“Oh my god,” I murmur, my jaw dropping open slightly as I scroll through the pictures. “This is breathtaking. That balcony—” I linger on a shot of the balcony off the main living room space, which overlooks Boston with a literal multi-million dollar view.
The entire place is insane—two living areas bisected with a white stone fireplace that shows through to either side, floor-to-ceiling glass walls surrounding most of the penthouse, a gleaming kitchen, and an architectural staircase that leads up to a huge bedroom with a floating bed. More floor-to-ceiling windows make it seem as if you’re practically hovering over Boston, and the bathroom looks like one I could practically live in. “I can’t believe this is your home now,” I murmur, handing the phone back to Elio at last.
He grins, looking more than a little proud of himself. I can’t blame him, either—he’s risen so high, a little vanity is allowed, I think. “The De Luca mansion is beautiful, too, but it’s too old-fashioned for my tastes. I like things a little more modern, architecturally speaking. And I couldn’t resist being in the middle of the city, with that view. It’s so beautiful. Like I’m getting to look out over the city I’ve loved all my life and know that part of it is mine.”
“Part of itisyours now.” I take a sweet sip of my drink. “You’re Don Cattaneo now, Elio.”
“That sounds so strange,” he admits with a chuckle. “I haven’t gotten used to it at all yet. I feel like it’s going to be a long time before I do.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing.” I smile at him. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
He looks at me for a long moment, as if he wants to say something but isn’t sure that he should. His fingers slide along the side of his crystal coupe glass, and I feel my breath catch in my throat, that tension thickening in the air again.
And then a familiar voice shatters the moment.
"Well, well. What do we have here?"
I look up to see Desmond Connelly standing a foot from our booth, his green eyes taking in the scene with obvious displeasure. He's wearing an expensive suit and his usual confident smile, but there's something sharp underneath it that makes me immediately wary.
"Desmond." I force brightness into my voice. "What a surprise. What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing." His gaze flicks to Elio, who looks confused at the obvious irritation wafting off of Desmond. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your… business associate?"
The way he says "business associate" makes it clear he doesn't believe that's what this is for a second. And what’s more, I’m pretty sure he’s pissed off that I’m here with another man. I know I need to defuse this situation quickly.
"Of course. Desmond Connelly, meet Elio Cattaneo.” I hesitate, wondering if I should bring up who Elio is—that he’s inheriting from Rocco. I don’t know if that would make the situation better or worse… worse, probably. “We’re just discussing business over a drink. Elio, this is Desmond—we went out last week."
Elio's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, but he extends his hand. "Pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise," Desmond says, gripping Elio's hand perhaps a beat too long. "Though I have to say, Annie, I wish you’d called me if you wanted to go out tonight. I was hoping I'd made more of an impression."
There's a possessive edge to his words that makes me tense, but I keep my expression neutral. "Like I said, we’re talking business. I couldn’t help but want to come back here after you showed me this spot. I thought spreadsheets would be a little less boring when paired with gin.” I try to infuse some humor into my voice, but it’s hard when Desmond’s gaze is burning into me as if I’ve committed a crime.
"Business." His jaw is tense. "What kind of business requires such an... intimate setting?"
"The kind that's none of yours," Elio says quietly, but there's steel in his voice.
Desmond's smile doesn't waver, but his eyes harden. "I wasn't talking to you."
"Desmond," I say quickly, placing a hand on his arm. "Please. We're just having a drink and going over some financial arrangements between our families. Nothing that would interest you."
"Everything about you interests me, Annie." He covers my hand with his, and his grip is just a little too tight. "Especially when it involves mysterious late-night meetings with men I don't know."
"You’re right. You don’t know me," Elio says, his voice dangerously quiet. "But you're about to."
I can see this spiraling out of control, and the last thing I need is a scene in a public place. Both men look like they're ready to tear each other apart, and while part of me is flattered by their obvious jealousy, the rational part of my brain knows this could end very badly.
"Okay, that's enough," I say firmly, sliding out of the booth. Elio stands as well. "Desmond, it was lovely seeing you, but we really do need to finish our business discussion. Elio, perhaps we should call it a night."
"Annie—" Desmond starts, but I cut him off.
"I'll call you," I say quickly. "We can set up another date soon."
He looks like he wants to argue, but something in my expression must convince him to back down. "I'll hold you to that," he says, then turns to Elio. "Enjoy your… business meeting."
Something in his tone makes me feel profoundly uncomfortable. I let out a sharp breath, watching as Desmond strides away, my pulse beating hard in my throat. Elio and I stand there in awkward silence for a moment.
"We should go," he says finally.
