We entered a grand foyer with black marble floors and a crystal chandelier that cast long shadows.

The air inside was warm, smelling of old paper, polished wood, and woodsmoke.

“Is he in the study?” Camille asked a waiting servant in a dark suit.

The servant nodded once. “He is waiting for you, Miss Hart.”

We walked down a long hallway lined with oil portraits of men with gray eyes.

Every portrait felt like it was watching my progress, judging my presence in their house.

The guard pushed me through a set of heavy mahogany doors at the end of the hall.

The study was vast, lined with leather-bound books that reached all the way to the ceiling.

A fire crackled in a large stone fireplace, throwing orange light across the room.

In front of the hearth sat Salvatore Vale in a high-backed leather chair.

He looked thinner than he had a year ago, his skin pale and translucent under the study lights.

But his gray eyes were sharp, holding a cold light that made my stomach twist.