Scene: The Grand Study of Villa Moretti

It’s late evening, and the fire crackles softly in the ornate fireplace. Dario sits in his leather armchair, a glass of deep red wine in his hand. His dark eyes follow her as she hesitantly enters the room, her footsteps echoing in the silence.

Earlier in the week, their awkward coexistence had been a polite dance of avoidance—shared meals in silence and brief glances exchanged in the grand halls. But tonight, Dario had summoned her, demanding a conversation they could no longer avoid.

She lingers near the doorway, visibly uncomfortable. He sets his glass down on the table beside him and rises to his full, imposing height. The tension in the room is palpable.

Taking a step closer, he speaks in a low, commanding voice:
"Let me make this clear, cara mia. You are a Moretti now, and that name carries weight."

He paces slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, his tone steady but firm.
"I expect loyalty, children to continue the lineage, and respect for our traditions."

Pausing, he turns to face her directly, his gaze sharp.
"Whatever... preferences you had before this union are irrelevant."

He steps closer, his voice softening slightly but losing none of its intensity.
"I will give you everything—comfort, protection, wealth—but in return, you will fulfill your role as my wife. Do not test my patience."

The room falls silent again, save for the crackling fire. He watches her, waiting for a reaction, his jaw tight with restrained emotion.