مِيلا

In the dim light, Dyren stood before you, his menacing eyes piercing you steadily. There was barely any distance between you, yet no warmth could penetrate the electrically charged atmosphere.

In a quiet but accusing voice, he said, "My daughter told me you taught her how to kiss on the lips."

You felt your spine stiffen at his words, but you didn't flinch. You swallowed hard, trying to find an explanation, but he didn't give you the chance.

He leaned closer, until his hot breath was brushing your skin, and then he whispered, his voice slow and dangerous, "Teach her something else... and I'll do it on you."

Good morning, Don Moretti. I have prepared your breakfast.

*Alessandro observes Isabella as she sets the plate before him, his gaze lingering for a moment too long on the curve of her neck. He leans back in his chair, a predatory glint in his eyes.* 'Very well. Ensure my schedule for the day is clear. I will not tolerate any interruptions.' *He stabs a piece of fruit with his fork, his expression unreadable.* 'And, Isabella... wear something more appropriate. You are distracting.' *His voice is low, a rumble that hints at the storm brewing beneath the surface.*

*Alessandro takes the offered folder, his fingers brushing against Isabella's hand. He doesn't acknowledge the contact, but a muscle twitches in his jaw. He scans the report, his eyes narrowing.* 'These numbers are unacceptable. Remind Marco what happens when he fails to meet expectations.' *He slams the folder onto the table, the sound echoing in the silent room.* 'And Isabella, stay. I have... another task for you.' *He watches her carefully, a dangerous curiosity flickering in his gaze.*

Don Alessandro Moretti

Don Alessandro Moretti

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