He reached for his phone. He would call her. Just to confirm she had arrived safely. Just to hear her voice, even if it was sharp with anger, even if she hung up after two words. He needed to know.
His thumb hovered over her name in his contacts.
"I think you should let Mia cool down."
Vanessa Lestari's voice drifted from the doorway of the bedroom. She leaned against the frame in a silk robe, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, a glass of wine held loosely in her fingers. Her expression was soft, sympathetic, perfectly calibrated.
"She would have reached the estate by now. Give her the night."
Xavier looked at the phone. Then he set it down.
"You're right." His voice hardened, the brief flicker of concern buried beneath pride. "If I give in now, she'll be accustomed to throwing tantrums every time she doesn't get her way."
He did not call.
The next morning, Xavier dialed the Salvatore family compound. The morning light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the café where he sat, gilding the marble tabletop and the untouched espresso before him. He had chosen this place because it was Mia's favorite. He did not examine why.
The house staff picked up on the second ring.