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I stared into my tea.

“Men who rule through fear. Women without a voice. Children who know when to leave the room.”

The words came too easily. Perhaps because I had seen families built that way. Perhaps because men like my father had taught me that power entered a room first and love waited outside until it was invited.

Samira leaned back in her chair.

“There is fear in this family. There is also blood, violence, and more stubbornness than any house should be forced to contain.”

“Do not forget the emotional repression,” Izzy blurted.

“I was coming to that.”

Samira’s attention returned to me.

“They’re not good men, Adriana. At least, not in the traditional way as people understand goodness.”

I thought of Demitri kneeling beside a dying man and offering him comfort in his final moments. Then I imagined him as he was that day at the cafe, fluent in the use of a gun.

“No,” I said. “I don’t suppose they are.”

“But they love without restraint,” Samira continued. “Once they decide someone belongs to them, they protect that person with everything they have.”

“They also interfere, threaten, manipulate, and occasionally imprison,” Izzy added.

Samira sighed. “Raze did not imprison you.”

“He strongly discouraged me from leaving. He locked the gates.”

“For your protection.”

“That was his claim.”

Izzy looked at me.

“You will discover that protection is the Cavalho word for whatever criminal behaviour they believe love has justified.”

I smiled despite myself.

Samira reached for her cup. “They can be difficult.”

“They’re impossible.”

“They’re loyal.”

“Possessive.”

“And generous.”

“They blow things up.”

Izzy gave Samira a pointed look.

“Only when necessary.”

Samira’s smile widened.

A silence settled, but it was not uncomfortable. The fire shifted in the grate. Teacups clinked softly against saucers. Beyond the tall windows, the afternoon light stretched across the gardens. For the first time since I had entered the estate, I felt my muscles begin to loosen.