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The rain hadn’t stopped. It beat against the tall windows of Alessandro’s private study in rhythmic, dull taps, as if the storm outside mirrored the one that raged quietly between the walls of the DeLuca estate. Elena stood near the edge of the desk, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, not for warmth, but restraint. The shadows clung to the corners of the room like secrets refusing to be spoken aloud. Every flicker of candlelight threw their faces into sharp relief, emphasizing the lines of tension carved into their features. The heavy door was locked behind them. Alessandro stood near the fireplace, his back turned to her, one hand braced against the mantle. His jaw was clenched, his black shirt wrinkled at the shoulders, sleeves pushed up to his forearms as if he’d been pacing
- Writer
