The door that closed behind Killian carried a finality that troubled Robert far more than he cared to admit. Even with a man shadowing Killian’s every step, the silence that lingered in the study unsettled him.
He stood still, staring at the space his youngest son had vacated. The air had shifted, colder, heavier. Killian’s silence hadn’t been submission.
It had been strategy.
And Robert Wolfe had built empires by reading strategy before it bloomed into threat.
He moved to the window, adjusting his cuffs with deliberate control. Naples was handled. The war, for now, was quiet. But something inside these walls was festering. Something louder than gunfire. More dangerous than any external enemy.
Ivy’s silence.
Killian’s shift.
Victor’s instability.
The rot had started from within.
And that, Robert could not allow, not with the world watching. The Wolfe name could weather almost anything. But not if it was poisoned from its core.
He turned from the window. He needed to see it for himself.
