The door opened.
And this time, no one needed to announce it.
Deodoro da Fonseca entered the room with firm steps.
The conversation died instantly.
The focus of attention shifted.
He surveyed the room calmly.
Slowly.
A measured gaze.
Observing each face.
Then he spoke:
"It seems you didn't exaggerate in your letter, Eduardo."
There was a hint of curiosity in his tone.
"This dinner is promising."
Eduardo simply inclined his head in a brief greeting.
"I'm glad you came, Mr. President."
Deodoro did not respond immediately.
His eyes had already moved.
They stopped on the two naval officers.
Custódio José de Melo and Saldanha da Gama.
A slight raise of his eyebrow.
"I must admit, I didn't expect to find the two of you here."
The two exchanged a brief glance before responding.
"The surprise is mutual… Marshal."
A subtle pause.
"Or rather… Mr. President."
That correction carried weight.
Deodoro noticed—but ignored it.
He was well aware of the friction between the new government and the Navy.
The Navy had not defended the Empire only because Dom Pedro II had wished to avoid a civil war on Brazilian soil.
In truth, the Navy was a nest of monarchists.
Custódio and Saldanha were already considered moderates, though they held little sympathy for the republicans.
"I can imagine."
His gaze briefly returned to Eduardo.
"You were… persuasive."
Eduardo allowed himself a small apologetic gesture.
"My only goal was to bring everyone together."
Deodoro let out a soft breath through his nose—almost a grunt.
It almost made him laugh.
But he chose not to comment.
Then he turned.
And stopped.
His eyes were now fixed on Augusto.
For a moment… the atmosphere shifted.
"It's been some time."
"Prince Augusto."
His voice came out lower.
The silence that followed was immediate—and heavy.
Some exchanged glances.
Others avoided reacting altogether.
The term had not been used in a long time.
It was not permitted.
And certainly not among the people in that room.
Augusto maintained his composure.
But there was a slight delay before he replied:
"Indeed, it has been some time, Marshal."
He pronounced the word "Marshal" with a subtly ironic tone, almost mocking.
What followed was a brief nod.
The moment passed.
But it left a mark.
Deodoro held his gaze for another second…
And then moved on as if nothing had happened.
The introductions continued.
Artur Vale was the next to greet Deodoro.
A quick but properly formal salute.
And then came the cause of this entire meeting.
Álvaro Bittencourt.
And that was when something truly changed.
Luis noticed it immediately.
Álvaro was tense.
Far more than before.
He tried to maintain his composure.
But it showed.
This had slipped out of his control.
Deodoro assessed him for a moment.
Unhurried.
His expression unreadable.
"Good evening, Deputy. I hope you are well."
A single short sentence…
but more than enough.
Álvaro responded:
"I wish the same to you, Mr. President."
His voice was firm.
But not entirely.
Deodoro nodded and moved toward his seat.
But the message had already been delivered.
This situation did not please him.
Because of Álvaro's political maneuvers, he had been forced to come here tonight.
Eduardo had been very clear: his presence was essential for the conversation to proceed without obstacles.
Eduardo possessed vast resources.
He was at the end of his life.
And his only daughter was married to the last imperial heir still in the country.
If things spiraled out of control…
If Eduardo chose to support a revolt somewhere in the countryside…
Then the Republic of Brazil—already unstable and ideologically divided—could simply collapse.
And the presence of the Navy in that room made the situation even worse.
Deodoro sat at the table, and a thought quickly crossed his mind:
"Well… this situation isn't entirely bad."
"At least I can resolve everything once and for all—and, by coincidence, I've become involved with Augusto's boy."
On the other side of the table, Colonel Artur remained silently observing. But internally, it was a different story.
He no longer saw this as a meeting.
It was a trap—and someone in that room had planned every detail.
His gaze shifted until it settled on Luis, and remained there for several seconds.
He began to take the boy seriously.
Not only him, but Álvaro as well.
But for a different reason.
Álvaro understood politics.
He knew how to recognize pressure.
He knew how to recognize risk.
And this…
had gone far beyond anything he had anticipated.
Far beyond.
His mind was racing.
Searching for a way out—a way to escape this pit of mud, or at the very least some kind of cover. At this point, he would take anything that could improve his current situation.
He had already lost count of how many times he had felt powerless in that room.
And he had no idea what the next move would be.
And that was the worst part of all.