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DANTE
In the dimly lit office, the tension was palpable. I sat behind my massive mahogany desk, my posture deceptively relaxed, though my jaw was clenched. My eyes, dark and intense, stared directly at the man sitting across from me—my father, Giovanni.
To his right, Rhys leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, quietly observing the storm brewing between father and son.
The office was immaculate, a testament to my need for control, but the atmosphere was anything but calm. The soft hum of the air conditioning was the only sound for a few moments, a stark contrast to the volatile emotions swirling just beneath the surface.
Papers were neatly stacked on the desk, but the conversation was about to be anything but organized.
Giovanni, a formidable man in his la
