But as his hand hovered near the controls, his eyes drifted upward, caught by the rearview mirror.
For a brief second, his gaze met mine in the reflection.
I sat in the backseat, silent, unmoving.
I like jazz.
The realization hit him all at once.
A faint frown creased his brow, his expression darkening almost imperceptibly. A flicker of irritation passed through his eyes, quick and sharp, like something he didn't want to acknowledge.
But then he noticed my indifference.
There was no reaction on my face. No attachment. No trace of emotion.
It was as if the music meant nothing to me at all.
That was what unsettled him the most.
The shadow in his chest deepened quietly, something heavy and unfamiliar pressing down where nothing had been before.
These days, even with Celeste sitting beside him, chattering endlessly, filling the car with her voice, he found it harder and harder to respond. Her words drifted past him like noise. He nodded when necessary, gave short replies, but his mind seemed elsewhere. Far away. Somewhere he couldn't quite reach.
By the time we arrived at the black clinic, the air inside the car had grown thick with something unspoken.
The lead surgeon was already waiting outside the unmarked entrance, his posture eager, almost overly enthusiastic as he stepped forward to greet us. Two soldiers flanked the doorway behind him, hands loose at their sides.
"Don Bellandi," he greeted with a wide grin, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
Then his gaze shifted to Celeste, his smile widening further.
"Signora Bellandi," he added, lowering his voice slightly, "you have no idea how many priceless samples Don Bellandi has sent over these past few days. Each one is practically a treasure worth thousands."
There was admiration in his tone.
Greed, too.
Then, as if unable to resist, he glanced at me.
His eyes sharpened, assessing. Curious.
Lowering his voice even more, he asked knowingly, "Is this the new experimental subject?"
The words lingered in the air.
Dominic's expression stiffened instantly. His signet ring went still against his knuckle.
A trace of displeasure flickered across his face before he masked it completely.
"How's the blood sample I sent earlier?" he asked instead, cutting the conversation short.
The surgeon seemed to understand immediately. He nodded and turned, his tone shifting into something more professional.