115
Rosa’s POV
The conference room smelled faintly of leather and freshly brewed espresso, a combination that always reminded me of my father. It was his space, his domain, where every deal, decision, and strategy was meticulously planned. I sat at the long oak table, flanked by my father’s most trusted advisors and a few of my cousins, including Marco. I glared at him.
I had grown up in rooms like this. I knew the game well—speak only when necessary, choose your words with precision, and never let your emotions betray you. Today, however, I was finding it harder to stick to those rules.
“So, what’s the story with this Allesio?” my father asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp as he looked directly at me.
I froze for a split second, the question catching me off guard. My father ra
