He’d hesitated, and for a moment I’d thought hewas going to force me to take part, but then he’d nodded his head and shut the door.
The boardroom has these thick mahogany doors that muffle everything, but the audio feed in my ears is crystal clear. Every time Martin Hale’s voice comes on, it makes me want to reach through the door and strangle him with his own silk tie.
I can definitely tell he’s Gabriella’s sister.
The smugness in his tone gives it away.
“The recent scandals demonstrate a pattern of compromised judgment,” Martin is saying now. “Especially the personal scandal involving his relationship with a subordinate.”
Gee, thanks for the shoutout, Martin.
Really appreciate being reduced to ‘a subordinate’ in front of twelve board members.
I type his words into my meeting minutes while my stomach churns.
“We have a fiduciary responsibility,” Martin continues. “To protect this company from leadership that repeatedly demonstrates poor judgment.”
I can hear Nico’s silence through the line.
Say something.
Defend yourself.
Do that thing where you go all cold and lethal and make everyone regret underestimating you.
But he doesn’t.
Helena Vasquez’s voice cuts through. “The CEO’s honest public admission showed remarkable courage. Spinning would have been easier. Hiding would have been expected. Instead, he chose the truth.”
God bless Helena Vasquez.
“The truth about pastmanipulation,” Martincounters smoothly. “Which only reinforces my point about his character.”
My fingers pause on the keyboard.
Okay, I really hate this guy.
The vote is coming. Martin’s motion to “temporarily restructure executive leadership.” Corporate speak for ripping everything Nico built right out of his hands.
I think about the last day. The honest statement Nico wrote himself. The way his voice cracked when he showed it to me. Dom showing up this morning, pulling his brother into a hug right there in reception. His parents arriving, his mother’s face crumpling the moment she saw him.
And me. Watching from outside while his family surrounded him. Feeling like I was witnessing something private and healing, something I wanted to be a part of more than I want to admit.
“Before we proceed to the vote,” Martin says, “I’d like to formally move that—”
“Actually,” Nico’s voice cuts in, and even through the tinny conference line, it makes something flutter in my stomach, “I’d like to request a brief pause.”
“But—” Martin begins, but then falls silent.
I can image Nico looking at him with those dark steely eyes in that moment. Eyes that could silence a raging bull.
I hear chair legs scraping. A lone chair.
His?
Then the boardroom door opens.
Nico stands in the doorway, and sweet Jesus, even now, in the middle of a corporate coup, the man looks like sin wrapped in a tailored suit. His sleeves are rolled up, his jaw is shadowed with stubble he hasn’t had time to shave. The scars on hisface catch the light, and I remember tracing them last night, feeling him shudder under my fingers.
