“Cut the act,” he said, voice flat but sharp. “You roll out of bed late most days, and we’re supposed to believe this is strategic genius?”
I raised my hands in mock surrender. “Guilty as charged. Happy now, big brother?”
“We don’t have time for sibling quarrels,” Ettore said, walking in and shutting the door behind him.
I shot a wary glance at Ettore, his presence commanding, an unyielding wall of authority. The mood in the room shifted, palpable tension swirling with unspoken questions. I knew better than to push back against him, especially now.
Rocco frowned, flipping through the papers again. “Still no leads on the missing funds?”
I shook my head. “Nothing concrete. Cosimo is saying it’s an accounting error, but has yet to provide me with enough documentation to account for all the missing money.”
“He’s probably too busy fucking the girls at the strip club,” Ettore muttered, voice low but laced with disdain.
Vincenzo snorted, shaking his head. “Figures. Can’t leave him alone with numbers for five minutes without him screwing it up. Literally and figuratively.”
I rubbed my temple. I swear, if Cosimo had been in charge of tying his own shoes, he’d probably find a way to lose a lace and blame the sneakers. We don’t have time for this level of incompetence. Every day the missing funds go unaccounted for, the risk grows—and I can feel it tightening around my chest like a noose.
“Don’t worry,” I said, voice firm, letting the edge of authority cut through the tension in the room. “I’ll get Cosimo undercontrol. He’s my cousin, sure, but that doesn’t mean he gets to keep screwing things up while the rest of us clean up the mess.”
“That should be interesting,” Rocco said, his gaze sweeping the room, making it clear he was fully aware of just how much of a wildcard Cosimo was.
I met his eyes, letting the weight of my words settle between us. No one here doubted I meant what I said—and no one doubted that when it came to Cosimo, the next moves were mine to make.
For now, that was enough.
Chapter 24
Tessa
The faint click of the front door made me freeze mid-step. I had been sorting the dining ware, organizing the sets of plates by design into the cabinet. But the promise of Felix was far more compelling than organizing china.
I carefully set the plate down and practically flew toward the door, each step buzzing with electricity, my pulse quickening as I sensed him enter the house.
Today, he looked… different. Less intimidating than I expected, almost indifferent, but there was something in the way he moved that seemed off. He held the house keys in his right hand, the casual grip belying the authority I could sense radiating from him.
He turned to look at me, tilting his head ever so slightly, and for a moment, I felt like he was studying me.
A flicker of confusion shot through me, and the words slipped out before I could stop them.
“You’re not Felix.”
“Astute observation,” Rocco said, his voice smooth, calm, similar to Felix’s but somehow different. “Even our friends sometimes still confuse us for one another.”
I blinked, processing his words while a slight nervousness unfurled within me. It was unwarranted; Rocco was the reason I had ended up in the brownstone rather than a strip club.
“How could you tell?” he asked, his tone calm but curious.
“Felix is left handed,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended, but steady enough to carry the weight of my observation. “And you just have a different aura, I guess.”
Rocco’s expression remained unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on me with that intense, measured stare. There was no amusement, no flicker of a smile. He just had a quiet, commanding presence.
The silence stretched, heavy and almost suffocating, and I realized I couldn’t just stand there, frozen under his gaze. My throat felt tight, and my words stumbled out before I could stop them.
“Why are you here?”
Oh my god. Did I really just ask him why he was at his brother’s house, aka his deceased grandparents’ house? As if I had any right to question him, to stop him? My stomach twisted, heat rushing to my cheeks.
“Felix left his phone.” Rocco reached into his pocket and pulled out an iPhone, holding it with that same subtle but authoritative presence. “It’s not like I could get ahold of him to tell him he left it.”
