Page 101 of Fire and Silk
“You may stand, Don Calvani,” she says.
The words are clipped, not raised. “You are no longer welcome at this table.”
Calvani blinks twice, like he didn’t hear her. Then he barks a dry laugh.
“Oh, come now,” he says, lifting both hands. “Let’s not be so precious. I was making a point. A joke. We’re all friends here.”
He gestures wide, looking for support.
No one speaks.
Matteo coughs. A single dry sound. At the chamber entrance, two men step forward.
“Don Calvani, this way.”
Calvani walks two steps, then stops. Turns his head toward the rest of the table. His mouth twists.
“This is a circus,” he snarls. “A whore with a seat and a bunch of castrated dogs wagging at her feet.”
The guards step closer to flank him. One reaches for his arm. Calvani twists and shoves back.
“You think I’ll be handled?” he spits. “You think you can shame me out like a peasant?”
His hand flies toward his jacket.
I rise. Matteo steps forward.
But Lira is already standing.
The guards grab Calvani just as he jerks toward the table. They try to drag him toward the open door, but he fights them—half turned, arms flailing. One of them shouts. Calvani throws his shoulder into the smaller guard and rips free, stumbling forward.
He charges Not for the men.
For her.
Lira’s eyes are on him the entire time. She doesn’t move until he’s almost within reach.
Then she grabs the steel pen from her folder and drives it straight into his chest. The tip pierces fabric, then skin. He gasps.
She pulls it back and strikes again. Calvani stumbles back, blood pushing through the hole in his jacket. The guards grab him again, without restraint. One holds him by the collar, the other by the arm, hauling him toward the door as he sways, bleeding, cursing under his breath.
The door closes behind them.
The room is dead silent.
Lira stands with the pen still in her hand. Her right palm is streaked with red. Her breathing is even. She glances down, frowns slightly, and sets the pen aside on the folder without a word.
She looks at the men still seated before her.
“I apologize for the interruption,” she says, voice light. “We’re still refining distance protocols. That was far too close.”
No one replies.
She smiles, lips relaxed.
“If anyone else would like to leave,” she continues, tone unchanged, “the invitation still stands. No judgment.”
No one moves.
