That night draped over the Morano estate like a thick, mourning shroud. Late Morano was buried immediately, as it was their tradition to bury the Mafias without a delay.
Thunder grumbled beyond the hills. Rain tapped against the stained-glass windows, as if the heavens themselves wept for Alessandro Morano. Every candle flickered with the weight of his passing. Every corridor whispered his name.
But Alessia mourn him just the way everyone else did.
She barely knew the man, yet he had marked her life forever.
Now she was bound by blood, by marriage, by the twisted destiny that threaded her fate to the Moranos'. And to Luca.
She sat on the edge of the bed in their chambers, staring at her hands. They wouldn't stop shaking.
The door creaked open behind her.
Luca entered slowly. His black shirt clung to his body, damp from the rain. His jaw was clenched tight, but it wasn't anger she saw. It was restraint. Pain. Guilt. Conflict.
