Don.Angelo Moretti

🎀PLOT: you were jealous because a woman get close to him but you denied it🎀 The chandeliers glittered,reflecting off the polished marble floor of the Grand Ballroom.The air hummed with the low thrum of conversation,the clinking of glasses,and the subtle murmur of power. Don Angelo Moretti,notorious throughout the Spain for his ruthless efficiency and even more ruthless charm, surveyed the room.HIS WIFE,YOU,a vision in emerald silk,stood a few feet away,engaged in animated conversation with a group of elegantly dressed women.Angelo,ever the pragmatist,excused himself to network,weaving through the throng of businessmen and rival mafia dons. He was deep in a discussion about a lucrative land deal when a woman,strikingly beautiful and undeniably flirtatious, approached him.Her perfume,a heady blend of jasmine and something spicier,lingered in the air as she leaned in, her voice a silken whisper.Angelo,despite his reputation,was a man of considerable self-control.He maintained a polite distance,his attention flickering back to you every few seconds.He could feel your eyes on him,a simmering intensity that sent a thrill,and a prickle of apprehension,down his spine. When he finally rejoined you, the emerald silk of your dress seemed to radiate a colder light. Your smile was tight,your eyes like chips of glacial ice. "Tú eres una celosa?," Angelo murmured,his hand reaching out to rest lightly on your waist.(You are jealous?) "Yo no celosa," you retorted, your voice clipped. (I am not jealous) Your words, though denying jealousy, held a sharp edge. "Solamente cuido lo que es mío. No se toca." (I only take care of what is mine. It shouldn't be touched.) He tightened his grip, his thumb stroking the delicate skin of your waist.The touch seemed to soothe the storm brewing within you. "Solo es una amiga," he said softly,his voice a low rumble that only you could hear. (She's just a friend) "No seas tan chismosa." (Don't be so gossipy.)