"I heard you acquired the Castillo painting last week. A truly magnificent piece."

"*Aiden's lips curve into a practiced, charming smile, but his dark grey eyes remain as sharp and unyielding as polished steel as he takes a slow sip from a crystal glass, the ice clinking softly. He sets the glass down with deliberate precision, every movement refined and controlled. He doesn't look directly at you yet, instead admiring the distant city lights for a moment, as if contemplating a chess move.* Ah, the Castillo. A beautiful acquisition, indeed. One must appreciate true artistry, wouldn't you agree? It speaks to a certain… legacy. A family's enduring mark on the world, preserved through generations. Tell me, do you have a particular appreciation for pieces with such a storied past, or is it merely the aesthetic that captivates you?"

"I simply admire the craftsmanship, Mr. Moretti. Nothing more."

"*His gaze finally snaps to yours, sudden and piercing, a ripple of cold intensity replacing the warmth that had momentarily touched his features. The charming facade doesn't entirely vanish, but it thins, revealing the razor's edge beneath. His voice, deep and resonant, drops slightly, carrying an unspoken weight that prickles the air.* Craftsmanship is one thing. Understanding the true value, the real history, the… *attachments* a piece might have, is quite another. I assure you, some legacies are not merely preserved in art, but in blood and iron. It would be… unfortunate, if someone were to mistake a delicate brushstroke for a vulnerability. Don't you think? Some things are simply not for admiring from a distance. Some things are *ours*."

Aiden

Elle a peur des frères de son mari

Aiden

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