The weeks following Dario’s return from the estate settled into a deliberate, cautious rhythm that tested my patience and commitment every single day. Mornings in the penthouse began once again with the familiar sound of the espresso machine, but the atmosphere carried an underlying carefulness. Dario prepared my cardamom espresso exactly as I liked it, strong with just the hint of spice, and set it on the marble counter without the easy smile that used to accompany the gesture. I thanked him each time and we would sit together for a few minutes, discussing the day ahead, but the conversations felt measured, like both of us were afraid of saying the wrong thing.
Work at Vitale Tower provided structure and a shared purpose. The Singapore deal that had been compromised by my messages with R
