Being prepared for something doesn't make it sting any less.
Dante's ascension was inevitable—I've known this for over a month now. Unfortunately, knowing something and living something are two different kinds of hell.
Alessandro probably planned this from the start; grooming his idiot son to become the perfect puppet—sorry, I meant 'boss'—was a performance for the rest of the family, and I am the captive audience.
Today, we're supposed to start ironing the red carpet for his 'crowning.'
…Which means this morning, hell arrives in the form of Sofia. Her blond hair is curled perfectly, and her ensemble is an elegant pantsuit… but in a shade of pink that makes me want to gouge my eyes.
She stands in my office doorway with a clipboard tucked under her arm and a sickeningly fake smile plastered on her face.
"Ophelia!" she sings, "Dad wants the preliminary schedule finalized before this afternoon. Dante needs to approve the press materials."
