“Please,” Malcolm replies, and everyone moves at once—chairs sliding, portfolios opening, tablets waking.
I take my seat without rushing. The moment my knees bend, my stomach twists again, hard enough that a thin sheen of sweat breaks at the back of my neck. I keep my expression neutral anyway, because that’s the only option.
Antonio sits across and slightly to my right, angled toward Malcolm and David like I don’t exist. His hands fold on the table, still, composed.
I force my eyes to my tablet.
Agenda. Process.Risk.
Not the memory of his body on mine. Not the sound of his voice whispering in my ear.
Malcolm clears his throat. “Thank you all for coming. We’ll keep this structured.”
Roberto nods once. “Of course.”
“And,” Malcolm continues, “before we get into documents, we’d like to hear—at a high level—how you see integration working if we move forward.”
Roberto doesn’t hesitate. He shifts his hands on the table, calm and prepared.
“Integration is the point,” he says evenly. “We’re not looking to slap our name on your operation and call it a day. We want Northstar to stay Northstar—same standards, same compliance posture, same client discretion. We provide capital, infrastructure, and a broader platform. You keep the spine.”
Caterina taps her tablet once, already pulling up what she needs. “Operationally, nothing changes without sign-off. We’d set joint governance lanes, clear escalation paths, and an implementation timeline that doesn’t disrupt client service.”
Malcolm nods, satisfied, and looks to David. “All right. Let’s move into the materials.”
I keep my face composed as I open my notes, pen poised.
Business. Process. Control.
I can do this.
I hope to God I can do this.
Chapter Nineteen
Antonio
I sit on the opposite side of the table from her and keep my hands folded like they aren’t itching to do something stupid.
Like they aren’t still remembering her.
Elsa is back in her armor today—non-fitted charcoal suit, conservative lines, makeup chosen to disappear instead of flatter. The kind of look that tells everyone in the room she’s here to work and she dares anyone to suggest otherwise.
It doesn’t matter.
She’s still breathtaking.
The first moment I walked in and saw her sitting there—chin lifted, eyes fixed on her tablet—my lungs stalled. A full, humiliating second where my body forgot the basics. I had to force my face into something neutral. Had to force my stride to stay unhurried. Had to pretend I didn’t want to cross the room and pull her into my arms like I had any right to.
Then Caterina saidmy name.
Then she extended her hand.
And it took everything I had not to ruin the whole damn meeting in the first ten seconds by holding on too long. By letting my thumb drag across her knuckles the way it did Friday night. By letting my voice soften when I said “Ms. Nilsson,” even though every part of me wanted to say something else.
I let go because I had to. Because I’m not a fucking animal.
Because I already did enough damage.
