Mr. Moretti leans back in his chair, and for some reason, the movement feels dangerous. A shiver passes over my skin, and I want to rub my bare arms, but I don’t. Instead, I clasp my hands tightly in my lap and refuse to give in to the need.
“Good. I don’t tolerate mistakes. My world operates on precision and trust.” He pauses, frowns slightly, like I’ve already done something to aggravate him. “I have multiple businesses. I own Moretti Shipping, and I own real estate, commercial and residential both in New York and London. There are multiplelines to your work due to my many business interests. This assistant position is not for the faint of heart, Miss Locke.”
I nod because what else can I do? “Understood.”
He studies me for a long, unbearable moment, then finally sets the pen down. “Since you’ve been recommended by Stacy, my head accountant, and I trust her implicitly, you’ll start Monday. Nine a.m.”
Relief floods me, sharp and dizzying. “Thank you, Mr. Moretti. I won’t let you down.” I can’t stop the smile, and as all my trepidation and nerves flee my system, adrenaline floods me so hard my legs start to shake.
I’m halfway to standing — or at least I attempt to — when his voice stops me.
“One more thing, Miss Locke.”
I glance up, wondering what else he wants to discuss. I lower myself back into the chair.
“There are rules in this organization.” His gaze pins me to the spot. “I don’t tolerate laziness, intraoffice relationships, or people who think they can use me or my company. Loyalty is key, and you gaining the position of my personal assistant is a favor to Stacy. Don’t disappoint me, Miss Locke.”
I blink. “I…wasn’t planning on?—”
“Good,” he interrupts smoothly, final and nonnegotiable. “Keep it that way.”
Heat crawls up my neck. I open my mouth to retort, to insist I wouldn’t dare break any of his rules, but he’s already turned his attention back to his laptop, dismisses me like I don’t exist.
I leave his office with my heart pounding, my mind abuzz, and one thought looping over and over.
Safe, I remind myself. This job will keep me safe.
So why do I get the feeling I just stepped into the most dangerous place I’ve ever been?
Thankfully Stacy waits for me outside Mr. Moretti’s office. “How did it go?” She pulls me toward her workplace, and I’m grateful for her support, her comforting arm around my shoulders. Stacy knows everything about my past, and all the trauma that comes with it.
“Good, I think. I start Monday.” I smile, though my body is in turmoil. Can I really handle working for such a powerful man? A man who’ll expect the best with little argument. I’m not confrontational by nature, but I also won’t tolerate being bullied. Not anymore. I suffered enough of that during my marriage.
“I’m so glad for you, and although Mr. Moretti is a stern boss, I think you’ll find him good to work for. I never have any issues.”
That’s true. Stacy hasn’t had any problems. But then, my whole family loved and adored my ex-husband too, and their insight into his character was as disastrously wrong as my own. Surely that isn’t the case here. I’m paranoid. My choices up until recently are questionable, but that’s regarding my personal life.
“I hope so. I want to do a good job, but it’s been years since I worked for anyone. I’m a little nervous I’m not up to his standard.”
“You worked for one of the most successful bankers in New York before marrying Matteo. You’re intelligent and capable. Don’t let your past dictate your future. You’ve got this.” Stacy hugs me quickly before reaching for some paperwork on her desk. “I have a meeting now, but I’ll see you Monday. Bright and early, remember.”
“I won’t be late.” And if I have to get up at the crack of dawn to make sure of it, I will. Mr. Moretti seems like the kind of man who doesn’t give second chances.
TWO
LUCIEN
The doorsof the elevator open, and I walk through the bustling offices. The sound, the morning hellos, the clinking of computer keys, phones ringing — all of it motivates me more than money ever could.
Not that I don’t have money. I have more than anyone would need in a lifetime, but it doesn’t give me purpose like work does. Keeps me focused on what’s important. Keeping my brothers safe, and our empire I’ve fought so damn hard to straighten out since our father’s death.
Being a Moretti, the child of one of New York’s most-feared underworld figures, isn’t an easy or safe place to be. A fact my father learned when he was gunned down on Twenty-Seventh Street and left to die when I was twenty three, and my four brothers younger still.
I grew up watching blood spill over debts unpaid and learned early that hesitation got men killed. Before I ever sat behind a desk, I was the one collecting payments that were owed, putting bullets where they needed to go, cleaning up messes my father created. I was very good at it, too — a little too good.
But I like predictable chaos now, not the unpredictable. It keeps the company running, the balance sheets clean, and my enemies guessing — and I know there are plenty of them. You cannot have the surname Moretti and not have a hater or two.
Not that I engage with any of them. Not anymore. If they keep their noses out of my business, I’ll keep my hands away from their throats and so far I’d been successful removing myself from my father’s world.
