Alessia's POV
The room is cold.
Not just from the air-conditioning humming low in the background but from something else. Something unseen but felt in the rigid posture of the men around me, the silence stretched too tight, in the way Marco's fingers drum slowly against the armrest of his chair.
His jaw is locked, his expression unreadable, but I know him well enough by now to feel the tension rolling off him. He's thinking.
I shift my gaze to Dante, leaning back in his chair, legs stretched out, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. But his eyes? They aren't lazy at all. They're sharp. Watchful.
Two men who would rather burn the world than sit in the same room together. Yet here they are.
And in the middle of it all? Me.
I don't know what's worse, the fact that they're both here or the fact that neither of them is looking at me. The heavy wooden table between them feels like a battlefield.
