SIXTY-SIX.

ALESSANDRO, AKA DON VALENTINO.

Nervously fiddling with my gold-plated cuff links, I wait at the bottom of the staircase for Ivy to make her grand entrance.

I turn my head to the side and peer down at Savannah. She endlessly spins around in a circle, playing with the puffy skirt of her dress, giggling.

One corner of my mouth kicks up as my heart skips a beat.

Knowing that my blood courses through her veins don’t make me love her more than I did before I found out.

She has had all my love from the get-go, and I have loved her fiercely as if she were my own.

Savannah is the only heir to the Valentino empire but first, I need to pick out all the weeds before I allow her to take over.

I move my shirt's collar to the side by hooking my index finger through it.

I feel like I'm suffocating.

I hate attending these formal fundraiser galas. Mixing and mingling with people is not my forté.

But I understand that it must be done, and this time around, it shouldn't feel too crucial as m