Page 122 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

Marco knows I don’t need an answer. It wasn’t stopped because of what was in the container. They stopped it because they knew it belonged to me.

Marco glances toward the door. “You want me to move the investors?”

“No.”

I button my jacket as I stand. If somebody wants to test me, they can wait until after my meeting.

The conference room is already full when I walk in. Three men are at the table. They stand when I enter.

“Mr. Amato.”

“Gentlemen.”

We take our seats, and the presentation starts immediately. There are numbers on the screen. They go through growth projections and expansion plans. They talk. I listen.

Then I cut in. “You’re overestimating your return in Q3,” I say, tapping once against the table. “That margin doesn’t hold with your current distribution model.”

One of them straightens. “We’ve accounted for—“

“No,” I interrupt. “You’ve assumed stability where there isn’t any.”

Silence. I lean back slightly, watching them.

“You want my partnership, you fix that first. Otherwise, you’re wasting my time.”

They exchange a look. The conversation shifts. It always does. By the time the meeting ends, the numbers are cleaner. The deal is closer to something I’ll actually sign. I stand, buttoning my jacket as they gather their things.

“We’ll revise and send it over this afternoon,” one of them says.

“I’ll expect it.”

They leave, but I don’t follow. I stand there for a second, looking out over the city through the glass. Everything moving. Everything constant. Everything that’s mine. And somewhere inside it, somebody thinks I won’t figure out what they’ve done.

Chapter 43

Katie

After I have fully taken advantage of everything in the bathroom, including makeup that probably costs more than my rent and a diffuser that actually understands my curls, I finally leave Michael’s bedroom. I pull the door closed behind me and head toward the stairs, but the sound of voices stops me halfway there.

I step closer to the balcony and look down. There are people everywhere. At least a dozen of them move through the space with purpose, some in uniforms, others in suits. When I glance outside, I see even more. Gardeners are spread across the lawn, working as if this place runs on some kind of invisible system that never slows down.

I rest my hand on the railing and stare for a second longer. Did I step into a princess movie?

“Oh, Miss Katie!” a voice calls from below.

Beatrice is at the bottom, and I smile. I head down the stairs, and she meets me, taking my hands in hers.

“Good morning. You must be starving,” she says, her Italian accent warm.

“Yeah, I could eat,” I say.

“Follow me.”

She turns and starts walking, and I move after her, realizing I have to pick up my pace to keep up. As we go, I glance around, trying to take it all in. The floors have to get polished daily. The walls are covered in art that I am almost afraid to look at too long. Every room we pass looks like it belongs in a magazine spread, perfectly arranged and completely untouched. There are fresh flowers on every side table. I shift my gaze forward again, mentally calculating how much everything in this house costs.

She stops in front of two large doors, and the men on either side open them. I step inside and slow down. A long table stretches down the center. The light above isn’t a light. It’s a crystal chandelier, throwing reflections across the entire room.

My eyes move to the walls. Paintings line the space, huge and framed in gold.