It’s so Alexander.
Floor-to-ceiling windows with the Manhattan skyline in the background. The space is wide and meticulously organized. Dark walnut shelves line the wall, filled with architectural books, marble samples, and a few personal pieces—a Carrara sculpture, a vintage drafting compass, family photos.
His desk is a slab of dark stone, imposing and elegant, facing two gray armchairs over a textured rug.
Along with the scent of marble dust, there’s a faint trace of cedar and sandalwood… his scent.
I turn and find him watching me from the half-open door behind him.
With a small smile, I say, “If I ever had to guess what your office would look like... it would be this.”
He just looks at me and then says, “It’s almost a replica of my office in Milan. It was my father’s before mine... and my grandfather’s before his. I think you understand the idea.”
I nod. “Another piece of your legacy brought to this side of the ocean.”
Alexander smiles, agreeing. “I was thinking,” he says, “would you rather look at the project first or tour the company?”
I take a moment to consider. “The project first. It might help me know what to look for during the tour.”
He nods. “I thought you might say that.”
He picks up a tablet from his desk, then places his hand at the small of my back, guiding me toward a couch. We spend the next half hour going through the fifteen-year anniversary project, with a comfort and ease that feels nothing like the top floor of a corporate building in the heart of Manhattan.
It feels more like sitting on the couch in his home.
“Can I be completely honest?” I ask Alexander the moment we step out of the elevator and back onto the executive floor.
He opens the door and lets me walk into his office first. “I wouldn’t accept anything less from you.”
Alexander has just shown me the entire company, introducing me to employees and explaining the inner workings of each department. The tour felt like it went on forever, not because of distance, but because of the sheer number of layers I never imagined existed inside a company of this size. Every department head and associate greeted him with a level of respect that was impossible to overlook, and each time he walked me through a new area, that same pride was evident in his face and tone.
Now, back on the top floor, it’s clear this company isn’t just his family’s legacy—it’s a living piece of him. Walking each corridor beside him let me see more than the executive. It let me see the man underneath it all, someone carrying the story of generations on his shoulders, yet guiding me through everything with a patient, intimate ease, as if he truly wanted me to understand what matters to him.
Seeing this new side of him drew me closer in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
I set my bag on his desk and turn back to him with a smile. “You talk about your work with so much passion and pride... but what struck me most was seeing that same pride mirrored in your employees. It’s not just about maintaining the image of a socially responsible company. You’reactuallybuilding the environment you claim to value.”
Alexander leans back on the edge of his desk, hands slipping into his pockets. With that lopsided smile that’s becoming far too familiar, he says, “I’m glad you picked up on that without me having to brag about my employees.” He tilts his head. “So...does this mean you’re on board with the proposal I made? No last-minute change of heart?”
He’s teasing, but I meet his eyes, showing no doubt in mine. “If anything,” I say, “I’m even more excited to write about Santoro Marmo’s story now.”
He smiles, and we hold each other’s gaze until it’s too much, too intense, and I have to look away. I walk toward the glass wall behind his desk, letting the skyline swallow the heat rising in me.
“So this is how the CEO of Santoro Marmo sees Manhattan from up here...” I murmur.
His reply comes from just behind me. Close enough that I feel him before I fully hear him. “Not in this headquarters. In New York, the CEO title belongs to Henry. I can introduce you before lunch, he’s in a meeting right now.”
I turn, my back touching the glass.
Alexander hasn’t moved. But the space between us feels smaller. Charged.
He reaches for the end of my ponytail resting over my shoulder, wrapping it around his fingers with a careful gentleness that makes my breath catch. When he lifts his eyes to mine, I can’t stop the instinctive flick of my gaze to his mouth.
I look away, just for a heartbeat, before he draws me back in.
He releases my hair, fingertips brushing upward until his hand cradles my cheek. The tenderness of it undoes something in me, keeping me rooted to the spot. He steps closer... and I hold my breath.
“Alexander...”
