The First Move

Vittoria

The conference room smelled of stale cigars and leather, the heavy weight of years of power suspended in the air. The men seated at the long, mahogany table were among the few who had stuck around—men who worked for my father, men who remained when others walked away.

I stood at the head of the table, fingers tapping on the shining wood, stance tense, unyielding. They need to see strength