Alessio
We smuggled her into the east wing of the estate through the private servant tunnels, avoiding every maid, guard, and cook on the property. Enzo carried her the entire way. She looked light as a feather in his arms, her dark hair trailing over his shoulder, her breathing dangerously light and shallow.
Enzo placed her in the grand master guest room—a secluded suite at the end of the hall with thick mahogany doors and heavy velvet curtains. He immediately ordered Leo to lock the wing down. No staff was allowed inside without explicit permission from either Enzo or myself. If anyone asked, the wing was under renovation.
"She doesn't look like a spy, Enzo," I muttered, pacing back and forth in the private study across the hall. "She looks like she's dying."
Our private family docto
