The air in the study crackled with unspoken tension. Sandro's gaze, dark and intense, seemed to bore right through Evelyn. The half-empty glass in his hand remained steady, a stark contrast to the frantic beating of her heart.
"Signorina Rossi," he said finally, his voice low and dangerously calm. "Is there something I can help you find?"
Evelyn's mind raced, desperately searching for a believable explanation. "I… I thought I saw a book on Italian art earlier," she stammered, her voice trembling slightly. "I didn't want to disturb you." She clutched the journal tighter, hoping he wouldn't notice it in the dim light.
Sandro's eyes flickered down to the leather-bound volume in her hands. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. He took a slow sip from his glass, his gaze never leaving her.
"That particular journal," he said, his tone dangerously soft, "is not about Italian art."
Evelyn's carefully constructed lie crumbled. She knew she had been caught, her pretense shattered. She met his gaze, trying to project an air of innocent curiosity she didn't feel.
"Oh," she said weakly. "I must have… picked up the wrong one." She took a step forward, intending to place the journal back on the shelf, but Sandro didn't move, blocking her path.
"Tell me, Signorina Rossi," he said, taking another step closer, the air between them charged with a palpable threat. "What exactly were you hoping to find in my personal journal?"
Evelyn's throat was dry. She knew that any attempt at further deception would be futile. She had underestimated him, his awareness, his control. Now, she had to decide how much to reveal, how much to risk.
Should she confess her suspicions, hoping to appeal to some hidden sense of justice? Should she try to play on his unexpected kindness, feigning innocent curiosity? Or should she remain silent, bracing herself for the consequences of her actions?
The weight of her compromised mission, the danger she had placed herself in, crashed down on her. In the opulent silence of Sandro Moretti's study, Evelyn knew her carefully laid plans had reached a critical, and potentially fatal, juncture.