POV Lola
The boardroom smells of old tobacco and aged testosterone. Dark wood, leather chairs that creak with history, tall windows overlooking the vineyards where generations of De Rossis planted their empire. And me, seated to my father’s right, feeling like a child dressed up as an adult.
Ten men surround the table. Faces weathered by decades of business. Hands that signed contracts before I was born. Eyes that assess me as if I were a fine porcelain piece: pretty to display, too fragile to trust.
Alessandro introduced me five minutes ago with a pride that echoed in every syllable:
“My daughter, Lola De Rossi. She will be joining the company’s management.”
There were polite nods. Smiles that never reached the eyes. A murmur of welcomes that sounded more like condolences.
No one sa
