Chapter 11
ELEVEN
ENRICO FERRARA
City hall’s meeting room was small and suffocating—nothing like the expansive, polished environments I was accustomed to. The rustic table, the old, worn furniture… everything about the room felt designed to test my patience.
But nothing irritated me as much as the woman sitting across from me.
Valentina.
She sat with her hands resting calmly on the table, posture rigid, shoulders squared—resistance made flesh. She was determined not to show a single crack in front of me.
For reasons I refused to examine, it only made me angrier.
The mayor cleared his throat, nervous under the tension, trying uselessly to break the silence.
“Well… now that we’re all here,” he began, “we can start. The goal of this meeting is to find a peaceful solution regarding the Dreamland project. I believe everyone wants a quick and friendly resolution, correct?”
I ignored him. My eyes stayed on Valentina, tracking every subtle shift in her expression while she maintained that stubborn composure.
“Let’s get to the point,” I said coldly, cutting him off. “I have no interest in wasting time with empty speeches. I want to hear exactly what absurd demands this association thinks it has the right to make.”
Valentina’s eyes narrowed a fraction—offended—but her voice stayed calm, steady.
“They aren’t absurd demands, Mr. Ferrara,” she said. “They’re measures that ensure the city’s historic and cultural preservation, as well as the economic security of families who’ve lived and worked here for generations.”
I gave a low, humorless laugh and folded my arms across my chest.
“I didn’t realize you’d developed such a passion for historic preservation, Valentina. How touching.” My tone dripped with sarcasm. “If I didn’t know the kind of woman you are, I might even believe this sudden concern for social justice.”
Her jaw tightened. Irritation flared across her face—and she tried, unsuccessfully, to hide it.
“What you think of me is irrelevant, Enrico,” she said, voice controlled. “We’re not here to discuss personal matters—even if you struggle to understand that.”
I leaned forward slightly, lowering my voice into something that was almost a threat.
“You’ve always been talented at twisting things to your advantage,” I said quietly. “Especially when you’re convincing people your intentions are genuine.” My gaze locked on hers—ice hard. “But you and I both know you’re nowhere near the ethical, moral savior you’re pretending to be now.”
Valentina’s eyes darkened. I noticed the faint tremor in her hands on the tabletop—but she didn’t break eye contact for a second.
“Ferrara’s project is a real threat to the families in this town, Enrico,” she said. “I know it’s difficult for you to see beyond your own interests, but not everyone is like you.”
The insult behind her words landed sharp, and fury rose hot in my chest. I kept my voice low, only superficially controlled.
“Oh, yes. The families. How noble of you.” I smiled faintly, cruel. “What is this—your New Year’s resolution? You finally think about the impact of your choices before you make them?”
She inhaled, as if forcing herself not to explode in front of the mayor.
But she would.
Or my name wasn’t Enrico Ferrara.
My smile turned colder.
“Reckless decisions have always been your specialty, not mine.”
The mayor cleared his throat again, confused by the subtext but visibly uncomfortable. Valentina lifted her chin, meeting my stare with forced steadiness.
“And your specialty is confusing people,” she shot back. “Convincing them you care—even though your interest only reaches as far as it benefits you.”
“My only interest,” she continued evenly, “is making sure no one suffers irreversible damage because of your impulsive decisions. You have a reputation for acting without considering the consequences.”
My smile faded slowly. My eyes darkened.
“On the contrary,” I said, voice sharpening. “My decisions are always based on solid evidence. If you and your little allies can’t accept that, perhaps you struggle to recognize your own mistakes.”
“My mistakes?” She laughed, sharp and bitter, folding her arms. “Forgive me, but you may need to revisit your definition of ‘solid evidence.’ Because we both know you’re an expert in jumping to conclusions—especially when you’re determined to win, no matter the cost.”
My jaw tightened—barely.
“You truly believe you have the right to question how I make decisions?”
“I’m not the one with a known history of walking away from commitments,” she fired back, her face going rigid, a faint flush rising in her cheeks.
“I honor my commitments,” I said, cold. “When there is honor in them.”
“Honor?” She let out a short laugh and shook her head. “There’s only honor where there is mutual trust, Enrico.”
The mayor looked between us, bewildered. I drew in a slow breath, forcing my voice into something that didn’t reveal the intensity pulsing through my veins.
