In the Leonardo's study, the curtains were drawn, the dim afternoon light cutting soft lines across the bookshelves stacked high behind his desk.
Lina stood near the edge of the big oak desk, her arms crossed neatly over her elegant dress. Her eyes — those same cold, sharp eyes Leonardo had inherited were narrowed on her son like she could peel back every layer he tried to hide behind.
"You had one bad relationship with a woman and now you think every woman in this world is the same?" she asked, her voice low but sharp. "What a joke, Leonardo."
He didn't answer, only sat there with his elbows on the armrest, fingertips tapping once against his knee. His eyes stayed fixed on the file in front of him but he hadn't turned a page in the last ten minutes.
