Valentina's POV
The study was off the main hall, behind a door that looked decorative until it didn't.
Massimo's hand was at my back the whole way there, through the reception floor, through the corridor, past the secondary bar where two of Alessandro's cousins were conducting a loud and cheerful argument about football that no one was going to remember tomorrow.
His hand didn't grip. Didn't steer with any force. It guided, the way it always guided, with the particular pressure of a man who believed the woman beside him was exactly where she wanted to be.
I counted the steps.
Fourteen from the reception floor to the corridor junction.
Left turn, not right, right led to the garden terrace, which led to the south perimeter, which was where I needed to be and could not be yet.
Eleven steps down the secondary corridor. The door on the left, dark wood, brass handle, no visible lock from the outside.
The handle turned.
Enzo was already there.
.
