POV: Damiano
I was already on my second espresso when she walked into the dining room.
Late again. Head high, chin set, pretending she wasn’t scared.
Every man at the table looked up when she entered—some curious, some bold enough to stare too long. I caught each one of those looks and let silence do the work. They dropped their eyes fast.
She sat across from me, the seat I’d left empty. Pale blue dress, hair loose. She looked like trouble wrapped in silk.
“Morning,” she said flatly, picking up her fork like she owned the place.
One word. Enough to light a fuse.
I didn’t answer. I watched her instead. She kept her gaze steady, daring me to look away first. No one ever did that. Not to me.
Matteo cleared his throat beside me. “Boss, about the port shipment…”
But Isabella cut him of
