Matteo looked at me, and for a fraction of a second, I saw the calculation running behind his dark eyes.

He knew I had been locked in the bridal suite under guard since the ceremony.

He knew I had no access to the kitchens, the servants, or any poison.

“Gianni,” Matteo said, his voice flat. “The girl was guarded by your men all afternoon.”

“She must have brought it from America,” Gianni snapped, not lowering his gun from my face. “Her father owed millions. This was their way out.”

“The father is a debtor, not an assassin,” Matteo said, stepping slowly between Gianni’s gun and me.

“Are you defending her, Matteo?” Gianni asked, his eyes narrowing. “Your uncle lies dead on the table.”

“I am looking at the facts,” Matteo said, his voice perfectly calm despite the blood on his cuffs.

He glanced back at me, his face expressionless, but his hand gripped my upper arm with sudden, painful force.

“We take her to the basement,” Matteo said to the room. “We question her properly.”

Gianni frowned, clearly wanting to end it here. “We should shoot her now.”