I chose the restaurant deliberately, because it belonged to me. A quiet, exclusive space two floors above one of my own holdings, where I controlled the lighting, the staff, every possible exit. Home ground. I told myself I needed home ground because something about Matteo Ryir made the careful architecture of my composure feel, for the first time in years, less permanent than I liked to believe.He was already seated when I arrived, which shouldn't have unsettled me, and yet it did. I was never late to anything. He had simply arrived earlier than necessary, as though punctuality itself were another form of control he intended to claim before I could."You own this building," he said before I'd even fully settled into my seat, no greeting offered, just that same unnerving directness I was beginning to recognize as his signature. "I looked it up on the drive over.""Is that meant to intimidate me, Mr. Ryir?""It's meant to tell you that I noticed," he said, watching me over the rim of
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