"I didn't expect the Bratva's tech queen to be quite so... captivating," Lorenzo's voice dripped with irony as he observed Galina, who was absorbed in deciphering a web of encrypted data.
Galina's gaze remained fixed on her screens, her expression a...
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I push the door open, the polished wood sliding beneath my hand like an invitation. Its smooth surface shimmers faintly, reflecting the dim, ambient light that leaks in from the corridor. A low creak from the hinges announces my entry—a sound that seems to echo across the stillness of the room, like the prelude to a symphony.
Stepping inside, I am met with a rush of warmth, the kind that settles around you like a thick blanket, coaxing away the chill of the outside world. The air hums with the energy of my family, a force both familiar and foreign. It wraps around me, nearly tangible in its vibrancy, as though the room itself is alive with anticipation.
The sight before me is an unexpected canvas of laughter and life—a tableau of vibrant souls, all gathered in the embrace of late afternoon's golden light. The sun streams through the expansive bay windows, casting long, languid shadows across the room, their edges softened by the thick, textured carpet beneath. A mix of auburn and amber hues dances on the walls, painting the space with warmth.
And then, my gaze locks onto Luca.
His smile is wide, impossible to ignore, a raw expression of joy that consumes his face, bright enough to rival the sun. His eyes—those damned eyes—glimmer with mischief, as if they know something I do not, and they hold my attention like a secret shared only between the two of us. His grin stretches even further as I cross the threshold, and without a word, I can feel the charge of his energy, his infectious enthusiasm radiating through the room, settling in my bones.
Beside him stands Uncle Alessandro. His towering frame holds the same rigid composure I've known all my life, yet there is something about him now—something softer in the slant of his shoulders, in the curve of his lips, that catches me off guard. He grins at me, that smile of his revealing teeth so white and perfect that they might have been sculpted by the gods themselves. It's a strange contrast against the weathered crags of his face, the dark circles under his eyes that bear witness to years of hardship, a stark reminder of the world we inhabit. And yet, in this moment, his face is unburdened, his eyes alight with something far gentler—joy.
The room hums with conversation, punctuated by the soft clinking of glasses and the melody of laughter that seems to echo off the walls. The air is rich with the scent of freshly brewed coffee, mingling with the sharp, earthy tang of cigars. It feels as though the room itself is vibrating in rhythm with the gathering, its pulse quickening, matching the eager beats of our collective hearts.
