Six

The moment I stepped into the mansion, I spotted Francesco lounging in the living room, a half-burnt cigarette between his fingers. The smoke curled toward the ornate ceiling, drifting like a threat.

He looked up, his eyes trailing me as I moved toward the staircase.

I didn’t stop.

“Going to see Arabella?” he asked casually, though his voice carried a sharp edge.

I paused on the first step, body half-turned.

“She wasn’t feeling well yesterday.” Francesco took a slow drag, exhaling smoke. “She’s not to be disturbed today. Said so herself.”

That stopped me fully.

“She left a note with Maria,” he added, flicking ash into a crystal tray....