The location was a private villa.
Abandoned, by official records.
But clearly maintained.
Lights on.
Security minimal.
Too minimal.
Emily noticed it immediately.
"This is staged."
Alexander nodded once.
"Of course it is."
They entered anyway.
Inside, the air was still.
Heavy.
No music.
No staff.
No movement.
Only one table.
Set for three.
Wine already poured.
That was when the voice came.
From the shadows.
"Alexander Moretti."
Slow.
Calm.
Controlled.
The man stepped into the light.
Same face Emily had seen at the gala.
Same eyes.
Sharp.
Observing.
Unafraid.
"You brought her," he said.
Alexander didn't react.
"She was not optional."
The man smiled faintly.
"Interesting."
His gaze shifted to Emily.
Lingering.
Assessing.
"So this is the variable."
Emily didn't look away.
"And you're the one hiding behind a fake name."
The man's smile widened slightly.
"Director is not fake."
A pause.
"It is earned."