"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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(THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SA ON A CHILD. PLEASE PROCEED WITH CARE)
The hum of the jet engines wrapped around me like a persistent undertone, a reminder that even in the skies, the weight of the earth followed us. As I stepped out of the cabin, the cold, sterile air of the private plane met me, mingling with the subtle scent of leather seats and freshly brewed espresso. My father, uncles, and cousins filled the space with their familiar presence, their voices a symphony of banter and authority. It was a cacophony I had grown up with—a melody as sharp as it was comforting.
The narrow aisle stretched before me, lined with faces that bore the same legacy etched into my own. My footsteps were measured, each step a calculated rhythm, the soft thud of my polished shoes swallowed by the low murmur of familial chatter. A hostess approached me, her professional smile a perfect mask. She extended a crystal glass of water, the condensation slipping down the sides like raindrops on a windowpane.
"Grazie," I murmured, my voice low but clipped, the cool touch of the glass grounding me in this moment between turbulence and calm.
I slid into my seat, its plush embrace failing to soften the steel resolve coiled in my chest. My gaze swept across the cabin, lingering briefly on each familiar face. These men—my blood—were the architects of empires and destroyers of dreams. Their presence, though predictable, was as steadying as the ground beneath my feet.
"So, Lorenzo, how was your nap?" Uncle Alessandro's voice carried a tone both curious and teasing, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as they met mine.
Before I could answer, Orazio's boisterous laughter cut through the moment, a slice of pizza precariously balanced in his hand. "Nap? Made men don't nap, Uncle. We're too busy conquering the world," he declared, his grin wide as he tore into his food like a wolf mocking its prey.
I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. "It was restful, Uncle," I replied simply, steering the conversation away from Orazio's theatrics.
But peace is fleeting in this family.
"What the hell was that earlier?" Uncle Giovanni's voice rose, his tone sharp enough to slice through the hum of the engines. His thick brows drew together, the lines on his face deepening with incredulity. "The audacity of that girl! Did you hear her, Fiore?"
