Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
ISLA
Two years later
I stare at my reflection in the mirrored elevator wall, my dark-blonde hair swept into a low chignon, my makeup understated but sharp. I adjust the collar of my blazer, pretending not to notice the shadows under my eyes or the quiet exhaustion that dulls the stormy gray.
The elevator glides to a stop, and I drag in a strengthening breath as it opens.
Showtime.
The Cavallo Group’s front-of-house is exactly as it’s always been—moody and immaculate, layered in gleaming bronze accents and dark glass that reflects ambition more than light.
The familiar receptionist sits behind her desk, her expression brightening at the sight of me.
I offer a warm smile and continue across the marble floor, my heels tapping a harsh rhythm that echoes in my chest.
The walk to the boardroom should feel routine by now. I’ve completed it more than a hundred times over the years, and a dozen more since the Raffael ice age set in. But every pass through the glass doors still lands like a gut punch, more so today than ever, given it will be my last.
Raffael is exactly where I expect him to be. Chair centered at the head of the boardroom table. Suit flawless. Expression carved from permafrost.
He doesn’t stand or speak. There’s merely a faint dip of his chin, a bare minimum courtesy to acknowledge my arrival.
Fine. Looks like we’re both on script.
I set the Halverson & Grey file in the center of the table and remind myself why this boardroom no longer holds heat—twelve unanswered calls and six ignored emails in the week after that intimate encounter, eight months of Cavallo meetings fronted by Michelo while Raffael remained “indisposed,” followed by four more months where he showed his face at meetings but remained silent, surgical, then gone the moment my analysts finished delivering their reports.
And every encounter since has been strictly timed and professionally glacial to avoid any unnecessary communication between us. For reasons still goddamn unknown.
“Afternoon.” I take a seat, my tone crisp, neutral. “As requested, CrossPoint has completed commercial diligence on Halverson & Grey Capital.”
Raffael’s eyes, sharp and dark, flick to the report, then back to me, as if waiting for a verdict he already expects to despise. “Where’s the team of minions that are usually glued to your side?”
“They’re busy with other things.” I ignore the way my pulse thuds. “For the record, we won’t be recommending the acquisition.”
The silence that follows is lead heavy. Somewhere deep in the building, the cooling system gives off a subtle hum.
Raffael’s jaw flexes. “Reason?”
I slide the bound dossier across the table. “Three civil suits, all resolved with sealed settlements. There’s a liability in that building, and given the tight-lipped employee interviews, I’d take a guess that it’s sitting behind the COO’s desk with grabby hands and a Viagra prescription.”
A muscle pulses in his cheek. “How much to mitigate?”
“More than the company is worth.”
He leans back in his chair. “My in-house analysts led me to believe it’s manageable.”
“Then I suggest you bank on that being enough to sway your investors, because you won’t get the green light from me.”
Those hard eyes narrow.
It’s a twilight zone in comparison to that one fateful meeting, his demeanor now holding an air of cruelty I once wished to understand. Fortunately, pride killed that curiosity long ago.
“You’re threatening to put me in a bad mood, Ms. Cross,” he warns. “I want this company.”
“We’ve worked together for years, Mr. Cavallo,” I drawl. “And it’s been a long time since you’ve been anything other than hostile.”
He flinches. It’s slight. The barest hint of a direct hit. The hardening of his expression is the only warning I need to brace for what he says next. “I’m sorry if my lack of coddling isn’t to your liking.”
I bristle. “Your attitude isn’t my concern. You pay for my firm’s experience, and the answer is no. I can’t, in good conscience, clear Halverson & Grey for acquisition.”
“Good conscience doesn’t build empires. I pay for CrossPoint’s reputation, not it’s—”
“You pay because your investors trust our judgment more than anyone in this city,” I cut in. “And I’m not throwing that away so you can take a risk on the latest company that dared to catch your attention.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “You know I much prefer to deal with your team.” He swivels his chair to address the Manhattan skyline, completely rewriting history as if he hadn’t once insisted I handle his account on my own. “They’re far more amenable to my demands.”
