The federal prosecutor arrived at eleven seventeen in the morning wearing a navy overcoat and the expression of a man who enjoyed ruining expensive lives.

Ivy noticed him immediately through the front windows.

Mostly because nobody walked toward the Moretti mansion like that.

No hesitation.

No fear.

Just steady footsteps across snow-covered stone while two black SUVs idled silently near the gates behind him.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

She stood in the kitchen holding coffee beans while Marta watched the security monitors mounted beneath the cabinets.

“That man looks like taxes in human form,” Ivy muttered.

Marta didn’t answer immediately.

Then quietly:

“Vincent Hale.”

The name meant nothing to Ivy.

The reaction inside the mansion did.

Guards moved faster.

Phones appeared.

Conversations stopped halfway.

One of Lucien’s men nearly jogged through the hallway outside.

Okay.

That was new.

Ivy stepped closer to the monitor.

The man looked mid-thirties. Dark hair. Sharp suit beneath the overcoat. Clean-shaven. Calm.

Government calm.

The dangerous kind.

“What’s he here for?”

Marta lowered the monitor volume slightly.

“Federal prosecutor.”

Ivy blinked.

“…Excuse me?”

The front doors opened downstairs.

Lucien entered the foyer below.

Black suit.

Gray tie.

One hand tucked loosely into his pocket.

Completely calm.

Of course.

Vincent Hale stopped several feet away from him.

The two men stared at each other across polished marble while snow melted quietly from Hale’s coat.

Nobody spoke immediately.

The silence alone felt expensive.

Ivy leaned closer toward the screen.

“Oh, this is absolutely about crime.”

Marta sighed softly.

“Lower your voice.”

“Why? The federal government already found the mansion.”

Downstairs, Hale finally smiled slightly.

Not warm.

Professional.

“Lucien Moretti.”

Lucien’s expression didn’t move.

“Vincent Hale.”

“I appreciate the invitation.”

“You invited yourself.”

Hale removed leather gloves slowly.

“Semantics.”

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Ivy grabbed coffee automatically while watching.

The energy downstairs felt strange even through the monitor.

Controlled.

Sharp.

Like two predators politely pretending civilization existed.

Hale glanced briefly around the foyer.

“Beautiful house.”

Lucien didn’t answer.

“That usually means yes,” Hale added.

Lucien’s gaze stayed flat.

“You’re wasting my time already.”

Hale laughed softly under his breath.

Oh.

That was dangerous confidence.

Marta muted the monitor completely.

Ivy looked offended immediately.

“Excuse you.”

“You don’t need to hear this.”

“That sentence guarantees I absolutely do.”

Marta ignored her.

Rude.

The kitchen doors opened suddenly.

Matteo walked in carrying folders and a stress headache.

He stopped immediately when he saw the monitor.

“…Fantastic.”

Ivy pointed dramatically.

“You have a federal prosecutor in your foyer.”

“Yes. We noticed.”

“He looks expensive.”

“He is expensive.”

Ivy looked between both of them carefully.

“Should I be worried?”

Matteo stared at her.

Then toward the foyer monitor again.

Then back to Ivy.

“…Maybe avoid saying the word ‘money laundering’ near him.”

Silence.

Ivy blinked once.

Then slowly:

“Oh my God.”

Matteo rubbed a hand down his face.

“That reaction isn’t helping my stress level.”

Ivy pointed at the monitor again.

“Your family has a federal prosecutor.”

“We’re aware.”

“He’s investigating you?”

“No.”

“That was way too fast.”

Matteo sighed.

“He investigates everyone.”

“Comforting.”

The kitchen doors opened again.

Lucien entered this time.

The room shifted immediately.

Always.

His eyes landed on Ivy first—

then the coffee in her hands—

then Matteo standing beside her.

A familiar coldness flickered briefly through his face.

Interesting.

Still possessive.

Good to know.

Lucien loosened one cuff calmly.

“Hale will stay for lunch.”

Marta closed her eyes briefly like a woman receiving news from God personally designed to ruin her afternoon.

Matteo muttered something deeply Italian under his breath.

Ivy looked delighted.

“Oh, absolutely not. I’m staying.”

Lucien looked at her.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You talk too much.”

“I’m funny.”

“You’re reckless.”

“Again with the compliments.”

Matteo turned away quickly.

Laughing.

Traitor.

Lucien ignored him completely.

“You’ll stay away from Hale.”

“Why?”

Lucien’s gaze sharpened slightly.

“He asks questions.”

“That’s literally his job.”

“He’s good at it.”

“And?”

“And you answer questions when nervous.”

Ivy looked offended.

“I do not.”

“You told a florist your landlord had ‘hostile energy’ last week.”

“That was true.”

Lucien stepped closer now.

Close enough that she noticed exhaustion sitting beneath his eyes again.

The man slept like a hunted animal.

Badly.

“You are not involved in conversations with Vincent Hale,” he said quietly.

