The morning light filtering into the Moretti dining room usually heralded a day of calculated moves and strategic discussions. Today, however, it illuminated a scene far more intimate and emotionally charged.
Leonardo sat at the head of the long, polished table, a rare intensity in his gaze as he watched his parents. Davide, his face impassive as always, stood discreetly by his side, his phone no doubt secured, but the memory of the video burned in Leonardo's mind.
Elena Moretti, usually a bastion of cool composure, had tears glistening in her eyes, tracing paths through the faint powder on her cheeks. She dabbed at them with a silk handkerchief, her lower lip trembling slightly. She had watched the video Davide had shown them just moments before, a raw, unedited testament to Alaric Val
