Chapter 18. The Surrender

Ezio’s bedroom was larger than she expected—spare, masculine, touched with quiet elegance. The faint scent of tobacco and cedar lingered in the air.

Margherita lingered near the doorway, letting her gaze sweep across the space: the heavy curtains, the low lamp, the dark sheets that caught the amber light. Everything was neat, functional—but it carried him in every detail.

“Come in,” Ezio said quietly. “You can look. I don’t bite.”

She took a few steps toward the vast, king-sized bed, its deep gray sheets beckoning. She stood near it for a moment, then sat gently on the edge, her breath catching as she ran her fingertips over the smooth, cool fabric.

Behind her, Ezio poured two glasses of whiskey.

“Relax,” he said, glancing at her over his shoulder, his voice low, steady. “You look like you’re walking into a fight.”

“Maybe I am,” she replied, managing a small, crooked smile.

He came closer, the amber liquid swirling in two heavy glasses. “Whi