Chapter 13
The afternoon rehearsal at the Royal Conservatory of Music was quiet, filled only with the rich, resonant vibrations of unaccompanied scales. Nessa sat in a private practice studio, her eyes closed as her bow drew a long, sustained C-minor chord from the aged spruce of her grandfather’s cello.
A sharp, rhythmic knock interrupted her concentration. Nessa didn’t stop playing immediately; she finished the phrase, placed her bow gently across her lap, and looked toward the frosted glass door. "Come in."
The door swung open, but it wasn't Ezra, and it wasn't Pavl. A tall, impeccably dressed woman in a sharp navy blazer stepped into the room. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled back into a severe chignon, and her sharp, piercing grey eyes bore an unmistakable family resemblance to Ezra’s.
Evelyn Blackwood. Ezra’s estranged aunt and the former matriarch of the family’s philanthropic board, who had spent the last five years living quietly in Zurich while Ezra restructured the syndicate.
Nessa stood up slowly, her instincts instantly locking onto the defensive posture she knew so well. "Can I help you?"
May you like
"You must be the cellist," Evelyn said, her voice smooth, measured, and carrying an intimidating chill that mirrored Ezra’s old demeanor. She walked slowly toward the instrument case resting on the leather chair, examining the master-crafted Italian Cremona with a critical eye. "Ezra went to extraordinary lengths to secure this instrument for you. And even greater lengths to rewrite our security protocols just to keep you breathing."
"I’m capable of keeping myself breathing, Ms. Blackwood," Nessa replied evenly, her weight balanced squarely on her back foot.
