đź–¤ Leonardo
The meeting dragged on long after the Ferraros left. The cigars had burned down to ash, and yet his father still talked.
Don Matteo Greco sat at the head of the long table, his hand gripping his glass like it might explode. "I still don't understand what this nonsense is about," he said, his voice heavy with irritation. "An alliance? You want to marry into that family? That's not power, that's stupidity."
Leonardo leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. The low light cut shadows across his sharp jawline, catching on the clock tattoo that ran along the side of his neck. He had been quiet since the Ferraros left, only occasionally swirling the amber liquid in his glass, letting his father's anger wash over him like white noise.
