The morning sun cast a warm glow over the Alfonzo estate's garden, the scent of blooming roses mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and pastries.
Bruno had spared no effort in transforming the usually stark garden into an elegant breakfast setting.
A white umbrella shaded the small round table adorned with crystal glasses, fine china, and an assortment of breakfast dishes.
The scene was picturesque—deceptively so, given the man seated across from me.
I approached the table with hesitant steps, my stomach churning.
Bruno sat casually, his large frame exuding a relaxed confidence that only heightened my unease.
His dark hair was neatly combed back, and his tailored shirt, slightly unbuttoned at the collar, revealed just a hint of his muscular chest.
He smiled as I approached, his gaze warm but unreadable.
"Good morning, Maria," he greeted, his voice smooth as silk.
