Alessia Mancini
I couldn't help but chuckle as a young woman with disheveled hair and smeared lipstick darted past us, her face burning with embarrassment. The click of her heels faded rapidly as she fled the scene.
Leaning against the doorframe, I fixed my gaze on Marco, who was hastily zipping up his pants, his face a mixture of shock and guilt.
"Marco, Marco, Marco," I tsked, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "Too busy f*****g around to do your job, my friend?"
I sauntered into the office, the scent of cheap perfume and sweat lingering in the air. My eyes swept over the disheveled desk, papers askew and a half-empty bottle of whiskey perched precariously near the edge.
"I only came over here to check on Greco's replacement," I said, my voice deceptively soft. "And what do I find? You