The softness in his voice somehow made the order heavier.

Ivy crossed her arms.

“You sound nervous.”

Lucien’s expression remained unreadable.

“I sound cautious.”

“You sound like a mafia king with legal anxiety.”

Matteo made a choking sound.

Lucien looked at him once.

Matteo immediately focused on paperwork.

Coward.

The front doors opened faintly downstairs again.

Voices drifted through the hallway.

Hale moving deeper into the mansion now.

Lucien’s attention shifted briefly toward the sound.

And Ivy—

unfortunately—

noticed something.

Tiny.

Still there.

Tension.

Not fear.

Lucien Moretti didn’t scare easily.

But Vincent Hale mattered.

That realization settled quietly into her chest.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

—

Lunch turned into a disaster immediately.

Mostly Ivy’s fault.

She sat beside Marta at the long dining table trying very hard not to stare openly at the federal prosecutor seated directly across from Lucien.

Very hard.

Still failed.

Vincent Hale noticed everything.

That became obvious within five minutes.

He looked polished in the way lawyers and politicians looked polished. Controlled smile. Calm voice. Expensive watch hidden subtly beneath tailored sleeves.

The dangerous part?

His eyes.

Nothing escaped them.

Hale glanced toward Ivy while accepting wine from staff.

“And you are?”

Lucien answered first.

“Ivy Bennett.”

Hale looked back toward him slowly.

Interesting.

Then his attention returned to Ivy.

“Family friend?”

Before Lucien could answer again, Ivy smiled brightly.

“Hostage.”

Silence.

Matteo covered his face instantly.

Marta drank wine.

Lucien closed his eyes briefly.

Hale stared at Ivy for one long second.

Then laughed softly.

“Well. That’s new.”

Lucien’s voice came flat.

“She’s joking.”

“I’m hilarious.”

“You’re exhausting.”

Hale watched the exchange carefully now.

Too carefully.

Predator eyes.

“Oh,” he murmured softly.

Lucien’s gaze sharpened instantly.

“What.”

Hale leaned back slightly in his chair.

“Nothing.”

Liar.

Absolute liar.

Ivy noticed immediately.

Lucien definitely did too.

The atmosphere shifted subtly across the table.

Then Hale turned toward Ivy again.

“So how long have you worked for Mr. Moretti?”

Lucien answered first again.

“She doesn’t work for me.”

Ivy lifted one brow.

“You literally said ‘you work for me now.’”

Matteo nearly inhaled water.

Marta looked ready to retire permanently.

Hale smiled slowly.

There it was.

Interest.

Real interest.

Lucien’s expression hardened instantly.

The prosecutor rested one arm casually against the table.

“And what exactly do you do here, Ivy?”

Lucien spoke before she could answer.

“She makes coffee.”

Hale blinked once.

Then looked at Ivy.

Then back at Lucien.

Something clicked visibly behind his eyes.

Oh no.

Oh absolutely no.

Ivy saw it happen in real time.

Hale leaned slightly forward now.

“You brought a barista into your house.”

Lucien’s voice cooled several degrees.

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

“No, actually,” Ivy jumped in quickly, “it’s mostly debt and emotional instability.”

Lucien looked at her sharply.

Too late.

Hale’s attention locked fully onto her now.

“Debt?”

Oops.

Tiny oops.

Ivy realized her mistake instantly.

Lucien’s jaw tightened once beside her.

The room went very quiet.

Hale’s tone stayed casual.

“What kind of debt?”

Ivy opened her mouth—

Lucien interrupted smoothly.

“Student loans.”

The lie arrived too fast.

Too clean.

Hale noticed immediately.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

The prosecutor leaned back again slowly.

“I see.”

No, he absolutely did not see.

He suspected.

That was worse.

Lunch continued after that, but the atmosphere never recovered.

Hale kept watching Lucien whenever Ivy spoke.

Lucien noticed every single time.

And Ivy—

Ivy realized halfway through dessert that she had accidentally become evidence in whatever silent war existed between those two men.

Fantastic.

Absolutely fantastic.

—

After lunch ended, Ivy escaped toward the library carrying leftover coffee and emotional regret.

She reached the hallway corner—

then stopped.

Voices drifted softly from Lucien’s office.

The door remained partially open.

Hale stood inside near the windows.

Lucien faced him across the desk.

Neither man looked relaxed anymore.

“She matters to you,” Hale said quietly.

Lucien’s expression didn’t move.

“You’re mistaken.”

“No.” Hale smiled slightly. “I’m really not.”

Ivy froze completely outside the doorway.

Lucien’s voice dropped colder.

“You came here to discuss business.”

“I came here to understand leverage.”

Silence.

Then Hale added softly:

“And now I do.”

Ivy’s stomach tightened.

Inside the office, Lucien’s hand tightened slowly around the whiskey glass resting beside him.

Not enough to break.

Close.

Hale noticed too.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Then—

without warning—

Lucien looked directly toward the doorway.

Straight at her.