Chapter 87

• || VINCENZO's POV ||
• The room was a mixture of tension and anticipation, the kind only a family meeting called by Grandfather could create. The long mahogany table gleamed under the chandelier’s light, a symbol of the power and history that bound us all together—and of the decisions that could tear us apart.
• Sancia sat beside me, her hands folded neatly in her lap, but I could feel the way her knee bounced slightly under the table. She hated meetings like these, where politics and egos collided in a mess of tradition and ambition.