As I entered the opulent restaurant, Grace’s arm linked with mine, I felt a satisfying sense of control. The dim lighting and plush furnishings were a perfect backdrop for the night’s negotiations. Grace, resplendent in her black cocktail dress, was a vision of grace and tension. Her every step was measured, her demeanor carefully curated for the evening’s purpose.
The restaurant buzzed softly with the murmur of conversations and clinking glasses. I spotted Giovanni and Nico at their table—Giovanni looking every bit the part of the formidable patriarch, while Nico’s intense gaze was directed elsewhere. I had anticipated this encounter, knowing Nico’s presence would be unavoidable, but I kept it from Grace to ensure her focus remained solely on the task at hand.
As we approached the table
