Cold, sharp eyes met hers.
And then, that familiar voice—coated in scorn and power.
"You finally decided to grace us with your presence."
Her jaw remained tight. She didn't speak.
But her brother did—his glare so sharp it could cut bone.
If looks could kill, their father would've already dropped dead.
The old man chuckled dryly, unfazed.
"I forgot. Princess eats before attending family meetings now."
She didn't blink. Just took a seat, crossing her legs slowly.
"Whatever it is you dragged yourself out of your hole for, get to it."
There was a beat of silence.
Her father leaned forward, fingers steepled.
"You're going to marry the son of Giancarlo Romano. The Italians proposed a peace treaty. That peace comes with a ring. You're the offering."
The room went still.
Her older brother muttered a curse under his breath.
The younger one looked like he was ready to flip the entire desk.
But her?
She just smiled.
"Is this before or after you send me in with a knife under my dress?"