Page 82 of Iron Roses
Fausto enters like he owns the room.
He’s wearing a dark wool coat buttoned at the waist. His silver hair is slicked back, and his beard is groomed to a sharp point at his chin. He has two men with him—one tall and silent, the other wide and heavy across the shoulders.
He smiles like we’re old friends about to drink to the good days.
“Ah,” he says, voice warm but eyes cold. “Sorry for the unannounced visit. I know how these things look.”
He steps further inside, scanning the room as if admiring the decor.
“But we’ve all agreed now, haven’t we?” His tone is pleasant. “Routine checks. Random searches. No one’s being targeted. I just need to find my niece.”
Lorenzo crosses his arms. His stance is casual, but his shoulders are tense. “She isn’t here.”
Fausto raises his eyebrows. He smiles wider.
“I’m sure she’s not. This is just a formality. Ticking boxes, you understand.”
“No,” Lorenzo says. “I don’t.”
Fausto’s grin tightens. He steps closer to the table, brushing a hand over the edge like he’s testing the grain of the wood.
“I could insist.”
I haven’t spoken. I haven’t moved. But my eyes are on him, steady. Unblinking.
He looks at me next. Holds my gaze for a beat too long. Then shrugs.
“You’re right,” he says, shaking his head as if chiding himself. “How disrespectful of me. I shouldn’t have come like this. Stupid, really.”
He turns, motioning to his men.
“Let’s go, boys. No need to stay where we’re not welcome.”
He’s still smiling as he walks out.
I don’t trust that smile.
Lorenzo doesn’t either.
The door closes behind them.
Lorenzo turns to the guard stationed at the wall. “Bring her back. Now.”
The guard nods and moves quickly.
We both stand there in silence. The dining room feels too quiet.
Footsteps return. The guard appears in the doorway.
He’s holding one thing in his hand.
A sandal. The one she had on her foot when she came down this evening.
Delicate. Thin leather.
He holds it up like it’s an answer.
“They’re not in the garden.”
