“Come in.”
No hesitation this time. No softness either.
Just permission.
I pushed the door open wider.
And stepped inside.
Chapter 22
ELENA
Vincenzo stood near the tall mahogany bookcase, the warm glow of the desk lamp catching along the polished wood and throwing soft shadows across the room.
The space smelled faintly of leather and cedar.
He was in the middle of removing his suit jacket, movements unhurried.
He hung it on the brass coat stand beside his desk with the same care he gave everything else in his life, smoothing the lapel once before letting it fall into place.
Beneath it, he wore only a crisp white dress shirt.
The sleeves were rolled neatly to his elbows, exposing strong, corded forearms.
His collar was open, the top two buttons undone, revealing just enough of his throat to make something tighten low in my chest.
A shadow of stubble darkened his jaw, softening the sharpness of his face in a way that made him look more dangerous, not less.
For a second, I just stood there, framed by the doorway, suddenly aware of how out of place I looked in comparison.
He turned.
Fully.
His attention snapped to me in an instant—complete, undivided.
The kind of focus that made everything else in the room feel irrelevant.
“Hi,” I said.
The word came out smaller than I intended.
Thinner.
Like it didn’t belong in a room like this—or with a man like him.
His gaze moved over me slowly.
Not possessive, not consuming—but still thorough.
Assessing.
He took in the stiffness in the way I held myself.
The careful distribution of my weight, the way I favored one side without meaning to.
Nothing escaped him.
