Heir To Silence. Book 1 The Pact of Blood Series

Time passes faster than I expect.

The house changes as my birthday approaches. Florists arrive. Boxes are carried in and out. Alessia appears more often, already talking about outfits and guest lists like it’s her job.

And then Ethan arrives.

He fills rooms without trying. Laughs too loud. Tells stories that start in New York and end somewhere inappropriate. He hugs me like he’s allowed to.

Because he is.

Matteo notices.

Every time.

Ethan notices Matteo too, though he doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches. Files it away.

He stays for dinner one night, long after the sun has set and the house has settled into its evening rhythm. He’s easy with my family, respectful in a way that makes Marco relax and Gio warm to him immediately.

Antonio watches him carefully.

Matteo barely looks at him at all.

Before dinner, Ethan and I end up in my room, sitting on the edge of my bed, laughing like we used to. The door is open. Music low. Shoes kicked off.

“You’re being weird,” he says, grinning. “You’ve got this whole mysterious energy now.”

“Maybe Italy changed me,” I say.

“Or maybe you’re still hiding something.”

I throw a pillow at him. He dodges and laughs, falling back onto the bed dramatically.

“Oh my god,” he groans. “I’m dying.”

I roll my eyes and shove him with my foot. “You’re such an idiot.”

He starts moaning loudly and ridiculously under my sheets, overacting so badly I can’t breathe from laughing. I climb onto the mattress, bouncing once, twice, collapsing beside him as we both lose it.

I’m still laughing when there’s a sharp knock at the door.

Then another.

I tumble off the bed with a thud, gasping, laughing harder. I push myself up and stumble toward the door, hair everywhere, cheeks aching, still smiling.

Ethan is stretched across my bed when I open it.

Matteo stands in the doorway.

The air shifts instantly.

His gaze flicks from Ethan sprawled across my bed to me standing there, arms crossed, smile still on my face.

“That’s enough,” Matteo says calmly.

Ethan sits up, confused. “Sorry?”

“This room isn’t for guests,” Matteo continues. His voice is even, but his eyes are not.

I step forward. “He’s my friend.”

Matteo doesn’t look at me. “Dinner’s waiting.”

Ethan stands, glancing between us. “I’ll… see you downstairs.”

He leaves quickly, the door clicking shut behind him.

The silence that follows is thick.

Matteo steps inside and closes the door.

“You enjoy provoking me,” he says.

“I enjoy living,” I reply.

He moves closer. Not touching. Just close enough that I feel him.

“You don’t understand what you’re doing,” he says quietly.

“I understand you don’t like it.”

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drops. Not to my eyes. Lower. To the soft line of my chest, the way the flimsy fabric pulls tight when I breathe, the faint outline it doesn’t quite hide. His attention lingers there a second too long. Long enough to feel deliberate. Long enough to feel seen.

My breath catches.

His jaw tightens.

For the first time, I see it. Control slipping, just slightly, before he forces it back into place.

His eyes lift to mine again, darker now.

“Fix yourself,” he says quietly.

Then he steps back.

Abrupt. Controlled. Gone.

I stand there for a moment, heart racing, skin warm, furious at the way my body reacts to restraint.

He’s started a war he thinks he can win.

Downstairs, I take my time.

I choose a dress that shows skin without apology. Nothing obscene. Just enough to be noticed. Enough to remind him I exist.

At the table, I sit directly across from him.

Conversation flows around us. Ethan tells a story. Gio laughs too hard. Marco complains about logistics. Antonio listens.

Under the table, I slide my foot out of my shoe.

Slowly.

I let it brush his ankle.

Just once.

His knee goes still.

I do it again. Higher. Deliberate. Unmistakable.

His gaze snaps to mine.

A warning.

I smile and keep my foot there, light and controlled, nothing that could be explained aloud.

His hand tightens around his fork.

I let my foot drift just a little further.

His voice cuts through the table. “Lucia.”

“Yes?” I ask sweetly.

Everyone looks at him.

He clears his throat. “Pass the salt.”

I do, withdrawing my foot at the last second, satisfaction curling warm and sharp in my chest.

Dinner ends not long after.

I stand first.

“Excuse me,” I say lightly, already turning away.

I don’t look back.

I don’t need to.

I can feel his attention following me as I leave the room, taut and unresolved.

And for once, walking away feels like winning.