It was… more. Something.
That’s what makes me feel sick. That I can’t deny it, even now. Even after the look on her face when she realized who I was. Even after she said she wasn’t letting the acquisition go through, and made it sound like I use my body as just another tool in my kit.
I stop pacing and stand in the middle of the living room, hands on my hips, staring at nothing.
What happens now?
Nilsson—Elsa—has a say. The say. She’s the make-it-or-break-it on this. The key to the lock. And now she thinks I targeted her to pry it open.
Maybe she’ll convince Malcolm and the others to walk away out of pure spite. Maybe she’ll do it because she genuinely believes we’re a risk. Maybe she’ll do it because she wants to punish me. Maybe she’ll do it because she thinks it’s the right move.
Whatever her reason, the result is the same.
If Northstar doesn’t choose us, Bellandi has a shot.
And if Bellandi gets that shot and lands it, we’re staring at something a hell of a lot bigger than corporate paperwork.
We’re staring at a war.
My jaw clenches so hard it aches.
I can’t let that happen.
I won’t.
So I have to do something. Anything. I have to talk to her—really talk to her—fix this, make it right, make her believe me when I say I didn’t know. Make her see that last night wasn’t a move.
It was a mistake— No, not a mistake. It was just reckless, not calculated.
I exhale sharply, and my hands curl into fists.
And if that doesn’t work…
If she refuses to believe me. If she chooses to burn this deal down just to watch me choke on the smoke—
Then I have to outplay her.
The thought forms automatically, the way strategy always does in my head. Outplay. Outmaneuver. Find leverage. Control the board. Win.
And the second it’s there, I hate myself.
Because she’s not an opponent. Not really. She’s not a rival family. She’s not Bellandi.
She’s a woman with bruised pride and wounded trust and sad eyes who I can’t stop thinkingabout.
I can’t stop thinking about lying in bed with her last night, laughing over something stupid. I can’t stop thinking about her fingers tangled in my hair, and the taste of that sweet pussy on my tongue. At the way she looked at me this morning as if she didn’t want to leave. At the hurt in her eyes at the restaurant.
And I’m sitting here turning her into a problem to solve.
I drag a hand down my face, palm catching on my jaw.
My family comes first.
It has to. That’s the rule. That’s the only thing that keeps everything, and everyone, standing. We protect what’s ours. We keep our people safe. We don’t let outside syndicates waltz into our territory because I couldn’t keep my hands off a woman, no matter who she is.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second.
I can’t let some one-night stand start a war.
