Page 138 of Fire and Silk

In this brutal life—of ports and power plays and betrayal—Nicola and Severo are the only two things that keep me sane.

Matteo appears just as Nicola’s car disappears down the stone path, the taillights dipping behind the line of pines. His coat is half-unbuttoned, his expression sharp but expectant, like he’s been standing by for the right moment.

“We caught them,” he says, voice low.

I glance up. “Caught who?”

“The men skimming cargo and rerouting shipments through unauthorized docks,” he answers. “Two of them. They’ve been using our routes without paying the levy. Third man ran. We’ve got the others locked and waiting.”

Beside me, Severo sighs like a man with an early headache. “Can’t this wait till tomorrow?”

I almost say yes.

Almost.

But then I roll my shoulders back, tilt my head, and smile. “Where are they now?”

Matteo’s face lifts just slightly. “Holding room. Ground level. The south wing’s sealed.”

“Good.” My voice is calm, but my pulse is already shifting.

Severo touches my chin lightly. His fingers are warm. “You’re not tired?”

I shake my head . “I feel as energetic as ever.”

His eyes search mine, and he knows that look.

He lets go, and I turn to Matteo.

“Give me ten minutes to change.”

Matteo nods, already moving ahead of me, muttering something into his comms. Probably telling the men in the lower wing to prepare.

I don’t ask what for.

****

Dantés Estate, Lower Grounds

The hallway to the dungeon smells like rust and secrets. My boots thud over the concrete, the walls pulsing with the echo of our descent. Matteo walks ahead, keys clinking at his side,and doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to. His shoulders are tense, one hand resting on the hilt of the blade strapped to his belt. My recital just finished, and I have business to handle.

Every breath Severo takes trails against my spine. I hear the strike of his lighter before I see the glow. He slips the cigarette between his lips and exhales just once, smoke curling past my neck as we reach the reinforced door.

Matteo stops.

He pulls the bolt and swings the door open.

The room inside is concrete, wet in the corners. Dim bulbs hang from the ceiling, buzzing. Three men are chained to the far wall—hands behind their backs, shirts torn, blood staining the floor beneath their knees. One is unconscious. The other two blink up through swollen eyes.

“They tried to run diamonds through the western port,” Matteo says. “Didn’t clear it through us. Claimed they didn’t know they had to.”

He looks at me. There’s no amusement in his face now. Just fury, tucked into the corners of his mouth.

“They’ve been sitting here for two days,” he adds. “Still won’t say who sent them.”

I nod .

Severo steps to my side. His cigarette burns low, the smoke curling against my jaw. I lift my hand, palm open.