Meanwhile at the Romano Mansion
The Romano private lounge reeked of old money and danger—glass walls, floor-to-ceiling windows reflecting the city's golden glow, the faint scent of cigars, and leather chairs that had hosted countless shadowy deals. Gold-rimmed whiskey glasses sat untouched on the low table, as if waiting for a toast to chaos. The chandelier's dim, warm light pooled across polished marble floors, casting long, elegant shadows that whispered of secrets.
Alessia crossed one long leg over the other, the slit in her silk dress shifting just enough to reveal a toned thigh. She swirled wine in a crystal glass, the deep red catching the light, her expression unreadable. Her nails were sharp and blood-red—tiny, deliberate weapons. She looked perfectly unbothered—too composed, even—as her brothers circled her like wolves scenting blood.
