Chapter 24. Buried Intentions

The study was quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Morning light filtered through half-drawn curtains, striping the desk in pale gold.

Ezio sat in his chair, a cup of untouched coffee cooling beside him. He had decided to stay home today—a rare choice, one that unsettled even him. The docks could run without him for a few hours. His mind couldn’t.

The night before lingered like smoke.

Margherita’s silence. The tremor in her voice when she’d spoken of her father’s will. The faint bruise of exhaustion under her eyes.

He turned the pen in his hand, the metal glinting in the light.

What kind of life had she lived that she could sit there—calm, almost grateful—and say this was better than what came before?

The will explained some of it.

Simona’s prison. Maurizio’s leash.

It wasn’t freedom she wanted—it was the least painful cage.

He took a slow breath and leaned back in his chair, staring at the muted re