Chapter 22. Lies They Live With

The morning broke gray and still, a fine mist clinging to the windows. The house was quiet, too quiet—only the smell of freshly brewed coffee hinted at life within.

Ezio buttoned his shirt with mechanical precision, the kind of practiced calm that came from years of discipline. He slid his holster into place, fastened the cuffs of his sleeves, and slipped on his jacket. The mirror caught a reflection he barely recognized—sharp eyes, calm face, a man who looked like he slept soundly.

He hadn’t.

He found Rosa in the kitchen, already awake and dressed, her hands busy with the morning routine that had kept the household running. The smell of toasted bread mixed with the bitter scent of espresso.

“Morning, signore,” she said quietly, pouring him a cup without asking.

Ezio nodded, taking the mug and leaning against the counter. For a while, neither of them spoke.

Rosa’s movements were slower than usual. The clatter of dishes was deliberate, measured—a s