Breathless ✓

Twenty-Five ✔

The familiar ambiance of the Rossi mansion's living room embraces us as Christian leads me into the space. The dimmed chandeliers cast a soft glow, creating an atmosphere of elegance and refinement. Alessandro Vasquez, Christian's father, sits comfortably in an ornate armchair, his presence commanding respect and authority.

"Victoria," Christian announces, his smile warm as he gestures towards his father, "you remember Alessandro."

I nod, offering a genuine smile. "Of course, Mr. Vasquez. It's good to see you again."

Alessandro rises, a congenial smile on his face. "Likewise, Victoria. Please, have a seat."

We settle into the plush chairs arranged in a conversational triangle, the atmosphere a blend of familiarity and formality. Christian and I share a silent exchange, a mutual acknowledgment of the unique dynamics at play.

Alessandro, an astute observer, guides the conversation seamlessly. The topics range from shared experiences to world affairs, and the room becomes a canvas painted with the hues of diverse conversations. Christian, beside me, occasionally interjects with a well-timed comment or a glance that conveys respect.

As the conversation delves into personal anecdotes, Alessandro shares stories of his youth, offering insights into the family's history. The room, adorned with exquisite art pieces, becomes a testament to the Rossi legacy—a legacy that Christian carries with a unique blend of responsibility and independence.

"I must say, Christian seems to have found someone quite extraordinary," Alessandro remarks, his gaze shifting between us.

The compliment, though gracious, carries a weight of scrutiny. I meet his gaze with sincerity. 

Christian's eyes reflect a mix of pride and affection, silently acknowledging the sentiment. The air is charged with a blend of emotions, each word and glance carrying layers of meaning within the intricate tapestry of the Rossi family dynamics.

As the evening progresses, Alessandro gracefully excuses himself, leaving Christian and me to navigate the afterglow of our meeting. The room, now a backdrop to the echoes of shared conversations, feels intimate and expansive simultaneously.

Christian, sensing the unspoken thoughts within me, turns to face me. "How do you feel about it?"

I take a moment, letting the weight of the conversation settle. "It's a lot to take in, but your father is... impressive. I can see where you get it from."

Christian's smile is genuine. "He's a formidable figure, but he respects you. That means a lot."

The atmosphere in the living room shifts as the door swings open, revealing Francis and a dark-haired man with an air of calculated confidence. Their steps echo into the room, their gaze sweeping across the occupants before settling on me.

A chill runs down my spine, and my breath catches in my throat. It's like time stands still for a moment as our eyes lock. Matteo's features tighten with a mix of recognition and something darker, while my own eyes widen in disbelief and horror.

Christian, unaware of the silent tension, greets Francis with a nod. "Francis, good to see you. Who's your friend?"

Francis smirks, gesturing towards Matteo. "This is Matteo. He's been handling some matters for us lately."

Matteo's eyes never leave mine as Christian acknowledges the introduction with a nod. The air becomes thick with unspoken tension, and I feel a sudden wave of panic rising within me. Matteo, a figure from a haunting past, stands in the same room as me.

"Victoria, is something wrong?" Christian asks, his brow furrowing in concern.

I stammer for words, my mind racing to process the unexpected collision of past and present. "I... I need a moment," I manage to say, excusing myself from the room. Panic clutches at my chest as I hastily make my way down the corridor, trying to distance myself from the unsettling encounter.