“Or,” he says, straightening his cuff, “I understand the value of what I have.” He glances at me like he’s daring me to argue. “You can afford it. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
My jaw clenches, but I keep my voice even. “You’re playing hardball.”
Matteo smiles — slow, taunting. “Not at all. I’m reminding you, Lucien… You don’t get to expect everything to fall neatly into your lap, just because of who you are.”
The words hit harder than they should, and I feel Briar go still beside me. I lean forward, keeping my expression neutral, but my pulse ticks faster in my neck. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” I ask, voice quiet enough to be dangerous.
He shrugs, all casual innocence. “Nothing. Just business.”
Liar. There’s something under those words, something pointed, but he’s not giving it to me here. Not with witnesses.
Stephen leans forward, his tone clipped. “We’ll review our position and get back to you.”
Matteo inclines his head like a king granting a favor. “Take your time. But don’t take too long. This market doesn’t wait, and neither do I.”
I push back my chair slowly, deliberately. The scrape of wood against the floor cuts through the silence. Rising to my full height, I button my jacket, keeping my stare locked on his. “We’ll be in touch.”
He smiles again, sharp and knowing, like he’s already two steps ahead. He won’t be for long. We leave withoutanother word — Stephen at my side, our lawyer trailing, Briar close behind me clutching her notepad. The air outside the boardroom feels cooler, but the tension in my chest doesn’t ease.
It’s not until we reach the elevator that Stephen finally speaks, his voice low enough Briar probably can’t hear. “He’s up to something.”
“I know,” I mutter, staring at our reflections in the mirrored doors.
Briar doesn’t say a word, but I can feel her watching me. Matteo’s little jab won’t leave my head.
Whatever he meant by it, it wasn’t just about this deal.
In the elevator down, she stays silent, clutching her folder like a shield. “You know him,” I say. It’s not a question.
Her head snaps up, eyes wide. “No. I don’t.”
She lies badly. I don’t press her here, not where the walls have ears, but the protective instinct that has been simmering quietly since she started working for me sharpens into something harder, something closer to possession. My brother meets my eyes in the elevator reflection and lifts a knowing brow.
Romero showing up is no longer a coincidence. That he owns part of the building we want to purchase to increase our portfolio in real estate certainly wasn’t. And if Briar is connected to him, even indirectly, she is leverage. I don’t like leverage. I don’t like her or anyone being anywhere near danger, even if she doesn’t see it.
By the time we reach the car, I’ve decided two things. Anthony is going to dig deeper into Romero’s movements. And Briar Locke is going to tell me the truth before I find out another way. Because I need to know exactly what kind of storm is circling me. And how far I’m willing to go to keep her out of it.
I slide into the back seat of the car after her, pulling the door closed behind us. The moment the glass seals us off from the street noise, I meet her gaze. “Talk,” I say quietly.
She freezes, folder clutched tightly in her lap, and blinks at me. “About what?”
“You know exactly what.” I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees, keeping my voice low and even. I don’t want to scare her, but I will if it means learning the truth. “Matteo Romero. You saw him in that meeting and went pale as death. I want to know why.”
Her fingers tighten around the edge of the folder until the paper creases beneath her grip. “I don’t know him,” she says quickly, shaking her head. “I’ve never spoken to him.”
“You and I both know that’s not true.”
Her gaze flicks away, out the tinted window as the driver merges into traffic, but she doesn’t answer. The silence stretches until it scrapes along my nerves. I have patience, but that patience will only go so far.
“Briar,” I say, softer now but no less firm. “If Romero is circling my company, and you react like that when you see him, I need to know why.”
She exhales shakily, like the fight goes out of her all at once, and finally turns back to face me. Her voice is quiet, almost a whisper. “Matteo Romero is my ex-husband.”
For a moment, I think I misheard her. “You were married,” I repeat slowly, “to Matteo Romero.”
How the fuck did I miss that? How did my security team miss it?
She nods once, small and tight, her throat working as though every word scrapes. As if the memory of her time with him causes her pain. “Yes.”
