Blood and Roses
· Alessia DeLuca & Production Syndicate · 5 min read
On Monday evening, the Tribeca penthouse was enveloped in a serene, luxurious stillness. Outside the panoramic floor-to-ceiling glass walls, the lights of Manhattan twinkled like a galaxy of fallen stars, reflecting off the dark surface of the Hudson River seventy stories below. Inside, the grand fireplace crackled with seasoned birch logs, casting dancing amber shadows across the wide-plank oak floors. In the private guest suite, Francesca Viti was sitting at…
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