Achille's gaze narrowed to a steely slit. "And how, pray tell, do you possess such knowledge, Signorina Bianca?" he inquired, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down the spine of Bianca.
Bianca, unflinching beneath his scrutiny, crossed her legs with a confident click of her heels against the marble floor. Her eyes, the color of a glacier under a threatening sky, remained fixed on his. "I have my methods," she replied, her voice a silken whisper laced with steel.
A furrow etched itself between Achille's brows. This woman reeked of secrets, as carefully protected as a precious gem. "Intriguing," he murmured, leaning forward in his chair. "Perhaps you'd be willing to share the source of your confidence?" he pressed, his gaze unwavering.
