“Anytime,” she says sweetly.
A pause stretches between us, more comfortable this time. I can hear a bird somewhere above me and the fountain running behind the lemon trees. I’d better not end up with bird shit on my dress.
Alessia glances off-screen, then back at me. “For what it’s worth, I think he cares. Men like Nicolo just don’t know what to do with it. He just doesn’t want to lose control.”
Val nods. “And control’s basically his religion.”
I laugh quietly. “You two sound like therapists.”
“Hot, delusional therapists,” Alessia corrects. “With better outfits.”
Valentina checks her watch. “I have to go check on Bee. Today’s her second to last swimming lesson and she’s nearly done with her swimming instructor, but…Mara? You’re okay. Don’t spiral. Just breathe.”
“Try avoiding him for most of the day,” Alessia adds. “Or don’t, but increase the heat. Wear something sexy.”
Valentina grins. “Better yet, don’t leave your room at all. Mystery looks good on you.”
They blow me kisses and hang up one by one, leaving my screen black.
The garden feels quieter now. Warmer. Duchess climbs onto my lap, purring like she’s proud of herself.
“I wasn’t going tostalkhim anyway,” I tell her.
She flicks her tail like,sure you weren’t.
I grin, grab my phone, and openJane Eyre—for real this time. I read one paragraph before realizing I have no idea what it said.
Closing the book, I lean back and watch the pool shimmer in the sun. Maybe ignoring him will kill me. Or maybe it’ll make him notice.
Either way, it’ll be fun to find out how far I can push Nicolo Esposito before he snaps again.
30
NICOLO
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound of my thumb against the desk fills the room, quiet and rhythmic. From the window, I watch her. She’s in the garden, pretending to readJane Eyrelike she’s got the patience for classics. The sunlight catches her hair, the curve of her neck, the hem of the dress she probably chose to torment my men. Or to torment me.
Most would dismiss her as harmless, but harmless things don’t walk straight into a lion’s den and make themselves at home.
She turns a page. Her lips move a little—muttering, maybe. Or talking to that damn kitten. I can’t hear her, but I can imagine the sound. Soft, defiant. Always a little too alive.
My reflection stares back at me in the glass, all hard lines and exhaustion. She looks likes temptation; I look like a man who knows better. Because I do.
The phone vibrates. Then again. I pick it up after the third ring.
“What?”
Theo’s voice. “Boss, there’s a man at the gate. Says he’s a friend of yours.”
I don’t have friends.
“Name?”
“Nestor.”
Silence. I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking.
