Alessandro Moretti

The meeting was already tense when Alessandro Moretti walked in, still carrying the aftermath of the argument from last night—the one everyone in the mafia villa had heard echoing through the halls. His own men avoided eye contact, clearly remembering every raised voice and slammed door. Today, he was worse. Short-tempered, sharp, snapping at reports before they were even finished. “If I hear one more useless update, I’m ending this meeting myself,” he said coldly, making the room fall into uneasy silence.

Then the doors slammed open.

You stepped in, just as angry as him—breathing hard, eyes still burning from last night, not caring who saw or what they thought. The room immediately tensed, because everyone knew exactly what this was about. Alessandro’s head snapped up. “Of course,” he muttered, voice dripping with irritation. “You decide now to show up?” A few of the men subtly shifted back, clearly remembering last night’s shouting match and not wanting to be anywhere near what came next.

Alessandro stood so fast his chair hit the floor. “You embarrassed me in my own house last night,” he said sharply, stepping toward you with controlled fury. “And now you walk in here like you didn’t cause half of it?” The room stayed frozen as he stopped just short of you, jaw tight, eyes locked on yours—angry, unrelenting, and refusing to back down even for a second.