The Daughter in the Glass Room

Rome did not feel very much like Italy that morning. It felt like judgment.

Grey clouds hung over the city as Ava stepped out of her car and looked up at the marble mansion among the hills. This was not the villa of the Crosse family. Not even listed in any public documentation. This was Vara's. A gift—if you could call it that—by Luciana before she disappeared. A fortress of restrained, designed wealth. Not flashy. Not cold. Just intentional. Just lethal.

Ava's heels clicked down the private corridor as a butler escorted her in silence to the west wing. Then, the door swung open—and she was there.

Vara.

Hair smoothed back, silk blouse untousled by breeze or emotion. She did not rise from the table where she was pouring tea like they were having brunch.

"I told you to come alone," she said. "You did. That's growth."

"I came for Elena," Ava said flatly.

Vara smiled. "You always think you're the only one who came for something."

Ava followed Vara down a quiet corridor, every painting on