Chapter 41 -
Nia navigated the hushed corridors of the west wing, the weight of Leonardo’s unexpected news about Isadora settling in her chest like leaden relief. When she reached her quarters, the door was already ajar. Rosa was inside, methodically stripping the expensive linen from the king sized bed.
The older woman looked up, her ocean green eyes scanning Nia with a practiced, maternal eye. "How was your meeting with the boss?".
Nia sank onto the edge of the mattress, her hands smoothing the remaining fabric. "Less terrible than expected".
Rosa paused, a corner of a sheet clutched in her weathered hand, and a small, secretive smile touched her lips. "He is not always the monster everyone thinks, dear child".
Nia let out a short, dry laugh, the sound hollow in the massive room. "Could have fooled me. He still maintains that my death is the only alternative to Alex’s return".
"Could have, but didn't," Rosa countered, casting a knowing look toward Nia that made her feel uncomfortably transparent.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Nia asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.
Rosa returned to her work, tucking a fresh corner with military precision. "Nothing, dear. Nothing at all".
~
The dining hall was a cavern of gold leaf and velvet, yet it felt as cold as a mausoleum. A single crystal chandelier hung above the long table, its light fracturing against the silver cutlery like shards of ice. Nia sat in her usual place, the weight of the DeSanto legacy pressing against her shoulders. The air carried the familiar, sharp scent of expensive tobacco mixed with something ancient and metallic, a smell that always seemed to cling to the stone walls of the mansion.
Micheal appeared in the doorway, his steps lacking the rigid precision of his brothers. He slid into the chair beside Nia with a casual grace that felt out of place in a room designed for intimidation. He leaned in, the faint smell of whiskey following him, and offered a grin that was far too bright for the current atmosphere.
"I am having a few people over tomorrow night," Micheal said, his voice a low murmur that barely carried over the clinking of porcelain. "A little gathering to break the crushing boredom of this fortress."
Nia did not look up from her plate. She focused on the steam rising from her meal, her posture stiff. "Good for you," she replied, her tone as dry as the wine in Leo’s glass.
"You should come," Micheal continued, undeterred by her lack of interest. He rested an arm on the back of her chair, his blue eyes dancing with a familiar, reckless light. "The music will be loud enough to drown out the sound of the guards’ boots, and the drinks will be top shelf."
Nia finally turned her head, her gaze meeting his with a flat, unimpressed look. "I am a prisoner, Micheal. Have you forgotten the armed man standing outside my bedroom door, or do you just choose to ignore him?"
Micheal chuckled, a sound that carried a hint of dark humor. "All the more reason to have some fun. A cage is still a cage, Nia, but that does not mean you have to sit in the corner and pout. Besides, I am a DeSanto. I can get you past the velvet ropes."
The air in the room suddenly grew heavy, the temperature dropping as if a shadow had passed over the sun. At the head of the table, Leo’s jaw tightened, a small muscle leaping beneath his skin. He had been silent, his gray eyes fixed on a report, but now he looked up, his gaze pinning them both to their seats.
"Absolutely not," Leo said. The words were not loud, yet they carried the absolute finality of a death sentence. He placed his glass down with a slow, deliberate motion, the crystal clicking sharply against the polished wood.
Micheal didn't flinch, though he shifted slightly in his seat. "Come on, Leo. She is not going to bolt. Where would she go? The grounds are crawling with your wolves."
Leo’s eyes narrowed, the gray depths turning the color of a winter storm. "She stays in her wing. I will not have her wandering through your circus of associates."
"You are no fun," Micheal muttered, though he kept the smirk on his face. He turned back to Nia, winking as if they shared a secret the Enforcer could not touch. "He is just grumpy because he forgot how to dance."
Nia looked from the playful brother to the stone faced captor, the tension between them a physical cord. She realized then that in this house, even a simple invitation was a tactical move in a much larger game.
~
The dining hall felt like a tomb tonight, cold and smelling of old stone and the sharp, metallic scent of expensive tobacco. Leonardo sat at the head of the table, his presence a heavy weight that seemed to pull the oxygen from the room. He did not look at Nia, yet she felt the heat of his attention as clearly as a physical touch.
“Come on, Leo. Let her have one night,” Micheal said, his voice casual, though his blue eyes remained sharp. He leaned back in his chair, swirling a glass of amber liquid with a deceptive lack of interest. “The girl has been cooped up in that room for long enough. A party is exactly what this mausoleum needs.”
Leonardo placed his fork down. The silver clicked against the porcelain with the finality of a gavel. “No.”
“No?” Micheal repeated, his lips curling into a mocking grin. “Why? Are you afraid she will actually enjoy herself? Or are you just afraid of what happens when she is out of your sight for five minutes?”
Nia watched Leonardo’s jaw tighten. A small muscle jumped beneath his skin, the only sign of the fury simmering beneath his granite exterior. He looked like a predator deciding whether a nuisance was worth the kill.
“Micheal,” Leonardo warned. His voice was low, a vibration that Nia felt in her own bones.
“Let her go, Leo.”