The days following the brunch at the Vitale estate settled into a rhythm that felt dangerously close to normal. Mornings in the penthouse now included two espressos on the marble counter, Dario had started preparing mine exactly as I liked it, strong with a hint of cardamom, without making a show of it. We reviewed reports over breakfast, our conversations shifting from purely transactional to something edged with tentative curiosity. He asked about the supplier networks I’d inherited from my father’s company, and I found myself explaining the intricacies without the old defensive bite. The resentment still simmered, a low-grade reminder of the contract that bound me, but it no longer dictated every interaction.
By mid-week, the Asian pivot was gaining real traction. My models had been gr
