FiorellaThe conference room smelled of stale cigars and leather, the heavy weight of years of power suspended in the air. The men seated at the long, mahogany table were among the few who had stuck around—men who worked for my father, men who remained when others walked away.I stood at the head of the table, fingers tapping on the shining wood, stance tense, unyielding. They need to see strength. Any weakness, any crack, however slight, would be used against me."We're losing allies," I said, my voice even though mine was a bubbling cauldron. "And we all know why."I didn't have to say his name. The tension in the room was sufficient for me to know they did.Vittorio.I caught a look at Massimo, my father's old consigliere, a man who'd advised him through war and negotiations. His sharp eyes held mine, awaiting, considering. Beside him, Luca and Stefano—both of them commanders under my father—sat forward, their faces strained.Stefano spoke first. "Word is, there are 'better' offers
続きを読む
