He held a silver cane between his knees, his liver-spotted hands resting on the polished metal handle.

“Bring her closer,” Salvatore said.

His voice was a dry rasp that seemed to fill the quiet room.

The guard shoved me toward the desk, and my knees hit the edge of a heavy Persian rug.

“You look pale, Maya,” Salvatore murmured, his eyes scanning my face with cold curiosity.

“Where are my children?” I demanded, my voice trembling despite my effort to keep it steady.

Salvatore ignored my question and looked up at Camille.

“Did you have any trouble on the road?” he asked.

“None,” Camille said, taking a seat in a leather armchair near the fire. “Adrian was foolish enough to let her out of his sight.”

Salvatore tapped his cane against the floor.

“He has always been soft where you are concerned, Maya,” the old man said to me.

He reached onto the desk and picked up a sleek black smartphone.

He tapped the screen and placed it on the polished wood.

The line began to ring, the tone echoing loudly in the quiet study.