Episode 2

The Vitalle mansion had never been so full.

Crystal chandeliers cast golden reflections on the marble-clad halls. There was music in the background—a discreet string quartet—and dozens of waiters parading with glasses of red wine and trays of delicacies. The mafia families were all there: imposing men, wives made up like porcelain dolls, and daughters in their best dresses, smiling as if the world were a stage.

And that night, it really was.

Anticipation hung like mist: they all hoped to be seen by Giancarlo Vitalle.

Antonella

I held tight to the hem of my dress. Purple, delicate, almost ethereal—chosen by Valentina, who swore it was "the only shade that doesn't completely fade you out, Antonella."

Bianca descended the main staircase as if she owned the ball. Valentina came right behind, with light steps and a captivating smile. I was last. As always.

My heart was pounding. I didn't want to be there. The party, the stares, the loud voices—it all suffocated me. But my mother's eyes, firm and proud, told me I needed to play my part.

Little by little, I moved away towards the side columns of the hall, where the dim light offered some relief.

That's when I felt it.

Someone was watching me.

I turned my face slowly... and saw him.

Giancarlo

I was bored.

The girls passed before me like items in a shop window: they smiled, bowed, offered empty conversations, rehearsed compliments. Some were beautiful, others confident. But all... predictable.

"Bianca Rossi," a woman announced beside me, as if that should impress me. "One of the most sought after."

I observed. Beautiful. Intense. She smiled with perfect teeth, but there was something aggressive in her gaze.

"And there, Valentina. Diplomatic, elegant. Very influential among the wives of the bosses."

Once again, I looked... and looked away. They wanted too much. Almost begged.

That's when my eyes landed on her.

Antonella.

She wasn't dancing. She wasn't smiling. She wasn't showing off. She stood still, in silence, near a column, as if begging to be forgotten.

But there was no way to forget her.

The purple dress lightly outlined her body. Her hair was tied in a loose bun, with some strands escaping as if they hadn't been tamed. She wasn't an obvious beauty. She was... subtle. Fragile. Real.

And, above all, she didn't look at me like the others.

Not with fear. Nor desire.

Just... cautious curiosity.

I approached slowly, unhurried. My steps calculated, as always.

When I stopped in front of her, Antonella raised her eyes.

Clear, firm, but not arrogant.

For the first time that night, I felt something vibrate inside.

"Antonella Rossi," I said, as if confirming a discovery.

She hesitated for a moment before answering, in a sweet voice:

"Signor Vitalle."

My last name had never sounded so... human.

Antonella

"Signor Vitalle."

That's all I could say.

He was close. Tall, impeccable in his dark suit, with a cutting gaze that analyzed me as if trying to decipher me. He didn't seem like a man used to hearing "no." But, curiously, it didn't intimidate me. It disconcerted me, yes. But it didn't frighten me.

"You don't dance?" he asked, his voice deep.

"I prefer to observe," I replied.

"Observing is an art... few do well."

His gaze lowered discreetly to my hands—firm, clasped. Then, it returned to my eyes. Quietly, I sustained the look. Outside, calm. Inside, chaos.

For a few seconds, we were silent. But it wasn't uncomfortable. It was... dense.

When he moved away, he said nothing more. He just continued among the guests. But not without casting one last glance at me.

And I realized: he would return.

Valentina watched.

Disguised among a group of girls who were laughing loudly, she saw Giancarlo stop in front of her younger sister—the invisible one—and exchange words with her. Few, but significant.

Valentina pursed her lips, thoughtful.

Bianca saw.

And she didn't like it.

She quickly approached Giancarlo minutes later, offering him a seductive smile.

"Signor Vitalle," she said, with the same tone as someone who already felt part of him. "May I keep you company?"

He accepted. They talked for a few minutes, until another girl pulled him away. He went, polite, but impersonal.

And, from time to time, he looked at Antonella.

No matter where she was—near the piano, the dessert table, or in a discreet corner of the garden.

His eyes sought her.

Don Alberto Vitalle, in the distance, watched his son.

With a glass of whiskey in his hand and an attentive expression, he quickly noticed the pattern. His son greeted everyone, smiled at some, talked to others. But he only looked at one.

Antonella Rossi.

"Interesting," he murmured in Don Enzo's ear, patriarch of another family.

"The youngest daughter? I thought she was just a shadow of her sisters."

"Perhaps that's exactly what attracts Giancarlo," said Don Alberto, with an almost imperceptible smile. "A shadow is difficult to capture. But when you succeed… it becomes valuable."

Later, at the end of the ball

The music faded. The farewells began. The servants collected empty trays. The hall still shone, but the charm of the night began to dissolve.

The decision was not announced.

And that generated rumors. Comments. Tension.

In the Rossi family car, before leaving, Bianca couldn't contain herself. She turned to Antonella with a forced smile and a venomous look.

"You shouldn't get close to Giancarlo, understand?" she whispered. "He's not for you. He belongs to another woman. One who knows how to handle power, not a bookworm like you."

Antonella swallowed hard, but didn't answer.

Valentina huffed, impatient:

"Don't start. We're all being watched."

Their mother, Dona Francesca, was smiling. The kind of smile that only appears after a good feeling.

"What a night, isn't it?" she said, excited. "Antonella, you looked beautiful. You caught attention. I saw it!"

The father, Massimo Rossi, finally spoke:

"My daughters will not fight over a man. Whoever he chooses, is chosen. And that's enough."

The car continued in silence along the cobblestone path, carrying with it not only three sisters, but three restless hearts. One out of jealousy. One out of calculation. And one... for something that she didn't yet know how to name.

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