Chapter 85 Eighty-five

• Marco leaned back in the leather, his gaze fixed on the glass of whiskey swirling in his hand. The amber liquid caught the light from the morning sun, shining a warm glow across the room.
• Dante sat across from him, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the armrest, a thoughtful expression on his face.
• “So,” Dante began, breaking the comfortable silence, “you’ve been quiet since that rooftop moment with Alessia. What’s going on in that head of yours, Marco?”