The silence in the foyer hung like a drawn weapon. Sophia’s gaze remained locked on Elena, whose sharp eyes darted toward the far corridor where Luca stood talking in hushed, authoritative Italian with Marco.

The next morning, Lake Como was bathed in bright, golden autumn sunlight. The mist hung low over the dark blue waters of the lake, framed by the towering, snow-capped Alps in the distance.

Sophia woke up early. The bed was empty, but the scent of sandalwood and clean linen remained on the pillow next to hers.

After dressing in a comfortable sweater and dark jeans, she navigated the winding stone corridors of the estate until she found the ground-floor kitchen. It was a chef’s dream—massive stainless-steel counters, twin commercial ovens, a walk-in pantry, and rows of copper pots hanging from exposed wooden beams.

Standing near the stove was an older Italian woman with silver hair pulled into a tight bun, stirring a pot of espresso.

"Good morning," Sophia said cheerfully.

The woman turned, her sharp eyes scanning Sophia from head to toe. This was Maria, the estate’s head housekeeper who had served the Moretti family for thirty years.

"Signora Moretti," Maria said formally, setting down her spoon. "You should be in bed. The kitchen staff handles breakfast."

"Please, call me Sophia," she replied, walking over to the counter and inhaling the aroma of fresh coffee. "And I can't stay out of a kitchen. It's an illness, really. Do you have flour, butter, and fresh eggs?"

Maria blinked. "Of course. But Signor Luca prefers a quiet breakfast—"

"Signor Luca is about to have fresh brioche and lemon-ricotta tarts," Sophia interrupted gently, already rolling up her sleeves. "Where do you keep the mixing bowls?"

For the next hour, the estate kitchen was filled with the warm, rich scents of toasted butter, vanilla, and lemon zest. Sophia moved with practiced, effortless efficiency, her hands dusting flour across the stainless counter as she shaped dough and whipped fresh cream.

When Luca walked into the kitchen at seven o’clock, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit for his meeting in Milan, he stopped dead in his tracks.

The grand, sterile kitchen looked completely transformed. Flour dusted the edge of the main counter, fresh pastries were cooling on wire racks, and Sophia was standing near the oven, her nose slightly smudged with white flour, humming a pop song under her breath.

"What is all this?" Luca asked, his voice full of quiet wonder.

Sophia turned, wiping her hands on an apron. "Breakfast. I hope you like lemon. I wasn't sure if you preferred sweet or savory, so I made both."

Luca walked over to the counter, picking up a golden-brown pastry. He took a bite, his eyes closing as the delicate, buttery layers melted on his tongue.

"Sophia," he murmured after swallowing, looking at her with genuine awe. "This is... incredible."

"It's just brioche," she said, blushing slightly under his intense gaze.

"It's not just brioche," Maria said from the doorway, holding a cup of coffee, a rare smile gracing her stern face. "It's the first time in five years this kitchen has smelled like a home."

Luca set the pastry down and stepped closer to Sophia. Ignoring the flour on her cheek, he reached out and gently thumbed it away, his long fingers trailing down her jaw.

"I have to leave for Milan in thirty minutes," Luca said softly, his tone shifting into something darker, more serious. "The Council meeting will be tense. Matteo will try to provoke me, and he will certainly try to question the validity of our marriage."

"Take some pastries for the Council," Sophia suggested, her hazel eyes twinkling. "Nothing diffuses mob tension like high-end carbohydrates."

Luca let out a deep, rumble of a laugh that warmed the whole room. "I will take them. But I am leaving Marco and six extra men here to guard the perimeter while I am gone."

Sophia’s smile faded slightly. "Do you really think Matteo would try something here?"

"Matteo is desperate," Luca said, his eyes darkening. "He knows that if this marriage stands, his chance of taking control of the Syndicate is gone forever. Be careful, Sophia. Do not leave the estate grounds without Marco."

He leaned down, pressing a firm, warm kiss to her forehead that lingered for several seconds.

"I will be back before midnight," he promised.

By three in the afternoon, the estate was quiet.

Sophia had spent the day exploring the grounds with Marco trailing at a respectful distance. The gardens were breathtaking, terrace after terrace of roses, olive trees, and ancient stone statues overlooking the lake.

As she sat on a stone bench reading a book, the heavy iron gates at the bottom of the driveway creaked open.

A sleek black sedan pulled up the gravel path, stopping near the fountain.

Sophia stood up, expecting Luca to return early. But when the rear door opened, it wasn't Luca who stepped out.

It was a striking woman with long blonde hair, dressed in a white designer trench coat, wearing sunglasses that she slowly pulled down to reveal cold blue eyes.