IN POLAND. The room was quiet, except for the faint ticking of an ornate clock on the mantelpiece. Roselba’s parents sat stiffly on the velvet armchairs, their faces pale under the weight of Don Vittoro’s imposing presence. He stood by the window, his silhouette framed by the golden glow of the setting sun. His tailored suit was immaculate, but it was the cold authority in his eyes that dominated the room—cold authority in his eyes yet he was no match for Drystan , if he ever has the opportunity to share the same space with Drystan. Without turning to face them, Don Vittorio spoke, his tone sharp and deliberate. “I am a man of agreements. And your agreement with me, signed and sealed, was very clear.”Roselba’s father shifted uneasily in his seat. “Don Vittoro, we… we needed time. Perhaps we can—”The Don turned sharply, his eyes narrowing. “Time?” he repeated, his voice a low, menacing drawl. “I do not deal in delays. I deal in absolutes. And the absolute truth is this—Roselba bel
Last Updated : 2024-12-31 Read more