Page 60 of Fire and Silk
The Observatory, Dantès Estate
The screen flickers in pale blue. Motionless at first—then grainy movement as the camera re-adjusts. There they are again. Tucked into each other like some tragic little sketch of devotion. Salvatri’s arms wrapped around her as if muscle alone could erase trauma. Her head resting against his chest. The golden girl and the tarnished knight.
How poetic.
“Are you really letting him take her away tomorrow?” Matteo asks behind me.
I don’t answer immediately. The cigarette burns slowly between my fingers, lazy and elegant. I exhale a ribbon of smoke toward the ceiling and let the silk of my bathrobe fall loose around my chest. The room is warm. Cedarwood and bergamot wafting from the incense I lit an hour ago. My skin is still damp from the bath.
“Yes,” I say eventually, voice low. “That’s if she wants to go.”
I tilt my head toward the screen. Lira is nestled into Salvatri’s arms, still pale. Her legs are curled up like a girl half her age. But her eyes—they’re not closed. They’re moving. Restless. Observing. Even in her exhaustion, her gaze is alive, darting over the room like she’s memorizing the way out.
Matteo crosses his arms, leans against the wall with a frown etched deep into his jawline. “They look cozy together. You sure you can convince her not to leave with him?”
I turn to look at him, slow and deliberate.
The thought unsettles something in me, but I refuse to name it. Jealousy is too small a word for the pulse that tightens in my throat. Possession? No. I don’t possess things. Icuratethem.
“She’s barely even looked at him,” I reply, smirking around the filter of the cigarette. “Her body’s leaning in, but her eyes—her eyes are elsewhere.”
I point with two fingers at the feed. “You see that? That’s not contentment. That’s hunger. A woman who has what she wants doesn’t scan her surroundings like that. She doesn’t flinch when he exhales loud. She doesn’t track the door like she’s counting exits.”
Matteo lifts an eyebrow. “So, you think you can feed that hunger?”
I drag the cigarette again, inhale deep.
“I can offer her a deal that’ll make her stay.”
He looks unimpressed. “You want to marry her now? I thought that was a joke.”
I grin and glance sideways at him. “So, you eavesdrop, Matteo?”
He shrugs, expression dry. “I was curious. About your little chat with the navy seal.”
He moves to the drinks tray, pours himself something brown and unimpressive. I watch his reflection in the glass panel beside the monitors.
Matteo turns back to me, glass in hand. “I thought the plan was to make her waive the inheritance. Nice and simple. Quick. Clean.”
I stub the cigarette out on the brass ashtray. The sound is final.
“It was,” I say, rolling my neck lazily. “But then she had to go and hang herself in my best guest suite. That changes things, no?”
Matteo doesn’t laugh. He rarely does when I’m being serious.
I rise from the chaise, slow and barefoot, the silk of the robe trailing behind me as I walk to the window. Outside, the courtyard is lit with garden lamps and low fog creeping in from the orchard. The roses are asleep. Shame. They’d have enjoyed tonight.
“You want to know why I changed the plan?” I ask.
Matteo watches me cautiously. “Enlighten me.”
I place a hand against the glass, palm open. “Because I want her.”
The smoke from my cigarette has thinned to a whisper against the ceiling.
Onscreen, Lira shifts in Salvatri’s arms. His lips move. She listens, her mouth still. But her eyes... her eyes are somewhere else.
I clear my throat and lean back into the chaise, fingers still loose around the rim of my wine glass.
