Chapter 50 I'm Not Your Property

• The study was dimly lit, the only light coming from a pair of antique lamps and the golden glow of the fireplace. Books lined the tall shelves in rows, their spines worn. A heavy scent of aged leather, tobacco, and oak hung in the air, mingling with the sharp scent of whiskey.
• Adriano and Padrino sat in high-backed chairs near the fire, each holding a tumbler filled with dark amber liquid.
• "I like her," Padrino said, swirling his drink with slow precision. "Serena. She is cultured. But there's something else," he paused briefly for effect, "a fire in her. Fierce, that one."