“Understood,” she says, quieter now. “I’m sorry. I won’t make the mistake again.” She pauses, but rallies. “If they push back on giving me the data, should I say that this is a direct order from you?”
I nod. “You can do that.”
She leaves, and I find myself watching the sway of her hips as she walks back to her desk. Damn it. What the fuck is wrong with me today? Probably should have fucked Nina like she wanted over the weekend instead of cancelling our date to go over my books. Again.
I rub a hand over my jaw and force myself to turn back to the spreadsheets on my screen, ignoring the soft hum of Briar’s voice when she answers the phone outside, ignoring the click of her laptop, ignoring everything about her.
I have rules for a reason, and I never break them. Not even when my assistants in the past have all but bent over my desk and offered themselves to me. That isn’t how I operate. It might’ve been how my family used to do business, but that has never sat well on my shoulders. I’ve broken bones and shattered kneecaps on command, watched men beg for their final breath — but that was survival, obligation, not pleasure. I swore I’d never be that man again. I’ve worked too damn hard to build this company into something legitimate, and I won’t risk the feds swooping in to take it all away.
Like they did with Matteo Romero…
And like they tried to do to my father before someone else pulled the trigger first. The Moretti empire used to be built on violence and fear. I’m trying like hell to rebuild it on steel and strategy instead. But every time Romero’s name resurfaces, I wonder how long until the past demands blood again.
Briar answers a phone call and laughs at whatever is being said. I listen, even though I shouldn’t. I have work to do. A lot of it. She mentions her cousin’s name, and I know Stacy has rung her — probably to check how she’s doing, even though they’re only a few doors away from each other.
Briar Locke is off-limits.
So why the hell do I want to ignore all my rules and push her to her limits instead?
THREE
BRIAR
By ten-thirty,I’ve answered six calls, scheduled four meetings, and accidentally stabbed my finger with a paperclip trying to wrestle Mr. Moretti’s calendar into submission.
I’ve worked for high-profile executives before, but that was three years ago, and nothing compares to this. This isn’t just busy. This is…relentless. Every decision feels like it carries the weight of millions of dollars, hundreds of jobs, and God knows what else I don’t understand yet. Who knew so much freight moved in and out of the U.S. through the Port of New York? Who knew Moretti Global owned so many cargo ships and real estate all over the world?
The man has an empire.
I don’t see Mr. Moretti much. He keeps his door almost closed most days, but even from my desk outside his office, his presence is constant. It’s in the low murmur of his voice when he takes calls, the way people’s tones shift when they speak to him — deferential, careful.
Mr. Moretti doesn’t shout. He doesn’t seem to need to.
At eleven a.m. sharp, the meeting with Capstone Logistics begins. I follow him into the glass-walled boardroom, mynotebook clutched like a lifeline. I silently pray I don’t screw up my first set of notes for one of his meetings. Or worse, spill coffee if I’m asked to make it.
I suck at making coffee. I’d certainly never be asked again if I had to make them today. Thankfully, there’s kitchen staff waiting in the room who handle the beverages. I sit near a window, away from the table, but close enough to take notes and listen in.
Capstone’s reps are already seated. Two slick, tanned men in perfectly tailored suits who look like they’ve never lifted anything heavier than a golf club in their lives. I recognize the name from the files I spent the morning skimming: one of Moretti Global’s largest freight partners.
“Mr. Moretti,” one of them says, standing to shake his hand. “We appreciate you taking the time.”
Mr. Moretti’s handshake is brief, his smile nonexistent. The man exudes power and reminds me of my ex-husband. Men with influence and money are different from others, even if they try to pretend they’re not. And there is something dangerous about Mr. Moretti. And while I know his father was once part of the underworld here in New York, Stacy assured me Moretti Global has nothing to do with that kind of life anymore. I’m counting on the fact that is true. I really don’t need any more danger in my life. I just want a quiet existence where I don’t have to keep looking over my shoulder. Where I can earn a good wage, go home and veg out on the sofa.
“We need to discuss Friday’s shipment.”
His tone is off, controlled, but there’s a dangerous annoyance simmering beneath it. My pen stills in my hand. His voice is low and gravely, and I can’t help but wonder what he sounds like when he’s with a lover. Does he whisper commands in that tone…
I shiver, hating that my mind went in that direction. The last time I found a guy hot as hell I almost ended up dead. I don’t need to fall for a pretty face yet again.
“Why was there a hold-up on Pier Forty? If you can’t unload my ships quickly enough, I’ll find someone else who can.”
One of the Capstone reps laughs, but even to my ears, it sounds nervous. “It was merely a breakdown of one of the cranes. It happens, but it’s been repaired.”
“One of the cranes went out last month. Capstone Logistics is a billion-dollar business. Can’t you repair your equipment, or replace it so it doesn’t break down? The delay almost cost me hundreds of thousands of dollars because of delivery issues on my end. I can’t have this happening on my watch.”
The Capstone reps exchange uneasy glances, a sheen of sweat glistening on the larger man’s ruddy cheeks. “It won’t happen again. You have our word.”
Mr. Moretti doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t lean forward. He just…goes quiet. And somehow, that silence is worse than yelling.
