"Lower your weapons," Mara ordered as she walked into the formal drawing room.
Four Ferrante guards held their rifles, aiming them directly at Marco Vitale's chest. The room felt so tense it was hard to breathe.
"Regent," the lead guard said, his finger tight against the trigger housing. "The Boss gave explicit orders. The perimeter is sealed. No one breathes in this house without his permission."
"And I am giving you a direct order right now," Mara interrupted. She kept her spine entirely straight, projecting an authority she desperately needed them to believe. "Lower them. But keep them unholstered."
The guards hesitated.
For a terrifying fraction of a second, Mara thought they might refuse.
Then, slowly, the barrels lowered toward the imported Turkish rug.
Marco stood by the unlit stone fireplace, looking completely unfazed. He was dressed in a dark navy sweater and tailored slacks, entirely unarmed, and perfectly relaxed.
