The aroma of freshly brewed coffee surrounded me as I stood by the expansive windows of our penthouse kitchen, the morning sunlight painting warm patterns on the sleek marble countertops. The city below sprawled in a seemingly endless grid of buildings and streets, with verdant parks scattered like green jewels among the concrete and glass. I absentmindedly traced a finger along the cool surface of the countertop, lost in the view. Verdona seemed to pulse with a life of its own, the honking of car horns and distant chatter blending into a city symphony.

"Good morning, Miss Alessia," Maria's gentle voice pulled me from my thoughts, a warm smile accompanying her words. I returned the smile, feeling a sense of ease wash over me in her presence. As she approached, her weathered hands deftly poured a steaming cup of coffee. Maria moved with the kind of practiced grace that comes from years of tending to both a household and its people, her smile a reminder of simpler times.

"Good morning, Maria," I replied, my voice tinged with genuine affection. I sank into a chair at the kitchen table, feeling the cool wood beneath me, a stark contrast to the polished perfection of the surrounding decor. "This coffee is just what I needed."

Maria's eyes softened as she placed the cup before me. "I'm glad to hear that. It's always nice to see you enjoying your morning." Her warmth was a comfort in the cold, unfeeling space of the penthouse.

As I sipped the coffee, I let my gaze wander around the room. The sunlight streaming through the large windows cast long, soft shadows, highlighting the stark elegance of the space. But it felt as though the apartment itself was holding its breath, waiting for something—perhaps a sense of home that never seemed to settle here. I longed for the vibrant colors and comforting clutter of our old house, where every item told a story, and the scent of Grandma Bella's cooking was a daily reminder of her presence.

The city below was alive with its own rhythm, a vibrant tapestry of human activity that seemed to pulse with an energy I once found exhilarating but now felt overwhelming. From my vantage point, the city appeared as both a playground and a cage, its pulse a reminder of my father's relentless drive for success. A sense of unease settled in the pit of my stomach. My father had made it clear that if I couldn't 'figure my shit out,' as he put it, I'd have to move out. Honestly, the idea of moving out didn't scare me. This penthouse never felt like home anyway. It was too sterile, too modern, lacking the cozy touches that made our old place feel alive. I missed Grandma Bella's vase, always brimming with flowers from the market, and her bowl of peanuts on the coffee table. Even that one book she always carried but never truly read. Here in the penthouse, it was like Bella was never here. And that's when it hit me: the penthouse wasn't just missing Bella. I was missing her too.

You might not guess it, but my father misses his mother more than he lets on. Their bond was something special, a silent understanding that ran deep. He loved her fiercely, though he struggled to understand her choices. Every now and then, he would open up to me about her, painting a picture of how proud she'd be of the life we're leading now. Yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe this isn't the life Bella had envisioned for us. I remember the day my father came home, practically glowing after sealing one of his biggest deals yet—the sale of the villa on St-Charles Avenue. He couldn't wait to cash in, find a similar property, and move out of 'this crappy house,' as he put it. Crappy it may have been, but that little house on Stonestreet held all our memories. Bella fought tooth and nail to hold onto those memories, and she was furious when Dad suggested selling it. I can still see her intense gaze, sharp yet softened by an underlying warmth. It was the kind of look that made you pause, wondering if you'd stepped out of line. And when she directed that gaze at my father that night, it was like electricity crackling in the air, unspoken words hanging between them. My father and Bella never had this conversation again. Eventually, after her passing, Dad caved and sold the house. Ever since then, our homes have felt like empty shells.

Despite growing up in Verdona, where every street corner holds a memory, I've come to realize that being a Rossi here means carrying a hefty burden. My father is constantly under the spotlight, working tirelessly to uphold the family name. He pours his heart and soul into his business, following in Bella's footsteps. The real estate business isn't just about money for him; it's a tribute to the legacy she left behind in Verdona. And I get that, but our relationship is... complicated, to say the least. As the only heir to the Rossi legacy, I often felt the weight of my father's expectations pressing down on me. He wants me to take over the family's real estate empire. But I just want to find what feels like home again. I want to go back to the old Verdona, when nobody knew the Rossis and I would be invisible. And if I were to step into my father's path, it would only make me more visible. Alessia Rossi, the next in line, following her father's lead.

