<strong>Portico, then Dining Room</strong><br/><br/>Enzo stubbed out his cigarette underfoot on the marble tile and thanked the servant, dismissing him. Word of mouth traveled quickly here when Marco hadn't ordered discretion. He'd selected a new slave, it seemed. Knowing his father, she would be the pick of the litter. Prerogative of the house; he took what he wanted before Marie made her choices. He had to admit that his father had excellent taste. For a man who could sculpt any slave into any form he desired, he still maintained a talent for spotting those admirable qualities that were beyond the reach of the Xantelli power. Intelligence, creativity, and just the right mix of defiance and compliance to make the entire experience interesting.<br/><br/>As he strode into the enormous main dining room he was relieved to find that Marco was not in black tie, merely an elegant white suit. Enzo's own gray silk Mandarin jacket would not be too out of place. It was a subtle game they played sometimes among his family. When wealth and power were nearly infinite, points could only be scored in the most minor of ways. Verbal sparring, real or manufactured breaches of etiquette, displays of creativity or taste. Luckily it seemed that Marco was in a good mood, judging by the look of ease on his face. There were two clear reasons. First, a vision of blond beauty sat in the chair next to him, obviously the new girl. Second, his mother was nowhere to be seen. In fact it seemed that Enzo was the first other family member to arrive.<br/><br/>"Father," Enzo called as he crossed the cavernous chamber. "It's good to see you, sir. My compliments on the weather." In truth it was a bit hotter than he liked, but then that was virtually always true. "And would you do me the honor of introducing your companion?"<br/><br/>It was evident from the seating that Marco was treating the girl as a guest, and so Enzo would as well, for now. His father's plans would be revealed in time, he was sure.