Giovanni Moretti
I watched Alessia with a mix of admiration and disbelief. The soft light from the crystal chandelier cast a deceptive warmth over the scene, belying the brutality unfolding before us. Her delicate features were set in a mask of determination, a far cry from the innocence I'd initially perceived.
"Very well, mia leonessa," I murmured, my hand ghosting across her lower back as she passed. The familiar endearment felt different now, weighted with newfound respect.
I turned my attention back to our unwilling guest, his face a canvas of bruises and desperation. Alessandro loomed over him, knuckles raw and eyes glinting with barely contained violence. The room reeked of fear and blood, a scent I knew all too well.
"Continue," I ordered, my voice low and controlled. As Alessa
