Page 71 of Iron Roses

A voice. Smooth. Measured.

“Now, son—”

Cassian’s hand tightens instantly around mine.

“—you couldn’t be bothered to sit with your poor uncle? We could’ve watched the game together. I even bought snacks this time.”

Cassian stops. And so do I.

My heart stutters.

Standing in the middle of the hallway, backlit by exit signs, is a tall man in a navy coat—three-piece, charcoal tie, lapel pin shining like bone.

Dante Rivetti.

I haven’t seen his face until now.

But I know him.

My spine locks. Instinct roars through me before logic can catch up. I step slightly behind Cassian.

Just enough to hide in his shadow.

Dante’s gaze flicks to me.

“Well now,” he drawls. “Who’s this?”

He tilts his head. Eyes scan beneath the line of my mask.

Cassian doesn’t move.

He leans forward.

The space between him and Dante narrows.

Dante notices. He pauses. One brow lifts in amusement, but there's tension. Barely veiled.

His hand starts to lift—toward me. He steps, subtly, in front of me.

His hand doesn’t leave mine.

Dante watches. Then—before he can press further—a younger man in a navy overcoat rushes to his side. He leans in, whispers something low.

Dante listens. Then straightens.

“Another time,” he says, eyes still on Cassian. “We’ll talk properly.”

He turns his attention back to me. “Treat my nephew well, young lady,” he murmurs. His gaze lingers. “The Rivettis are kings.”

And then he’s gone.

The moment stretches long after his footsteps fade.

My breath releases only when Cassian gently pulls me forward again, hand still locked with mine. He doesn’t look back.

The car is quiet when we get in. The doors shut with a soft, final click.

Outside, city noise fades into the distance—only the hum of the engine and the pulse of my heartbeat remain.

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