Chapter 11. The Visit

Margherita woke slowly, the haze of sleep still clinging to her. For a moment, she thought she was dreaming—until she saw him.

Ezio sat comfortably in the armchair near the window, one leg crossed over the other, a cup of coffee in hand. The faint aroma of roasted beans mingled with the morning light.

“Good morning, fiorellina,” he said, his voice lazy, amused.

Margherita stiffened, instinctively clutching the duvet to her chest. “What are you doing here?”

Ezio’s smirk deepened. “It’s my house. I go where I please.”

She muttered something under her breath—he caught the tone, if not the words. Throwing the covers aside, she rose from the bed, grabbed her silk robe from the chair, and tied it tightly around her waist. When she turned to face him, her arms were folded across her chest.

“What do you want?” she asked coolly.

Ezio tilted his head, studying her with open amusement. “Just checking on my pretty little prisoner. You’ve been so