The formal parlor smelled of expensive cologne and scotch.I sat on the edge of a high-backed chair, knees pressed together, hands folded in my lap.My back still felt the ghost of Volkov's hand. The weight of it. The heat.Now that it was gone, I felt exposed.Volkov stood in the far corner, hidden in shadow. He hadn't moved since we'd entered the room.But I could feel his eyes on me.Watching. Assessing.Asset.Father sat in his leather armchair, swirling his drink, smiling at the two men across from him.Signor Rossi, a heavy man with small, hungry eyes.And Enzio, younger, sharper, representing the Moretti family."She is a vision, Dario," Rossi said, his eyes crawling over me. "Moretti is a fortunate man. Silence in a woman... it is a rare gift these days."Father laughed, warm and expansive."My Luna is special." His eyes softened as he looked at me. "She has a gentle soul. She understands the virtue of listening."He leaned forward, his voice full of pride."And the best part?
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