Oh, fuck him.
As pathetic as insults get, trying to undermine my employees is a rock-bottom move.
I scoff a vindictive laugh. “Well, I’d tell you to deal with them in the future, but unfortunately, with the conclusion of this contract, CrossPoint will be severing ties with the Cavallo Group.”
His chair creaks as he snaps back to face me. “Excuse me?”
“It will be a clean break.” I push to my feet and stand tall. “No press. No noise. Just professional closure.”
His nostrils flare. “You can’t do that.”
“Actually, I can. I’ve been appointed interim CEO, and despite the demands of my change in position, I came here out of professional courtesy to tell you the news face-to-face.”
He straightens, that tightly wound composure of his unraveling just a little before he reins it in. “Bullshit. Philip would never hand over control. He’s too young to retire.”
Philip, aka my father, is far from a spring chicken, especially given the widow-maker heart attack that almost took his life last week. A heart attack that he refuses to fully acknowledge even while recovering at home.
“My father has taken a leave of absence, which is highly likely to become permanent. A succession plan is currently being drawn up.”
Raffael’s eyes narrow in scrutiny.
It isn’t easy to stare him down. Not after promising my father I wouldn’t spill the news to anyone about his health.
In return, he gave me his blessing to take over CrossPoint, albeit temporarily.
Now I just need to convince him work isn’t worth dying for, especially when his own father died slumped at his office desk.
“And this is your first move?” Raffael sneers. “May I ask why, after decades of partnership, you would dare to throw me and my company under the bus at your first opportunity?”
“Because you’ve shifted direction,” I state simply, even though my pulse roars.
This is a bold move and not many would have the balls to make it.
But he’s changed. The Cavallo Group has, too.
“Some of your recent acquisitions have been darker. The targets too specific. It seems you’re no longer exclusively building wealth, but going on side quests to strategically dismantle someone else’s.
And I don’t want CrossPoint being a part of it. ”
“That’s a heavy accusation,” he growls.
“It’s a professional assessment. My job is to identify exposure. And today, that exposure happens to be you.”
“I admire your tenacity.” He smiles, the flash of teeth menacing. “It’s cute even. But you’ve still got training wheels—”
“I’m CEO,” I snap.
“Interim CEO,” he bites back. “Does Philip even know about this? Because our parents have had business agreements in place—both verbal and formal—since long before you bought your first push-up bra.”
My anger spikes. Detonates.
I open my mouth to rail on him. Then quickly close it.
I won’t lose my cool.
I refuse.
I drag in a breath. Raise my chin. Slide my chair under the table. “Your attempt to belittle me won’t get you what you want. My decision is final. But thank you for making it easier to sleep at night.”
I take a final look at him—the man who previously massaged a groan from my throat and an ache into my chest. The one I once hoped would be more than a so-called friend.
Now he glares as if my power is pitiful.
“You can’t do this,” he warns. “There’s a valued history between our companies that you obviously know nothing about.”
I anticipated the underlying alarm. CrossPoint isn’t just another strategic partner. It’s the backbone of the Cavallo Group’s credibility. Without us, their acquisitions are shadowed with risk. Questions will follow. Investor confidence will plummet.
“It’s already done. My staff will be instructed to cut communication as soon as I return to the office.” I tilt my chin, offering a barely there farewell to mimic the one he gave on my arrival. “I wish you all the best.”
He pushes to his feet. “You’re going to regret this.”
A promise.
A threat.
And maybe he’s right. But I’d rather live with Raffael’s wrath than watch my grandfather’s legacy rot under a chokehold of inherited loyalty.
“No, Mr. Cavallo. The only thing I regret is not pushing my father to do this sooner.” I turn, walk for the door, then pause as I yank open the heavy glass.
“I suggest you take a beat to get over this tantrum. Breathe. Meditate. Maybe try some sound therapy. Because if you threaten me again, subtle or otherwise, I won’t hesitate in going public.
Then we both know every one of your investors will kiss your ass goodbye. ”