They picked some old estate outside the city—private, gilded, surrounded by trees like it was trying to hide its sins in the foliage. I let them think I was walking into their territory.
I'd made him think he still had control.
The car slowed. Niko glanced at me once through the rearview, silent. He knew. Clan knew. Everyone in the car knew. This wasn't a conversation—it was a crucifixion.
I stepped out.
Gravel crunched under my shoes as I approached the doors. Two of Luca's men stood outside, puffed up and twitchy. I didn't spare them a glance. They moved aside without being told.
Inside, it was all velvet curtains, polished wood, and chandeliers too gaudy for taste. The kind of place that thought money could imitate power. It reeked of Bellandi ego—like he needed the walls to remind me who he thought he was.
But I'd already peeled the skin off that illusion.
