Nine #2
“They are,” Dante agrees, careful, measured.
“But they’re not like the cut stones you’ve drawn for.
A polished diamond is uniform, predictable.
These aren’t. That’s their strength. Each one is unique.
I can size them closer if you need consistency, but forcing them into molds will strip away what makes them special. ”
I hold my breath, waiting for pushback. But Antoine doesn’t bristle. He studies the stone between his fingers, turning it toward the light. Slowly, a smile spreads.
“You’re right,” he murmurs. “They don’t need to be polished to shine.”
Something eases in my chest. Next to me, Ellory leans forward, eyes bright, watching them. She knows this is the spark we’ve been waiting for.
Dante taps one of the necklace sketches. “What if we adapt this? Imagine these rough stones strung together, not perfect, but balanced. A statement piece no one could duplicate.”
Antoine is already scribbling new lines on the page, excitement sharpening his movements. “And earrings,” he says, “not identical twins but sisters. Rings with a single raw diamond as the centerpiece. Bracelets where the sizes rise and fall like a rhythm.”
The two of them bend over the sketches, stones scattered across the table, ideas firing back and forth, as if they’ve known each other for years.
I glance at Ellory again. Her lips curve into a small, private smile. And I feel it too, that shift when possibility becomes vision. When something raw and imperfect proves it might just be the most brilliant thing of all.
Then there’s my favorite—a single drop pendant paired with matching earrings and a delicate bracelet. Clean lines. Subtle elegance. Effortless luxury.
We spend over an hour in design dialogue—weight, light play, wearability.
Ellory’s in her element, guiding the conversation with precision and vision.
She commands the room without ever raising her voice.
Her gaze is sharp, her comments incisive.
The designers listen, not just out of courtesy, but respect.
When Dante finally opens his case, it’s with the slow reveal of a man about to win a hand.
“These are just samples,” he says, laying them out like poker chips. “To test color balance, clarity range, weight.”
Antoine picks up a cloudy disk the size of a quarter and holds it to the light. “There are bubbles. Are these stable?”
Dante smirks. He lives for this moment. “Try to break it.”
“I’m very strong,” Antoine warns.
“Then go for it.”
Antoine presses the disk between his fingers, applying pressure. Nothing.
“It’s just thick enough to hold,” Dante says, casual as ever. “Our testing shows the inclusions don’t compromise the integrity. Structurally, it’s nearly as strong as a polished diamond.”
Antoine nods, impressed. “Makes sense. Toolmakers have used rough diamonds for centuries.”
Dante leans back, arms loose across the chair. “We’ve got two primary pipes operating now. If you’re interested, I can arrange a tour. It’s about two hours east of Tahoe in the Nevada desert. They’re ethically sourced and environmentally responsible.”
Antoine perks up. “I’ve toured gold and platinum operations, but never a diamond mine. That would be fascinating.”
“I’ll coordinate,” I offer. “Shoot me your availability, and I’ll loop in Tom Caruso—Marino Holdings CEO. He can set up a tour.”
Ellory’s expression softens. “That’s incredibly generous. What is your plan to move him out of the business?”
“That’s up to Luca,” I say. “But he’s not in any hurry. We’re having too much fun with this.”
“I’m impressed.” Ellory smiles.
“Don’t give him too much credit,” Dante says dryly. “It’s not altruism. We want the diamonds. The rest of our holdings are in concrete, real estate, the other businesses, and lumber yards.”
Antoine laughs. So does Ellory.
It’s true. Marino Holdings is an empire of infrastructure. But once Tom steps down, we’ll take the reins and fold in the parts that fit. The rest can go.
The meeting wraps. Designers pack their sketches and stones, one by one drifting out of the room. Dante slips into the hallway to take a call.
Ellory turns toward me. But I don’t wait.
“I’m putting Amelia down at seven,” I say quietly so only she can hear. “I have a reservation for us at Miller & Lux at eight. After dinner, I’m bringing you home…and having you for dessert. Wear those shoes and that dress. Panties are optional.”
Her eyes widen and pupils dilate. Her breath is a sharp intake of air. She wants me. That flicker of heat behind her gaze? That’s not subtle.
“Oh,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”
“If you’re not in this as deep as I am, now’s the time to say something.”
I don’t usually lay it out like this, but I’ve been hard since she walked in. That dress. Those heels. The moment she bent over the table to point something out, I nearly lost it. Couldn’t even adjust myself with that damn glass tabletop between us.
I’m done pretending I can wait.
“Tell Richard and Duane the plan. They can drop you off at the Chase Center and pick you up in the morning from my place,” I add. “No surprises tonight.”
She swallows, lips parted, cheeks flushed. Her fingers curl slightly against the edge of the table like she needs something to hold onto.
Dante steps back into the room. “I just spoke with Tom. He’s happy to meet whenever we’re ready.”
Ellory clears her throat, nodding faintly, but her gaze flicks to mine again.
She’s flustered. So am I. And that tension between us? It’s no longer waiting.
Tonight, I stop pretending. And she stops resisting.