The word catches, sharp and wrong, something I’ve never heard him mention before now. Something that feels off, and the slight flare in his eyes, has me brushing past the wedding talk, and latching onto that word before he can take it back.
“Portfolio meetings?” I echo, letting a lazy smirk curve my mouth. “Didn’t know wine came with one.”
He chuckles, smoke spilling into the air between us. “Ah, well, we like to diversify. Keep things interesting. Nico’s got an eye for… potential.”
The pause is deliberate. Measured. A hook cast to see if I’ll bite.
I don’t. I just cock my head and let out a dry laugh.
“Potential,” I repeat, rolling the word around like something sour on my tongue. “Sounds like a headache. You sure Nico’s cut out for that kind of responsibility? Doesn’t exactly strike me as… gentle.” I shrug. “Maybe he’s better off sticking to the strip club. He looked right at home there.”
The words taste foul leaving my mouth, but I force them out anyway.
Antonio’s grin is sharp, humourless. “He knows what sells. And Vera helps smooth things over when needed.”
My fingers tighten against the armrest before I can stop them. The way he says it—casual, almost proud—turns my stomach. People reduced to product. Lives flattened into margins.
“Sounds efficient,” I manage, voice bored, and steady. “Guess we all have our strengths.”
Antonio studies me too long, smoke coiling between us like a screen. “And what about you, Matthew? Found yours yet?” A pause. “Or are you still… searching?”
I lean back, mirroring his expression. “What’s the rush? I’ve got four months of walking this tightrope. Plenty to keep me busy.”
He laughs softly. “Soon you won’t have to balance at all. You’ll be all ours.”
Inside, the calculations snap into place—Vera. Nico. Portfolio meetings. Routes. The threads are tightening, and for the first time in days, I can see exactly which ones need pulling.
I shift in my chair, slow and uninterested, brushing an imaginary speck from my cuff. “Sounds like a full operation,” I drawl. “Must take a lot to keep it running smoothly.”
Antonio exhales smoke, eyes glinting. “What do you take us for? We don’t run ourselves ragged. I make sure the right faces are in the right rooms. Nico keeps track of where the market’s strongest.”
The pause is deliberate. The fucker is enjoying the gloat but I pay him no mind. I’m already too busy fitting together the pieces he’s carelessly scattered, the picture taking shape whether he realises it or not.
“He’s got a little trip coming up soon,” he adds lightly. “You might be surprised which circles he chooses to visit.”
Outwardly, I’m relaxed. Internally, my pulse is a drumbeat in my ears. Circles. Contacts. Movement. Every half-answer I’ve chased is suddenly starting to align.
If I can map Nico’s movements without tipping my hand, the whole structure starts to show its seams. One misstep, though, and I won’t be the only one paying for it.
Antonio taps ash into the tray. “You’d be amazed how simple it all is when you know who to lean on. Half of them will do anything for a chance to work with us.” His smile thins. “The rest… Nico knows how to make an offer they can’t refuse.”
The phrase lands cold. Old-world brutality dressed up in designer language.
I sling an arm over the chair, crooked smile in place. “Sounds like a goldmine. Maybe I should sit in on one of these meetings sometime, learn from the masters.” I pause. “We are about to be family, after all.”
His eyes narrow, just enough. He likes attention, but not intrusion.
“Someday,” he drawls finally. “But you’ve got a wedding to focus on. Leave the rest to us, for now.”
The warning is unmistakable.
I lift my hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough. You’re the expert.”
His phone rings and the moment fractures. I don’t move, don’t react but my mind is already racing ahead, slotting names into manifests, routes into timelines, danger into proximity.
Everything points back to Nico being the key to untangling this mess. My pulse hammers, but I keep my face neutral, letting him think I’m just another oblivious player in his game, while already planning how to stay one move ahead.
And through the calculations, an image keeps surfacing—midnight-blue silk, red-rimmed eyes, Lily in that hotel room, jaw tight, and defiant as hell. If I slip up, she becomes collateral. If I pull it off, maybe—just maybe—there’s a way back for both of us.
