Giovanni Mancini
I stood impatiently by the grand oak doors of the villa, my fingers twitching against the smooth fabric of my tailored suit. The scent of aged leather and polished wood filled my nostrils, a familiar comfort that did little to ease the anticipation coiling in my gut. My eyes darted to the ornate clock on the wall, its ticking a maddening reminder of each passing second.
Then, I heard it - the soft click of heels on marble.
I turned, and the sight before me stole the breath from my lungs. Alessia descended the sweeping staircase, a vision in crimson. The floor-length gown hugged every curve, the deep red a stark contrast against her creamy skin. Her dark hair was pinned up in an artfully messy bun, exposing the graceful line of her neck.
"Mio Dio," I breathed, unable to
