~ Massimo ~
"Do you love Niamh?"
Cristiano's voice was casual, almost bored, but the question felt like a grenade rolled onto the dinner table.
The silence that followed was deafening. I could hear the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the distant, muffled sound of the autumn wind rattling the windowpanes.
I stared at my brother. His lopsided smirk was a challenge, a taunt.
What game was he playing?
He knew the rules. We didn't talk about love in this house. We talked about loyalty, blood, and legacy.
Love was a liability—a soft spot for an enemy to slide a knife into.
I risked a glance at Niamh. She was holding her glass of water midway to her lips, her body frozen. Her expression was carefully blank, a mask she had perfected over the last week.
But I saw it—a flicker of something in her turquoise eyes. Was it hope? Was she actually waiting for me to say it?
