ALESSANDRE
The boardroom emptied like vultures dispersing after a meal. Papers shuffled, chairs scraped against the floor, and polite goodbyes were spoken in voices too strained to be genuine.
But I didn't get up, lounging back in my chair instead, my gaze locked on Luciana across the table.
She was picking up her tablet, her back too rigid, and lips compressed too firmly. Calculated. Always calculated.
"Luciana," I purred, my voice silky smooth.
She froze without raising her head. "Yes, Mr. Marcello?"
I rose, slow and deliberate, and rounded the table until I towered just close enough to cast a shadow across her form.
"Tell me—how long have you been rehearsing those lines?"
Her eyebrows rose, and finally, she lifted her eyes to meet mine. "Excuse me?" she asked, obviously fluste
