I’ve never met him, but I know who he is the way you know what the air smells like before a storm. A pressure change. You just know it, and you can’t explain it.
Violent. Impatient. Dangerous.
Less control. More impact.
The reality of what the Contis are—what Nico is—slides into focus in a way it hasn’t before.
It never bothered me with Nico. Or maybe it did, in the beginning, but not in the way it should’ve. I wasn’t truly afraid of him.
Not really.
But sitting here with another Conti in the room, watching me like I’m something to evaluate, the truth feels sharper.
He’s not just my boss.
He’s part of a world I can’t even comprehend. A world where lecherous men sit in dark rooms and bid on women and pretend it’s normal. Because for them, it is normal.
I force myself to keep typing. My cursor blinks. I type a sentence, delete it, type it again.
I don’t look at Vito.
I feel him looking at me anyway.
The urge to grab my mug and get up—refill it, rinse it, do anything to move—is strong. But moving feels like admitting I’m nervous. So I stay.
I lift my eyes, polite. Professional.
“Can I get you anything while you wait?” I ask. “Coffee? Water?”
“No,” he says simply.
And then, like he can’t help himself, his gaze narrows a fraction.
“You’re Erica,” he says.
It’s not a question.
My throat tightens.
I keep the smile on my face because that’s what my body knows how to do under pressure.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m Mr. Conti’s assistant.”
Vito’s mouth twitches, like he finds that almost funny.
“But that’s not all,” he says.
Heat crawls up my neck so fast I’m grateful for the warm lighting in this place.
I keep my hands flat on the desk so I don’t clench them. I keep my expression neutral.
I can feel my body doing that traitorous thing again—awareness sharpening, nerves lighting up—because of course it would pick now.
Oh God.
Please don’t let him know about the auction. Please don’t let him say it out loud. I will actually die.
Vito tilts his head slightly, watching me like he’s enjoying the discomfort.
