What did he see in my face that frightened him so much?
I set the pen down. Rub my temples.
I’m not going to cry. I didn’t cry when my parents looked right through me. I don’t cry.
But my throat aches. My eyes sting.
I thought I was prepared for this. A business arrangement. A replacement bride in a practical dress.
I wasn’t prepared for him to touch me like I was worthy.
I wasn’t prepared for him to stop.
Footsteps in the hallway.
My whole body goes rigid. I know that tread. Measured. Deliberate. The cadence of a man who owns every room he enters.
Dante.
Last night floods back in fragments.
Then.
This can’t happen again.
I grip the pen. Focus on the ledger. Breathing steady.
His footsteps grow louder. Closer.
A voice. Pietro, his advisor.
“The Valentino meeting moved to Thursday. Lorenzo is handling the advance team.”
“Good.” Dante’s voice. Low. Controlled. The mask back in place. No trace of the man who whispered my name into the dark like a confession. “And the shipment?”
“On schedule. Romano’s overseeing it.”
“Fine.”
My lungs refuse to cooperate. The pen has stopped moving. The words on the page blur.
His footsteps reach the door.
They pause.
His attention presses between my shoulder blades. I don’t look up. Don’t move. Every nerve screams at me to lift my head, meet his stare, see if last night left any mark on him at all.
I don’t.
I can’t.
Four seconds. Five. Six. Seven.
His footsteps continue down the hall.
I listen until they fade. Until the only sound is my own ragged breathing and the tick of the grandfather clock and Nonna Rosa’s distant singing.
He’s gone.
