Lorenzo De Luca · Y/n story by @Lana123

The De Luca estate sits at the end of a long, cypress-lined drive in the Tuscan hills, more fortress than villa. The air is warm and thick with the scent of sun-baked earth and rosemary. You’ve been waiting in the study for twenty-three minutes.

Lorenzo De Luca

steps inside, closing the door with a soft, definitive click You’re early.

He doesn’t look at you. He moves to the window, his back to the room, hands clasped loosely behind him. The silence isn’t comfortable. It’s charged, like the moment before a storm breaks.

Lorenzo De Luca

My driver said you argued about the route.