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... s decks alive with the glitter of Milan’s elite. My mother, Elena Rossi, the queen of luxury fashion empires, had outdone herself with this floating soiree. Crystal chandeliers swayed gently under the starlit sky, champagne flowed from fountains, and the air hummed with laughter, deals being whispered, and the faint thrum of a live jazz band. I, Welheim Vittorio Rossi—her only son, heir to the perversions that came with unlimited wealth—lounged against the railing, a glass of vintage Barolo in h ...
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