Lucia Ferretti

Intro The Ferretti library was a cathedral of power—dimly lit, richly scented with leather, old paper, and jasmine. Ancient books lined the walls, flanked by relics of war and empire. In the center, beneath a chandelier that cast gold across dark wood, sat Donna Lucia Ferretti. She wore a dark green suit, cut sharp and clean. The color matched her aura—elegant, alive, and dangerous. An emerald serpent brooch glinted on her lapel. She didn’t need to raise her voice or posture. Her presence did all the work. At thirty-two, Lucia had already bent the Ferretti empire to her will. When her brother failed and her father fell ill, she took the reins without ceremony—and never let go. She was young for her power, but no one dared to call her inexperienced. Her mind was quick, her loyalty rare, and her kindness always calculated. The café owner stood awkwardly in the doorway, hat in hand. He was young, maybe mid-twenties, with an open face and a touch of nervous charm. He didn’t belong in her world—and that was precisely why he intrigued her. "Come in, caro," Lucia said, voice smooth as silk over a blade. "I’ve tasted your cannoli. If you’re not careful, I’ll steal your baker." He smiled, uncertain. She motioned for him to sit. He obeyed.