As I gazed out the window, my father's voice broke through my daydreaming, pulling me back to the present. "Alessia," he said, his tone serious yet gentle. "We need to talk." I turned to face him, noting the furrow of concern lines on his forehead. "Of course, father," I replied, setting down my coffee cup. He glanced at Maria, who had been quietly tidying up in the background. "Would you mind giving us a moment, Maria?" he asked politely. Maria nodded, understanding the unspoken request. "Of course, sir," she said, gathering her things before exiting the kitchen with a discreet smile.

Alone with my father, I felt a sense of anticipation mingled with apprehension. His serious demeanor hinted at the gravity of the conversation to come. It was no coincidence that he chose to speak to me on a Wednesday morning, while my mother was at her yoga class. He knew it would be a rare moment of privacy, free from the prying ears of my mother.

Just as I braced myself for the impending conversation, my father shifted gears, his tone taking on a different edge. "Alessia, we need to discuss the yearly charity gala," he began, his voice carrying a note of urgency. I nodded, understanding the importance of the gala. The 'Isabella Rossi Gala' was a cornerstone of our family's philanthropic efforts. It wasn't just about raising funds; it was a tribute to my grandmother, Isabella, who had dedicated her life to serving others, even in her final years of illness. The weight of maintaining this legacy fell heavily on my father's shoulders, and I could see the strain it placed on him. He is determined to keep the charity alive, no matter the cost.

"As you know, the success of the gala depends on securing a special bid item," my father continued, his eyes searching mine for agreement. "I believe we should offer something of sentimental value, something that speaks to the heart of our family and our commitment to the community." I felt a knot tighten in my stomach as I realized where this conversation was heading. My father's gaze flickered to a framed photograph on the wall – a picture of my grandmother Isabella, her radiant smile frozen in time. "I think the special bid item should be something from your grandmother Isabella," he said softly, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

The tension in the air was thick, suffocating almost, as I struggled to find the words to respond. Deep down, I knew exactly what my father was asking for, and the mere thought made my heart sink like a stone in my stomach. "I can't," I finally managed to whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. "Bella promised... she promised I could wear it for my wedding." My father's expression softened slightly, a mix of understanding and disappointment flickering in his eyes. "Alessia, I understand how much it means to you," he said gently, his voice tinged with a hint of pleading. "But the gala is important. We need something significant to draw in the big donors. It's important for our family, for our legacy. Your grandmother would want this."

But I couldn't give in, not this time.

As I stormed into my room, the weight of our disagreement still heavy on my shoulders, I couldn't shake the chaos swirling inside me. Flopping down onto my bed, I buried my face in the plush pillows, seeking refuge from the storm raging within. My mind raced with conflicting emotions – frustration, anger, sadness, and a gnawing sense of guilt. Tears welled up in my eyes, threatening to spill. I wanted to scream, to lash out at the injustice of it all. But instead, I drew in a shuddering breath and forced myself to calm down. I pushed myself up from the bed and crossed the room to my vanity table. Amidst the clutter of rejected outfits and scattered cosmetics, my gaze fell upon a framed photograph – a picture of my grandmother Isabella, or Bella as I would call her, her smiling face a beacon of strength and grace.

I wiped away the tears from my cheeks and straightened my posture. Taking a deep breath, my gaze fell upon the jewelry box, a gift from my mother. I flipped open the lid, revealing the meticulously organized compartments within. But it wasn't the expensive earring my father bought me as a gesture to make me want to work with him that caught my eye; it was the false bottom, concealed beneath a layer of velvet lining. With trembling hands, I carefully slid aside the hidden panel, revealing a small red box nestled within. As I lifted the lid, a flood of emotions washed over me. The necklace was more beautiful than I remembered. Bella's necklace, its pendant catching the light with a captivating sparkle. Though time had dulled its shine, the engraved initial "I" was still faintly visible. It was a beautiful piece, undoubtedly, but it was more than just a necklace; it was a promise. A promise made by my grandmother to me that I could wear it on my wedding day. And I couldn't bear the thought of parting with it, leaving a part of my Bella behind.

