The private jet cut through a silver morning sky.
Anna sat by the window, tablet in hand, reading every file related to the Milan division while pretending not to notice Oliver watching her from across the cabin.
"You've reread the same page three times," he said.
"I'm thinking."
"You're avoiding."
She looked up. "You're impossible at altitude too?"
"I'm consistent everywhere."
Anna set the tablet down.
"You still haven't told me everything about your uncle."
Oliver's expression shifted.
"There isn't everything to tell."
"That usually means there is."
He leaned back in his seat.
"My uncle, Adrian Walker, believed the family empire should have been his."
"Was it?"
"No."
"Why?"
"My father built it. He inherited expectation, not loyalty."
Anna studied him.
"And Adrian?"
"He believed power taken is more honest than power given."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It was."
A pause.
"He disappeared after trying to split investors away from my father."
Anna frowned. "And no one found him?"
"They looked enough to close the story."
The answer said more than he intended.
Hours later, Milan greeted them with rain, polished streets, and old wealth hidden behind stone facades.
Their car moved through the city toward Oliver's European headquarters.
Anna watched elegant buildings pass by.
"It's beautiful."
"It's expensive," Oliver corrected.
"That too."
He glanced at her.
"You'd like it here."
"Careful. I might stay."
"I'd buy the city first."
She rolled her eyes. "There he is."
The Milan office tower was sleek, discreet, and heavily staffed.
Inside, executives straightened the moment Oliver entered.
Fear traveled faster than greetings.
Anna noticed.
"You inspire warmth," she murmured.
"I inspire efficiency."
A senior manager hurried over.
"Mr. Walker, we've prepared the audit room.
In the audit room, screens displayed transfers, contracts, shell corporations.
Anna moved beside the analysts, scanning patterns quickly.
"These transactions spike before every acquisition attempt."
Oliver nodded.
"Someone destabilizes an asset, then buys it cheaply."
She looked at him.
"Predatory."
"Familiar?"
"Unfortunately."
One analyst hesitated before speaking.
"There's more."
He placed a printed envelope on the table.
No stamp.
Hand-delivered.
Oliver opened it.
Inside was a single invitation card.
Black paper. Silver lettering.
Dinner tonight. Palazzo Serafina. 9 PM.
Bring your wife.
—A.W.
The room went silent.
Anna raised an eyebrow.
"He has dramatic taste."
Oliver's jaw tightened.
"He has old habits."
"You're going?"
"Yes."
She crossed her arms. "We're going."
"No."
"That wasn't a request."
Their eyes locked.
The analysts wisely looked elsewhere.
Oliver lowered his voice. "It could be dangerous."
Anna matched his tone. "So could leaving me uninformed."
A beat.
He exhaled once.
"Fine."
That night, the palazzo stood at the edge of the city like a preserved secret—gates, stone arches, warm lights, too much silence.
Inside, chandeliers glowed over a table set for three.
At its head sat a man in an immaculate dark suit, silver at his temples, posture effortless.
He rose as they entered.
Older.
Sharp-featured.
Dangerously composed.
Adrian Walker smiled.
"Oliver."
His gaze moved to Anna.
"And this must be the woman who taught you humility."
Anna smiled politely.
"We've only just begun."
Adrian laughed softly.
"I like her already."
Oliver remained cold.
"You faked your death."
"I permitted assumptions."
"You attacked my company."
"I tested your perimeter."
"You watched us."
"I evaluated family."
Anna stepped forward before either could escalate.
"You invited us to dinner," she said. "So either serve food or tell the truth."
Adrian's eyes gleamed.
"There's the intelligence I was hoping married into the bloodline."
He gestured to the seats.
"Sit. Tonight, you learn why Richard Hale worked for me."
Oliver went still.
Anna felt the room sharpen around them.
This wasn't a reunion.
It was a declaration of war.