The knife cut cleanly through the roasted meat, but Alessia barely tasted a thing. She sat at the massive dining table of the Romano estate, flanked by enemies who shared her blood. The chandelier above glittered like glass teeth, every crystal sharp and threatening.
To her left, her father lifted a glass of red wine and offered her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve been gone a while, cara mia.”
She nodded, her spine straight. “I needed space.”
“From us?” her brother Dante asked, his tone deceptively light.
From you. From all of this.
But she said nothing.
Her heart pounded behind her ribs, not from fear—but from the sheer tension tightening around her neck like a noose. Lorenzo sat across the table, calm as ever in a tailored black suit, every move calculated. His fingers