“Maybe you should reevaluate what you call ‘trust,’ Valentina,” I said. “Because in my experience, it cannot be demanded when one party proves incapable of honesty.”
Valentina’s eyes flashed, dangerous. Her hands gripped the edge of the table so hard her knuckles turned white.
“Honesty is a two-way street,” she said, her voice trembling at the edges. “And when someone is so determined to believe the worst, no explanation is ever enough.”
I felt a strange, dark satisfaction twist inside me.
We were too close to the real conversation now.
I wanted her to lose control.
“Maybe the problem was never believing the worst,” I said, softly cruel. “Maybe it was refusing to face the fact that certain truths are simply undeniable.”
That did it.
Valentina slammed her hands down on the table and stood abruptly, leaning toward me, eyes blazing with genuine fury.
“Don’t you dare, Enrico,” she hissed. “Don’t you dare go there.”
The mayor stood in alarm, looking back and forth, not fully understanding what he’d just stepped into.
But I understood perfectly.
I’d finally touched the real nerve. Exposed the Valentina she tried so hard to hide behind controlled speeches and stubborn strength.
I leaned back in my chair, satisfied—my anger still burning, now edged with something perverse.
“Ms. Muniz, please…” the mayor stammered, trying to calm her. “Perhaps we can continue the conversation more peacefully—”
Valentina realized her slip and sat back down, forcing herself to breathe and regain her composure. But her eyes still burned on me—ferocious, defiant.
I adjusted in my chair, enjoying the small victory.
“I believe we’ve discussed everything we needed to for today,” I announced, watching her closely. “It was… illuminating.”
She didn’t answer aloud. She didn’t have to. Her stare said it clearly: this wasn’t over.
And no—no, it wasn’t.
Because I didn’t want it to be.
I rose calmly, straightened my jacket, and walked toward the door at an unhurried pace. Before I stepped out, I turned back one last time and looked at Valentina with hard, implacable certainty.
“I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again very soon, Ms. Muniz.”
“Count on it, Mr. Ferrara,” she replied, low and controlled—every syllable loaded with an implied threat.
“Sooner than you think,” I said.
And I left the room with the faintest hint of a smile.
Enrico: 1.
Valentina: 0.
TWELVE
VALENTINA MUNIZ
I pulled another tray of cookies from the oven and immediately caught the unmistakable bitter smell of something burned.
I closed my eyes hard, holding back a frustrated sigh as I stared at the ruined cookies on the sheet pan.
“Perfect,” I muttered, shaking my head. “At this rate, Enrico won’t even have to take my bakery from me. I’ll manage to bankrupt it all by myself first.”
Ever since I’d run into him again—four days ago—I couldn’t seem to do a single thing right. Every batch that came out of my oven felt doomed, like my hands had forgotten what they’d known for years. A perfect reflection of what my life had become since that man had crawled back into my thoughts.
No matter how many times I tried, my mind refused to focus—especially when I was standing in front of heat and timers and measurements.
The whole situation with him was bleeding into everything.
Even something as simple as baking cookies.
Four days.
Four days since he’d reappeared and turned my quiet life into something that felt like a constant nightmare. And since the disastrous meeting at city hall two days ago, Enrico had simply vanished.
The silence was almost worse than the direct attacks.
It felt like waiting for a storm you knew was coming—without knowing when the first lightning strike would hit.
I shook my head again, dumped the burned cookies into the trash with irritation, and dropped the sheet pan onto the counter harder than I meant to.
I inhaled, forcing myself to close my eyes and push his image away—when the doorbell rang.
Once. Then again.
Firm. Insistent.
I frowned, glancing at the clock on the wall.
It was after ten p.m.
No one came to my house at that hour. Not without warning.
My heart slammed hard as a possibility I didn’t want to name crept in anyway.
Slowly, I walked to the door, every muscle in my body tightening with growing apprehension.
I opened it.
And my heart nearly stopped.
Enrico Ferrara stood on my doorstep—tall, imposing, gray eyes cold and hard, his expression carved from stone as he looked at me like I was something he’d come to claim.
“Good evening, Valentina,” he said, his voice low and controlled, stripped of any warmth.
I swallowed hard as irritation and fear collided inside me.
“What are you doing here, Enrico?” My voice came out sharp. “I don’t think we have anything to talk about—especially not at this hour.”
He held my gaze without blinking. A faint, sarcastic smile tugged at his mouth as he stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.
I retreated two steps on instinct.