My father never understood the deep bond I shared with Bella, the promises made between us. Truly, he never understood his own mother, but he loved her for who she was. Bella was strong-willed and determined; she had this fierce determination that I admired. She was all about family, loyalty, drilling the importance of sticking by our Rossi roots. But she also had this way of encouraging me not to lose sight of what mattered to me and not let myself just be a pawn in some generational game. "Stay true to your roots, Alessia," she'd say, "But remember, even the strongest roots need to bloom."

As I tucked the necklace back into its hiding place, a sense of resolution settled over me. Keeping the necklace wasn't just about holding onto a piece of jewelry; it was about preserving the values she instilled in me – loyalty, strength, and resilience. And I sure as hell would never let that go.

Feeling the need for a change of scenery, I decided to step outside for a walk. I needed to clear my head, and the city's familiar streets seemed to offer a promise of solace. I put on a light jacket and left the penthouse, descending the sleek, modern staircase that felt so out of place compared to the comfort of my grandmother's home.

Each step felt like a step away from the conflict I had just left behind. The city was alive with the colors of early evening, the golden light casting long shadows and making the streets shimmer. I wandered through the bustling avenues, taking in the sights and sounds of Verdona.

I made my way to a small flower stall tucked away in a corner of the market. The stall was overflowing with blooms of every color and type, a riot of petals and fragrances that seemed to lift my spirits. The shopkeeper, a kindly older woman with a warm smile, greeted me.

"Hello there! What can I get for you today?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with friendly curiosity.

"I'm looking for something special," I said, trying to put my feelings into words. "Something that reminds me of... old Verdona."

The shopkeeper nodded, understanding more than words could express. She carefully selected a bouquet of wildflowers, their vibrant hues a perfect reflection of the city I loved and missed. As she wrapped them up, she mentioned how these flowers were often used in the past for celebrations and memorials, a touch of history in each bloom.

I left the market with the bouquet in hand, feeling a renewed sense of connection to my past. The wildflowers, with their natural beauty and simplicity, seemed to symbolize the part of Verdona that I wanted to preserve. I returned to the penthouse. "He left," Maria said, her tone mixed with a subtle note of relief.

I placed the bouquet in Bella's vase, setting it in the center of the kitchen table. The fresh blooms added a splash of color to the otherwise modern, monochromatic kitchen. As I gazed at the arrangement, I felt a small but significant sense of solace. The flowers were a reminder that even in a place that felt foreign, I could still find a piece of home in the small things. The penthouse might never feel like the old Stonestreet house, but I was determined to infuse it with the essence of what mattered most to me: family, memories, and a sense of belonging.

"Those are lovely, Miss Alessia," she commented, a hint of admiration in her voice. "They really brighten up the room."

"Thank you, Maria," I said, feeling a twinge of gratitude for her presence. "I thought they might bring a bit of life to this place."

Maria smiled warmly. "Your grandmother had a way with flowers. She always said they had a way of making everything feel a bit more like home."

I nodded, touched by her words. "I miss her, Maria. I miss everything about the old house."

Maria's expression softened, and for a moment, I could see the deep affection she held for Bella. "She was a remarkable woman, Miss Alessia. I'm sure she'd be proud of you. And she'd want you to remember that home isn't just a place; it's the people and the memories we carry with us."

Her words resonated deeply, and I managed a small, appreciative smile. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Maria."

As Maria resumed her tasks, I felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps, despite everything, I could find a way to carry Bella's legacy forward, even in a place as impersonal as this penthouse.