Faust
I came into the kitchen the next morning at my usual time. My son was there with Zia, but Francesca was still absent. She was too sick from grappa to eat with us last night and apparently wasn't awake yet.
I didn't like it.
Giulio and Francesca looked happy in the tasting room yesterday. Unable to help myself, I watched the security footage, absorbing the way she smiled at him. Studying the curve of her lips as she laughed. It was clear she liked my son, and I told myself this was a good thing. A sign of their future together, a team working toward the common goal of the Ravazzani family's future success.
I kissed Zia's cheeks and made a cup of espresso. Giulio was on his phone, scrolling through some kind of video. He'd left for work last night and, by the looks of it,
