Alessia had learned that information was the only currency. Today, she would start earning. Three days had passed since the call with Nico. She had studied the rhythm of the household. Now she needed to know who reported to Enzo and who did not.
At breakfast, she spoke before Signora Esposito could leave. "I miss the pastries from my old neighborhood. Sfogliatelle with orange blossom," Alessia said.
Signora Esposito's expression did not change. "I will inform the kitchen," she replied, and left.
Later, in the sitting room, the young maid Lucia was dusting. Her hands trembled when she saw Alessia.
"Good morning," Alessia said.
"Good morning, signorina," Lucia replied, her voice barely awhisper.
"I miss the sfogliatelle from my neighborhood. The ones with orange blossom." Alessia kept her voice light. "Do you know them?"
Lucia hesitated. "I am not permitted to leave the villa grounds, signorina. But I have heard of them," she said.
"Of course. I only meant I miss them." Alessia smiled and walked away.
In the garden, the groundskeeper was pruning lemon trees. He was an older man with weathered hands and a cigarette tucked behind his ear.
"Beautiful garden," Alessia said.
He looked up, surprised. "Thank you, signorina."
"I miss the savory pastries from my old neighborhood. Ricotta and spinach. But I suppose I will get used to the food here," she said.
He nodded slowly. "The cook is very good, signorina. But I understand. I miss my village's food too."
The next morning, sfogliatelle appeared on her breakfast tray. Orange blossom. Perfectly made. No savory pastry. Alessia stared at the plate. Lucia had reported her conversation. The groundskeeper had not. She had identified her spy and her safe person in a single move.
She ate slowly, savoring the taste of home, then pressed the loose panel in the wardrobe. She wrote on her scrap of paper: Lucia reports. Groundskeeper does not.
That evening, at dinner, Enzo set down his fork. "Signora Esposito informed me you requested sfogliatelle," he said.
Alessia's pulse quickened. "I mentioned I missed them. I did not expect them to appear," she replied.
"You mentioned it to Lucia. And to the groundskeeper." His dark eyes held hers. "You were testing them."
There was no point in lying. "Yes," she said.
"What did you learn?" Enzo asked.
"Lucia reports to Signora Esposito. The groundskeeper does not," Alessia answered.
Enzo leaned back in his chair. "You identified a spy and a safe person in less than a week." He picked up his wine glass. "What will you do with this information?"
"I have not decided yet," she said.
"You are more dangerous than you look, Alessia De Campo."
"I am a prisoner."
"You have mapped exits, identified loyalties, built a dossier. That is dangerous." He set down the glass. His eyes lingered on her face a beat too long. "I am not your enemy. I am the only thing standing between you and the world that would devour you. Remember that."
The words were a warning. But the way he looked at her was something else entirely. Alessia felt it in her stomach, a pull she refused to acknowledge.
He stood to leave. Then he stopped and turned back.
"The groundskeeper. The one you identified as safe," Enzo said.
Alessia's stomach dropped. "Yes?"
"He has been dismissed."
Her blood went cold. "Why? He did nothing wrong," she said.
"You spoke to him. He did not report. You made him a liability. I removed it." Enzo's eyes were flat, unreadable.
"That is not fair," Alessia said quietly.
"Fair is not a currency I trade in." He picked up his glass and took a slow sip. "Remember that the next time you try to build alliances in my house."
She walked back to her room on unsteady legs. She had tried to find a safe person. Instead, she had erased one. The weight in her chest pressed deeper, and for the first time, she understood that survival in this world might mean becoming something she did not recognize. And worse—she could still feel the pull of his gaze from across the dinner table. Even now. Even after he had just proven how ruthless he was. That terrified her more than the locked door ever could.