The bullets from outside were only a distraction... because the real assassin was already walking through the library doors.

By eight o’clock, the Duca estate no longer felt like a mansion.

It felt like a fortress holding its breath.

Security swept the bluff and found shell casings but no shooter. The east camera feed had been looped for exactly eleven minutes. The backup server had logged no breach. Carlo insisted the system had been attacked remotely.

Mia did not believe him.

Remote breaches were clean. This felt personal.

Lorenzo ordered dinner served anyway.

“That’s ridiculous,” Mia said when Carlo informed her.

Carlo’s eyes hardened. “Mr. Duca does not hide in his own house.”

“No, apparently he sits near large windows and invites everyone to guess which fork is poisoned.”

Carlo stepped closer. “You are temporary.”

Mia smiled. “Then you only have to hate me until breakfast.”

The dining room was long, gold-lit, and cold despite the fireplace burning at one end. Lorenzo sat at the head of the table. Matteo sat to his right. Mia stood behind Matteo’s chair, hands folded, eyes moving.

There were eleven people at dinner.

Lorenzo. Matteo. Carlo at the side wall. Two old family advisers. A priest who looked too nervous to be innocent. A cousin named Enzo who smiled with too many teeth. Three household staff. And a woman introduced as Bianca Vale, Lorenzo’s attorney.

Bianca’s suit cost more than Mia’s car. Her eyes missed nothing.

“Mia Callaway,” Bianca said, studying her. “The temporary guard.”

Mia nodded. “Bianca Vale. The lawyer who knows enough to sleep badly.”

Matteo coughed into his water glass.

Bianca’s mouth curved. “I like her.”

Lorenzo did not.

The first course arrived: soup, bread, wine. Matteo reached for his glass.

Mia caught his wrist.

Every eye at the table turned toward her.

Matteo looked up. “Again?”

“Don’t drink that.”

Carlo exhaled loudly. “For God’s sake.”

Mia took the glass from Matteo and set it in the center of the table.

Lorenzo’s voice dropped. “Explain.”

“The wine was poured from the same bottle for everyone,” Carlo said. “I watched.”

“The wine is fine,” Mia said. “The glass isn’t.”

She pointed to the rim. Under the chandelier, there was a faint shine on one side. Not water. Not wine. Something thicker, wiped thin.

Bianca leaned forward.

Enzo chuckled. “A smudge? We are stopping dinner for a smudge?”

Mia picked up a clean napkin, pressed it to the rim, then held it up. The white cloth showed the faintest gray stain.

Lorenzo looked at one of the servers. The young man had gone pale.

“Who set this place?” Lorenzo asked.

The server swallowed. “I—I did, sir. But I didn’t—”

A crash interrupted him.

The priest had dropped his spoon.

His hands were shaking.

Mia turned her head slowly.

The priest stood. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “I was told it would only make him sleep.”

Carlo moved first, but Mia was faster.

The priest pulled a small pistol from beneath his jacket. Mia seized the soup bowl from the table and hurled it into his face. Hot liquid splashed across his collar. He shouted, fired wildly, and hit the chandelier.

Crystal rained down.

Mia shoved Matteo out of his chair and kicked the priest’s knee sideways. He collapsed with a scream. Carlo pinned him down.

The room erupted.

Lorenzo stood motionless at the head of the table, face drained of all color.

Mia picked up the fallen pistol and removed the magazine.

Matteo rose behind her, breathing hard. “You saved me twice.”

Mia glanced back. “Technically three times. I also stopped you from drinking poisoned glass wine.”

Enzo stared at her now with open fear.

Bianca Vale smiled faintly.

Lorenzo looked at the priest on the floor.

Then he looked at Mia.

“Who sent you?” he asked the priest.

The priest cried harder.

Mia crouched beside him. “The man who hired you told you the drug would make Matteo sleep. But the shooter outside wasn’t trying to make him sleep. So either you were lied to, or this wasn’t the real attempt.”

The priest closed his eyes.

Bianca leaned over him. “Name.”