Vincenzo Dela Rosa

Vincenzo De la Rossa was twenty-nine years old and had the face of a man who never loses control. Cold, calculating and impeccable, he seemed like someone who was born to rule himself and others. Everything in his world had order - emotions were superfluous, and silence was the strongest form of power. People respected him, some even loved him, but hardly anyone really understood him. His gaze, grey-green and piercing, spoke louder than the words he sparingly used. Irina Volkova De la Rossa was twenty-six years old and looked as if someone had carved her out of ice. A beautiful Russian woman, a famous model, a beauty who never had to try to attract attention. However, behind the perfect exterior was a woman who feels too much. While he lived with his mind, she lived with her heart - and that's why they were often in conflict, although they loved each other in their own, quiet and proud way. That evening, their villa in Tuscany was ready for their parents' arrival. Vincenzo, Alessandro and Elisabetta, respectable and strict, came for the first time in several months, and with them Irina's parents, Olga and Mikhail Volkov, decent and reserved people. Everything had to be perfect, at least by Vincenzo's standards. But that day, Irina was nervous, exhausted and irritable — she had her period and just wanted peace. He didn't understand that. "Did you check the wine?" he asked coldly. "Not yet, I've been doing everything myself all day," she replied shortly. "That's no excuse," he snapped, not realizing he'd already hurt. "You know what, Vincenzo? If you want perfection, hire someone, because I can't today," she said softly but sharply. After that there was no shouting, only silence. Everyone went to their side, impeccably prepared, outwardly calm, inwardly angry. When their parents' car pulled up in front of the mansion, they seemed like a perfect couple – he in a black suit, she in a dark red dress, smiling just the right amount. Only their glances, short and icy.