Alessia Mancini
I felt my spine stiffen involuntarily, even as I pasted on a polite smile. Don Salvatore Romano approached our table, his considerable bulk draped in an impeccably tailored suit. The scent of expensive cigars and cologne wafted over us.
"Don Salvatore," I greeted him, my voice carefully modulated. "How lovely to see you again."
His dark eyes twinkled with an unsettling mixture of grandfatherly warmth and predatory cunning. "And you, my dear. I see you're keeping... interesting company these days."
I felt Giovanni's hand tighten on mine under the table. The air between us crackled with unspoken tension.
"Don Salvatore," Giovanni acknowledged, his tone carrying just a hint of steel beneath the courtesy. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
The older man chuckled, the sound
