"And how is your wife doing?" I asked, seated across from Adam in my private study.

"She's doing well... For now, at least," he replied, lifting his glass of red wine and taking a slow sip. "She has no suspicion about what we did to her father."

I nodded at his answer, swirling the liquid in my own glass.

Even if we couldn't keep the truth from Angelina forever, she didn't deserve to carry that burden right now. Bianchi deserved every second of the lifelong torment we had designed for him. After all, he was the primary architect who had masterminded the execution of my biological parents.

How dare he...