WHISPERS OF THE RED DRESS 119

The morning sun broke over the Hudson River valley with blinding brilliance, shattering the lingering autumn mist and casting long, golden shafts of light across the manicured gardens of the Rossi estate.

I sat at the wrought-iron table on the grand stone terrace, sipping a cup of dark roast coffee while reviewing the quarterly financial reports for our European logistics subsidiaries. Across from me, Tommy was casually tossing a tennis ball for Maximus, the massive, terrifying Doberman that Stefano had inherited from the old regime—a dog that now treated me like its personal sovereign and occasionally allowed Tommy to exist in its presence.

"The docks in Brooklyn are running at full capacity," Tommy said, tapping a digital tablet with his thumb. "No interference from the Boston crews, and the municipal unions have officially renewed our twenty-year contract without a single strike threat."

"Good," I said without looking up from my ledger. "Make sure the pension funds for the dockworkers' families are disbursed on time this month. Loyalty is bought with consistency, not threats."

Tommy chuckled, crossing his arms. "You know, sometimes I forget you used to spend your entire life grading dusty manuscripts in a university basement. You run this syndicate like a Fortune 500 board of directors."

Before I could retort, heavy footsteps echoed across the stone patio. Stefano stepped out into the morning sunlight, wearing a casual charcoal cashmere sweater and black trousers, holding a second cup of coffee. He looked relaxed, the harsh lines of the syndicate boss entirely replaced by the quiet confidence of a man completely at peace with his world.

He walked up behind my chair, leaning down to press a warm, lingering kiss to the top of my head before sliding into the seat opposite me.

"Don't give him too much credit, Tommy," Stefano said smoothly, eyeing the tablet. "She spent the entire night reading sixteenth-century trade law just for fun."

"It's called due diligence," I replied, taking a sip of my coffee with a faint smile. "Someone has to make sure you and your capos don't accidentally start a trade war over a shipment of Italian wine."

Tommy laughed, standing up and dusting off his trousers. "Well, I'll leave you two to your corporate governance. I have to go remind the boys in Queens that stealing from our own supply chain is a great way to take an early retirement."

As Tommy walked away, Maximus trotted faithfully at his heels, leaving Stefano and me alone in the golden morning light. Stefano reached across the small table, covering my hand with his large, warm palm. The diamond and ruby ring on my finger caught the sunlight, throwing brilliant red reflections across the white tablecloth.

"What are your plans for the afternoon?" Stefano asked softly, his dark eyes smiling. "The weather is perfect for a drive up to the estate in upstate New York."

I paused, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "Are you taking me to visit your father?"

"No," Stefano replied, his expression turning calm and steady. "I'm taking you to see the apple orchards near the lake. I want to show you where I used to hide when I was a boy—the only place on those grounds where the old man's shadow couldn't reach."

A warm, quiet swell of emotion bloomed in my chest. I turned my hand over, interlocking my fingers firmly with his.