Alessia Mancini
The aroma of freshly brewed espresso mingled with the scent of gun oil and leather as I entered the kitchen. Men in dark suits moved with silent purpose through the villa, their hushed voices a low thrum of tension. I slid into my seat at the table, the cool silk of my dress whispering against my skin.
Giovanni's hand found mine under the table, his thumb tracing soothing circles on my palm. His touch steadied me, even as anxiety fluttered in my chest. I met his dark gaze, seeing my own apprehension mirrored there.
"Everything is in place," Alessandro reported, his gravelly voice pitched low. "The men know their positions."
I nodded, taking a sip of espresso to wet my suddenly dry throat. "Good. We can't afford any mistakes today."
The tension in the room was palpable,
