POV: Emilia Conti
The table was longer than it needed to be.
That was the first thing I noticed when I entered the dining room. Too many chairs. Too much space between them. Distance disguised as civility. Every place setting is precise, identical, impersonal.
This wasn't a family dinner.
It was an assessment.
Alessio walked beside me, close enough that our shoulders nearly brushed but never quite touched. The distance felt intentional. Enough to signal alignment without implying intimacy.
Every eye turned toward us as we stepped inside.
Some are curious. Some calculating. A few openly hostile.
Gianna sat near the center of the table, posture relaxed, gaze sharp. Luciano stood behind her chair, one hand resting lightly on the back as if the seat itself belonged to him.
That detail stayed with me.
Alessio pulled out the chair beside him.
I sat.
Conversation resumed in low waves around us—controlled, polite, meaningless. Wine was poured. Plates were served. Smiles were exchanged with the efficiency of people used to pretending nothing was wrong.
I kept my expression neutral and my spine straight.
Being calm here wasn't about courage.
It was about not giving them anything to work with.
"So," a man across the table said eventually, his tone casual, "we finally meet the doctor."
I met his gaze. "I suppose so."
He smiled thinly. "You've been quite the topic of discussion."
"I imagine that says more about the conversation than about me."
A few people chuckled. Not warmly.
Gianna watched closely, fingers steepled, eyes never leaving my face.
"And how are you finding our hospitality?" another woman asked.
I glanced at Alessio briefly, then answered honestly. "Efficient."
That earned a ripple of amusement.
Luciano leaned forward slightly. "Efficiency is survival."
"So I've learned," I replied.
His smile didn't reach his eyes.
Dinner progressed slowly. Questions circled me without landing—where I'd studied, how long I'd been at the hospital, whether I intended to return. I answered carefully, truthfully, without offering more than was asked.
It was a dance.
Then Gianna spoke.
"And what are your intentions, Dr. Conti?"
The table quieted instantly.
Alessio didn't move.
I didn't either.
"Intentions regarding what?" I asked.
"Regarding your future," Gianna replied smoothly. "You're no longer an observer."
I set my fork down gently. "Neither are most people at this table."
Her lips curved faintly. "True. But most people here know where they stand."
"And you think I don't?"
"I think," she said carefully, "that you haven't declared it."
I felt Alessio's attention sharpen beside me.
"I'm a surgeon," I said. "I treat what's in front of me."
"That's not an answer," Luciano said mildly.
"It is," I replied, meeting his gaze, "when the question is premature."
A murmur passed through the table.
Gianna leaned back, studying me openly now. "You understand what visibility implies."
"Yes," I said. "That I'm being evaluated."
"And?"
"And that everyone here is deciding how dangerous I am."
Luciano chuckled. "Perceptive."
"Or realistic," I said.
Gianna tilted her head. "Then tell us. Do you intend to stay?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and deliberate.
I didn't look at Alessio.
That was important.
"I intend," I said slowly, "to survive."
A few eyebrows lifted.
"That's vague," someone muttered.
"It's honest," I replied.
Gianna smiled slightly. "Survival usually requires allegiance."
"Not always," I said. "Sometimes it requires adaptability."
Luciano's gaze hardened. "Adaptability looks a lot like disloyalty."
"Only to people who demand certainty," I replied.
Silence fell again.
Alessio finally spoke. "That's enough."
Gianna raised a hand. "No. Let her finish."
I took a breath, grounding myself.
"I didn't ask to be here," I said calmly. "But I won't pretend I don't understand what being here means. You don't need me to declare loyalty tonight."
Luciano leaned forward. "Then when?"
"When it matters," I said.
"And how will we know?" he asked.
I met his gaze steadily. "You won't have to ask."
The table went still.
Gianna watched me for a long moment, then nodded once. "Fair."
Luciano didn't look convinced.
Dessert was served shortly after. Conversation resumed, quieter now, more cautious.
The assessment had concluded.
As the dinner wound down, Alessio leaned slightly toward me. "You handled that well."
"I didn't give them what they wanted," I replied.
"No," he said. "You made them uncomfortable."
"That was the goal."
When we finally stood to leave, Gianna approached us.
"Dr. Conti," she said, her tone polite but cool, "you surprise me."
"I get that a lot," I replied.
She glanced briefly at Alessio. "You've brought unpredictability into the house."
"Yes," Alessio said. "I have."
Gianna's gaze returned to me. "Unpredictability forces decisions."
"I hope so," I said.
She smiled thinly and walked away.
Luciano lingered just long enough to murmur, "Careful. Tables remember who challenges them."
I watched him leave, pulse steady.
Back in the hallway, Alessio exhaled slowly. "They were testing you."
"I know," I said.
"And?"
"And now they know I won't answer to pressure."
He studied me. "That will accelerate things."
"Good," I replied. "Stalling favors people with more power."
He didn't argue.
As we walked back toward the elevators, I felt it again—that sense of being watched, weighed, measured.
Tonight hasn't made me safer.
It had made me visible.
And visibility, I was learning, didn't protect you.
It forced decisions.
Behind us, somewhere in the house, those decisions were already being made.