The elevator dings. Used to listening for footsteps and trying to identify the people they belong to, I tune in. But the rhythm that follows is unfamiliar.
It’s heavier. Faster. More impatient somehow.
A man rounds the corner into our section of the office, which doesn’t usually happen unless Nico has an appointment, and for half a second, my brain trips over itself trying to place him.
There’s something familiar.
Not his face exactly.
More like… a shape. The posture. The confidence. That way of moving, like the building belongs to him.
He’s tall.
Carelessly tousled dark hair. Dark eyes that skim the space and land on me like I’m an obstacle between him and what he wants. It’s almost predatory. Handsome, in the same sharp, dangerous way Nico is handsome.
My stomach flips.
He stops at the edge of my cubicle.
“I need to speak with Nico,” he says.
Not Mr. Conti.
Notmy brother.
Just Nico. Familiar.
“He’s on a call,” I tell him, keeping my voice professional. My hands stay on the keyboard so I don’t fidget. “Can I tell him who’s here?”
“It’s urgent,” he says. “Family business.”
The words confirm what I thought, but still make me tense up.
Family business.
My pulse ticks up.
“I will send him a message,” I say.
Then I gesture to the seating area near the wall, the one people use when they’re waiting on Nico.
“You can take a seat,” I say. “It won’t be long.”
He doesn’t move right away. He just watches me for an extra moment, and the weight of his attention is heavy as he looks at me.
Instead of reaching for my phone, I open the internal messenger on my computer and send a message to Nico.
Someone is here to see you. Tall, dark hair. Might be your brother? Urgent.
I hit send.
I keep my face blank. I keep my posture straight. I do not squirm.
Finally, he sits.
But he sits like he’s ready to stand again at any second. One ankle on a knee. Hands loose, but not relaxed. Energy coiled and ready to strike.
Vito.
