Page 9 of Mafia Don's Twisted Union

I glance down at the notebook she’s holding out toward me. Her layout is clean, practical, but with just enough flair to elevate the design.

“This could work,” I say, flipping through her notes.

Her lips part slightly, as if she wants to ask something, but she hesitates.

“Speak your mind,” I say, my voice dropping lower.

She exhales slowly. “What are you most concerned about for this event? Logistics? Atmosphere? Or something else entirely?”

Her question is bold, but it’s the right one. I like that she’s not afraid to ask.

“Perception,” I reply, my tone measured. “This isn’t just a gala. It’s a declaration. Every detail—every decision—needs to send a message.”

She nods, her expression thoughtful. “Understood. I’ll make sure the message is clear.”

For a moment, we simply look at each other. There’s something about the way she carries herself—confident yet grounded—that intrigues me.

Leo approaches quietly, his steps barely audible on the polished floor. “The staff is ready for a final walkthrough whenever you are,” he says.

I nod, gesturing for Mia to follow. “Let’s see how this space performs in motion.”

As we walk, I fall into step beside her. Our arms brush slightly, a small, unintentional contact that sends a flicker of awareness through me. She doesn’t react, but I catch the faintest tension in her posture.

She’s composed. But she feels it too.

We enter the far side of the ballroom, where several staff members stand waiting. Their polished uniforms and clipped professionalism mirror the space’s grandiosity. Leo gives a brief nod to signal everything is in place, but my focus remains on Mia.

“Walk me through your vision,” I say, stepping aside to give her the floor.

She glances around, taking a steadying breath before speaking. “The entrance should set the tone immediately—luxurious but welcoming. I’d suggest draped lighting across the columns to draw attention upward and add a sense of height. Guests should feel enveloped by the grandeur as soon as they step inside.”

She gestures toward the stage at the far end of the room. “The focal point will be here, with an elevated design that’s functional but doesn’t overshadow the rest of the space. Floral arrangements, minimalist but bold, can complement the architecture without competing with it.”

Her voice is calm, deliberate, and filled with a quiet conviction that commands attention. Even the staff are watching her now, their expressions subtly impressed.

“Good,” I say, cutting through the silence once she finishes. “But what about transitions? Guests will move between areas throughout the evening. How do you maintain cohesion?”

Her gaze sharpens as she meets my question head-on. “I’d use lighting and texture to create subtle pathways—soft carpet runners leading to key areas, uplighting to guide focus. The transitions will feel seamless, almost invisible, but intentional.”

She answers without hesitation, her confidence unwavering. I glance at Leo, who arches a brow ever so slightly. Even he seems impressed.

Turning back to Mia, I cross my arms. “You’ve thought this through.”

“I have,” she replies simply.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the faint hum of the air conditioning. I let the pause stretch, watching her carefully.

“Very well,” I say finally. “We’ll move forward with this layout—provisionally.”

Her lips curve into a faint smile, a hint of relief softening her features. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” I warn, stepping closer. “This is just the first step. There’s still a long way to go.”

She nods, her expression turning serious again. “I understand.”

I glance around the room once more, taking in the way her vision aligns with the space. It’s ambitious, but it fits.

Leo steps forward, clipboard in hand. “The next venue is ready whenever you are.”

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