POV: Emilia Conti
I found out from the staff.
Not from Alessio. Not from Gianna. Not even from Luciano, who seemed to enjoy delivering information like a courtesy wrapped around a warning.
It came from Sofia, spoken carefully while she adjusted the fresh flowers in the sitting room, her tone too neutral to be accidental.
"You'll be expected downstairs this evening," she said.
I looked up from the book I hadn't been reading. "Expected by whom?"
She hesitated just long enough to be noticeable. "By the family."
That tightened something in my chest. "For what?"
"For dinner."
I set the book aside. "We have dinner every night."
"Yes," she said. "But not like this."
I stood. "Define 'this.'"
She met my eyes then, and for the first time since I'd met her, there was something like an apology in her expression. "There will be guests."
"How many?"
"Enough," she replied.
I exhaled slowly. "And Alessio didn't think to mention this?"
"He assumed you would be informed."
"By whom?"
She didn't answer.
That told me everything.
When Sofia left, I walked straight to the door.
It opened.
That alone was telling.
The guards didn't stop me as I crossed the corridor toward Alessio's office. One of them looked almost relieved when I passed, as if the confrontation was above his pay grade.
The office door was closed.
I knocked once, hard enough to announce intent.
"Come in."
Alessio stood behind the desk, jacket on, phone in his hand. He looked up the moment I entered, expression already guarded.
"You moved fast," I said.
He set the phone down. "So did they."
"You scheduled a family dinner."
"Yes."
"With guests."
"Yes."
"And you didn't tell me."
"I was about to."
I laughed softly. "You always are."
He stepped around the desk. "This isn't what you think."
"Then explain it," I said. "Because from where I'm standing, this looks like you making a decision while I'm still in the room."
"It's not a decision," he replied. "It's a signal."
"To whom?"
"To everyone who's been watching."
"And what exactly are you signaling?" I asked.
"That you're not temporary."
My jaw tightened. "You don't get to decide that."
"I don't get to delay it either," he said. "Luciano has already started talking."
"So this is damage control."
"This is containment," he corrected.
I crossed my arms. "You promised you wouldn't move without telling me first."
"I am telling you."
"You're informing me after the fact," I shot back.
"That's the difference between courtesy and consensus," he said. "And consensus isn't possible here."
"Because you won't allow it."
"Because time won't," he replied.
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "You're rushing this because you're afraid."
"Yes," he said without hesitation.
That surprised me.
"Of what?" I asked.
"That if I don't define your position, someone else will."
"And you think this protects me."
"I know it does," he said. "In this world."
I stared at him. "You're putting a target on us both."
"It's already there," he replied. "I'm just controlling the angle."
I shook my head slowly. "This isn't protection. It's escalating."
"Yes," he said again. "Because de-escalation is no longer an option."
Silence stretched between us, taut and heavy.
"Do I get a say?" I asked finally.
He met my gaze. "You get a voice."
"That's not the same thing."
"No," he agreed. "But it's more than most would offer."
Anger flared. "I'm not most."
"I know," he said. "That's why this is complicated."
I took a breath, steadying myself. "What exactly is going to happen tonight?"
"Nothing," he replied. "And that's the point."
I frowned. "You're inviting people to see nothing?"
"I'm inviting them to see stability," he said. "You at my side. Calm. Untouchable."
"Like an exhibit."
"Like a partner," he corrected.
I laughed, sharp and incredulous. "You want me to play the role."
"I want you to exist visibly," he said. "That alone changes the board."
"And tomorrow?" I asked. "What happens after they've seen me?"
"Tomorrow," he said, "the rumors stop asking whether you're leaving."
"And start asking what I get in return."
"Yes."
I stepped back. "You're trading me for peace."
"I'm preventing war."
"At my expense."
"At everyone's," he replied.
I stared at him for a long moment, then nodded once. "Fine."
His brows knit slightly. "Fine?"
"I'll attend," I said. "I'll sit at your table. I'll smile if necessary."
A flicker of relief crossed his face before he masked it.
"But," I continued, "you don't get to script me."
He studied me. "What does that mean?"
"It means," I said calmly, "I won't lie. I won't perform affection. And I won't pretend this is something it's not."
"That could complicate things."
"Good," I replied. "Complication is the only leverage I have."
Silence.
"You'll stand beside me," he said.
"Yes."
"You won't contradict me publicly."
"No," I said. "But I won't echo you either."
He exhaled slowly. "You're walking a fine line."
"I've been doing that since the night I met you," I replied.
Another pause.
"What if they ask about the future?" he asked.
I met his gaze steadily. "Then you let me answer."
His jaw tightened. "That's a risk."
"So is everything you've done since I arrived," I said. "You don't get control without trust."
"I don't trust easily."
"I've noticed."
He was quiet for a moment, then nodded once. "All right."
That surprised me more than anything else he'd said.
"All right?" I echoed.
"You answer for yourself," he said. "Within reason."
I smiled faintly. "Define reason."
"You don't declare war at my dinner table."
"No promises," I said dryly.
A corner of his mouth lifted despite himself.
When I turned to leave, he spoke again.
"Emilia."
I stopped.
"This isn't an engagement announcement," he said. "Not yet."
I looked back at him. "That's not reassuring."
"It's honest."
I nodded once. "Then be honest about this too."
He waited.
"You're not accelerating this because of them," I said. "You're accelerating it because you don't want to lose control of the narrative."
His eyes darkened. "Yes."
"And you're afraid," I added quietly, "that if you wait, I'll make a choice you can't undo."
Silence.
"That's the risk you take when you stop locking doors," I said.
I left before he could respond.
Back in my suite, Sofia was waiting with a dress laid out across the bed.
It was elegant. Understated. Neutral.
A declaration without spectacle.
"You'll look appropriate," she said carefully.
I ran my fingers over the fabric. "Appropriate for what?"
"For being seen," she replied.
I nodded slowly.
This wasn't a proposal.
This wasn't even an agreement.
It was positioning.
And tonight, the house would see me not as a guest, not as a secret, not as a problem to be solved quietly—
But as something that required attention.
Whatever they thought they were doing by accelerating the timeline, they were forgetting one thing.
I wasn't stepping into their narrative.
I was entering it with my eyes open.
And that meant they were no longer the only ones choosing where this went.