“Your clothes are in the kitchen.”
I swallowed hard, my face heating instantly as last night rushed back into my mind.
Enrico ran a hand over his face again, a short, awkward laugh slipping from his lips as we exchanged a look.
“Enrico?” André called again from outside, confused by the delay.
Enrico raised his voice, adopting a firm, casual tone.
“Wait for me in the office, André. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
A brief silence followed before André answered.
“Fine. But don’t take long.”
His footsteps faded, and silence returned to the room.
Enrico and I stood there, motionless, facing each other, surrounded by the unbearable tension and the chaos left behind by a night of complete surrender.
FIFTY-SIX
ENRICO FERRARA
My body was seated behind the desk in my office, but my mind was somewhere else entirely.
More precisely, it was still in the bed I’d just left behind—on the sheets that still smelled like Valentina, on the woman who, after rejecting me so unequivocally, had walked out of my room wearing nothing but one of my shirts, like some cruel joke from the universe.
Every cell in my body still vibrated with the memory of her warmth, the soft sounds she’d made against my skin, the way she’d given in to me—even if only for a moment.
Valentina had surrendered completely the night before. And even though my wife had made it painfully clear how fleeting that trust had been, it was impossible to erase the feeling from my mind.
André was standing in front of me, talking about something, but his voice felt distant, muffled by a constant hum of distraction. My gaze drifted to a random spot on the wall behind him while my brain insisted on replaying every second of the night before—her dark eyes locked on mine, the sound of her breathing, the way she’d pushed me away that morning…
“Enrico! Fuck—pay attention!” André slammed his hands on the desk, irritated, yanking me back to reality.
I shook my head sharply, blinking as I finally focused on my brother’s worried face.
“What? What were you saying?” I asked, trying—and failing—to hide my distraction.
He let out a frustrated sigh.
“You didn’t hear a single word I said, did you?”
I took a deep breath, running my hands over my face as I tried to push Valentina out of my thoughts, at least temporarily.
“No,” I admitted honestly, fixing him with a serious look. “You lost me after you mentioned Eloá for the third time. I already told you—I don’t care.”
André rubbed a hand over his face, breathing noisily, as if staying calm required monumental effort.
“You should care. I know you don’t want to hear anything that comes from her, but this isn’t optional. I wouldn’t be here if it were. What she’s planning is dangerous, and if we don’t intervene, it’s going to cost all of us.”
I narrowed my eyes, nodding slowly.
“Fine. Tell me,” I said, leaning forward, finally feeling tension replace the haze Valentina had left behind. “What exactly is Eloá planning, André?”
He sighed before finally speaking, his voice low and heavy with concern as he laid it out.
“She plans to use the Caravaggio Foundation charity ball, in São Paulo, to publicly announce that she’s filing for full custody of Clara.”
