Alessia Mancini
The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. I could almost taste fear on my tongue, mingling with the lingering notes of the wine we'd shared earlier.
Giovanni's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking beneath the surface. His eyes, usually so warm when they looked at me, had turned to obsidian - hard and unyielding.
"I don't want to," I added, trying to soften the blow. "God, Giovanni, I don't want to walk away from you or even the organisation. But if it comes down to it, if it's a matter of self-preservation..."
I trailed off, unable to finish the thought. The silence stretched between us, filled only by the soft ticking of the antique clock on his desk and my own shallow breathing.
Giovanni leaned forward, his elbows resting on the polished mahog
