I S A B E L L A
The moment my father steps into the room, the air changes. It's subtle at first, a shift in presence that makes the warmth of my mother's greeting vanish like a candle snuffed out. The easy conversation, the polite smiles, all of it disappears as his sharp eyes land on Angelo.
I feel Angelo stiffen slightly beside me, but outwardly, he remains calm. Unbothered. I've seen that look before, the one he wears when he knows someone is trying to get a reaction out of him, but he refuses to give them the satisfaction.
My father, the Don Giovanni Romano, has his gaze on Angelo, before they flash past him, assessing the others who have entered his home. Giulio, who looks as easygoing as ever but is quietly sizing up the situation. Francesca, who's standing tall, arms crossed, a c
