Vittorio opened the door.
Serena, Luca's secretary, stood on the threshold. Her slender figure was wrapped in a dark cashmere coat, intelligent eyes dancing curiously between the master of the house and Elena's motionless figure.
Serena.
Elena observed her with clinical detachment. A name that meant serene—and reflected nothing of her current emotional state.
And then, it happened. It wasn't a logical thought. It was physical perception.
Elena noticed how Serena's feet settled on the parquet without hesitation. She didn't look for the doormat, didn't wait for directions. Her body already knew the geography of that house.
Click. The Prophet.
She has been here before. She is not a guest. She is a repeat offender.
Serena knew that labyrinth because she had walked it before. And not for professional duty.
A shiver of possession, irrational and poisonous, made its way through Elena's veins.
"Am I interrupting something?"
Serena's voice was velvety, but her eyes were scalpels. Elena felt the woman's gaze linger on her lip, still swollen and bruised, then follow it down to Vittorio's shirt.
Rumpled. A detail that screamed louder than a thousand words, especially on a control freak like the Lawyer. Elena enjoyed the scene.
"Serena."
Vittorio didn't move from the door. His tone was calm, but cold. Not an invitation, a wall.
Elena intercepted the look he threw her for an instant: a flash of complicity, before turning icy again on the secretary.
"Is there an emergency? Can't Luca wait until tomorrow morning?"
Serena entered anyway, heels clicking on the parquet like hammer blows, perhaps hoping to intimidate her.
Mistake number one.
Elena decided to use the evidence as a weapon. She didn't move from the marble island, remaining to guard her newly conquered territory.
She simply ran a hand through her hair, fixing a rebellious strand. A calculated gesture to draw Serena's gaze to her neck. Right there, where the skin still burned.
"Interesting timing," Elena said, her voice still raspy. She held the other woman's gaze without blinking. "We were arguing."
She smiled.
"Heatedly."
She watched the secretary absorb the blow with glacial calm.
"I see," Serena replied, dryly. She shifted her eyes to Vittorio. "You lost your tie. And your precision."
A thin smile rippled her lips.
"Usually, disorder bores you."
Vittorio didn't answer immediately.
For an instant, Elena was about to regret her earlier arrogance, but then he moved with silent fluidity. Not towards the guest, but towards her. Elena felt him position himself behind her, a solid and imposing presence, and then felt his hand on her bare shoulder.
A possessive touch. Deliberate. Displayed like a trophy.
"It's not disorder," he said, tone definitive. "It's life."
Elena felt the tension melt away, her body instinctively leaning into his. Vittorio tightened his grip slightly, anchoring her to him.
"And the tie was unnecessary."
He looked at Serena.
"Like you right now, I fear."
Elena saw Serena stiffen. A shadow of annoyance crossed the secretary's face as her eyes fixed on that possessive hand on the bare shoulder.
"Life consumes, Vittorio," she retorted. "And you have a habit of playing with fire."
She approached the island. Elena watched her stroke the polished marble with slender fingers, the same marble where she had reigned a moment before. Hands off.
"Let's see how long it lasts before you get burned."
She turned, changing register.
"Anyway, back to work. There's a corpse waiting. Luca is in crisis and he wants you."
Elena recognized the manipulation immediately.
Click. The Judge.
Corpse.
A word chosen with surgical care to impress. To test if the "new flame" would falter in the face of horror.
But Elena knew.
She knew, just as she knew how to recognize the steps of someone who belongs, that Serena was lying. Or, at least, romanticizing.
There was no corpse. Or not as she intended it. It was Luca's usual excuse: a drink, a case to discuss at three in the morning, unsolicited opinions on the "Agnelli case."
She wanted to see if Elena would retreat in good order. If she would let Vittorio go alone towards "duty."
Mistake number two.
Elena didn't blink.
A slow, lazy smile surfaced on her lips. Her fingers resumed playing with the button of Vittorio's shirt, right over the heart beating calmly.
"A corpse," Elena repeated, tone light. She held Serena's gaze. "Or maybe Luca just ran out of whiskey and needs an audience?"
She detached herself from Vittorio. Not to move away, but to take control.
She retrieved his jacket from the chair. Handed it to him.
Her hands lingered on the lapels, brushing away non-existent dust. A domestic act performed with a regality that claimed possession of the man inside it.
He is mine. And he is coming with me.
"Some creatures are born in fire, Serena," she said, looking up. "Don't worry about my composure."
She turned to Vittorio. Her eyes shone with a new excitement.
"Tell me..." she whispered, caressing his arm. "Is it a closed show?"
She smiled.
"Because I find death fascinating. Especially when you look it straight in the eye."
Pause.
"You wouldn't want to leave me here, would you?"
Vittorio accepted the jacket. A dangerous glint crossed his gaze as he slipped his arms in. He let her settle it on his shoulders, a silent promise in a room charged with meaning.
But his eyes remained fixed on Serena.
"As you see," he said, "every story has its protagonists."
His fingers brushed the crumpled tie in his pocket.
"Elena comes with us."
He turned to the secretary. Tone definitive.
"Her perspective is irreplaceable. Do you mind?"
Serena didn't blink.
Her gaze passed from Vittorio to Elena with the coldness of a pathologist evaluating an organ for transplant.
Then, a corner of her mouth lifted.
She had decided to enjoy the disaster.
"Curiosity is contagious," she said softly. She turned to Elena, scrutinizing her. "But be warned: fresh blood stains."
She took a step back towards the door, opening it.
"And Luca doesn't like surprises. He might find you... destabilizing."
She threw a last look at Vittorio.
"Let's go."
She went out into the corridor.
Vittorio offered his arm to Elena. A gesture from another time that clashed deliciously with the modern tension of the evening.
As they walked out, he lowered his voice.
"Luca is... complicated," he murmured near her ear. "He sees too much. He feels too much."
He turned to look at her as he closed the front door behind them.
"He knows you well enough to notice when something changes. It will be interesting to see what... he sees tonight."
Elena squeezed his arm. She felt the tense muscles under the fabric.
That comment about Luca tore a smile from her that didn't reach her eyes.
"Luca," she repeated low.
"He sees victims, sure. But can he recognize a predator when it's right in front of him?"
She tapped her palm on Vittorio's chest. A subtle accusation.
Vittorio's smile at her provocation knotted her stomach. Sexy. Damn sexy.
She let him guide her toward the exit.
"Luca sees only what his mind can handle," he replied.
They reached Serena.
The secretary pressed the call button and turned to them. The smile on her lips was a thin blade.
"Oh, I believe Luca sees things exactly as they are," she said, looking Elena straight in the eyes. "Luca sees the abyss..."
Serena's gaze lingered on her.
"... empty."
Click. The Judge.
Fool.
Elena was about to answer, but the elevator doors opened. Vittorio ushered her in first, protecting her back with his hand.
"The abyss is a mirror, Serena," he said, dryly, entering after her. "And Luca sees only his own fears."
Elena smiled.
Checkmate.