Marco's POV

I stared at the whiskey in front of me, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light from the bar. My fingers instinctively moved toward the glass, but I kept them resting on the table.

I couldn't allow alcohol to cloud my senses when dealing with someone like Alessio Delgado.

The bar was quiet for a Thursday afternoon, with soft Italian music playing from speakers I couldn't see.

He had chosen a private room at the back, away from the windows and with a clear view of both entrance