Adrian’s POV
The office was a fortress of focus that late afternoon, sunlight slanting low through the blinds as I hunched over the desk, spreadsheets sprawling across both monitors. Shipments from Sicily needed sign-off—Enzo’s latest batch of rare vintages clocking in at seven figures—and the Milan team was breathing down my neck for approval on a warehouse expansion. Papers stacked neat to my left, coffee gone cold in the mug, phone silenced except for emergencies.
Taking care of the empire meant no loose ends; Dad’s shadow loomed large enough without me slipping.Door creaked open without a knock—only one guy pulled that move. Enzo sauntered in, dark suit rumpled from back-to-back meetings, carrying two steaming coffees like a peace offering. “Figured you’d be buried alive in numbers.
