Chapter 6 Gianna
Gianna
The pen holder weighs heavily in my hand as I stand outside Angelo's office.
Not because of its weight. The sleek black marble is modest. But because of the tiny transmitter embedded inside is state-of-the-art SEC technology, capable of picking up conversations from thirty feet away.
My stomach twists in knots. I shouldn't feel this guilty. This is, after all, what I signed up for when I took this job. So, why do I feel this way?
I inhale sharply and knock on his door, three precise taps.
"Enter." His gruff voice says.
When I walk in, Angelo is leaning back in his chair, phone pressed to his ear, those green eyes meeting mine with immediate interest. He gestures for me to sit while he finishes his call.
"I don't care what their lawyers say," he says calmly into the phone. "The agreement was clear. If they can't honor it, then they shouldn't have signed it."
I set the pen holder on my lap, spine straight, face carefully neutral. The same mask I've perfected over years of undercover work. But something about Angelo makes maintaining it harder than it should be.
He ends the call and turns to me with a smirk that does something complicated to my insides. "Sarah Bennett, my favorite little auditor. What brings you by my office without an appointment? I thought everything in your world required scheduling."
The nickname, surprisingly, doesn't irritate me. Rather, I find it endearing. I hate that.
I hate even more that I notice the way his shirt stretches across his shoulders when he leans forward.
"I wanted to thank you," I say, keeping my voice even. "For allowing me to work on the project with Veronica. I know it's a significant opportunity."
I placed the penholder on his desk. It's perfect for his office—black marble with gold veining that matches his decor. Expensive-looking enough to belong here, but not so extravagant it would seem inappropriate as a gift from a consultant.
"A gift?" One eyebrow arches. "Ms. Bennett, are you trying to bribe me?"
"It's a pen holder, Mr. Bellanti. Hardly a yacht or a Swiss bank account."
He laughs, and the sound is warm, genuine. It transforms his face from merely handsome to something that makes my chest tighten uncomfortably.
"Fair enough." He picks it up, examining it. "It matches my office. You have good taste."
"I'm observant. That's my job."
"Is it?" His eyes meet mine, and for a terrifying second, I wonder if he knows. If he's seen through my cover. But then he smiles again, placing the pen holder prominently on his desk. "Well, you're very good at it."
Every cell in my body whispers that I should leave now. Mission accomplished. Get out.
But then he glances at his watch—that Patek Philippe that probably costs more than a year of my salary—and says, "Have you eaten? I'm starving, and I hate dining alone."
I should make up an excuse. I should remember that every minute in his presence increases my risk of exposure.
Instead, I hear myself say, "I could eat."
__
Two hours later, we're still in his office. Takeout containers from the same Italian place litter his coffee table. My jacket is draped over a chair, my hair loosened from its severe bun because he said it looked like I was giving myself a headache.
From where I sit, I can see the penholder positioned perfectly on his desk. The transmitter inside is recording everything, sending it all back to my computer. I'll review it when I get home and send to the SEC team. The thought makes something twist in my stomach.
"You don't agree with the restructuring plan for the Singapore assets?" He's asking about the work I've been doing with Veronica, the perfect opening I've been waiting for.
"The timing seems... convenient," I offer, observing his reaction. "With the Kovacs making moves in Hong Kong."
His eyes narrow slightly, but his expression remains casual. "You've been paying attention to things outside your specific assignment."
"Like I said, I'm observant."
He leans back, swirling the red wine in his glass. "The Kovacs are a temporary annoyance, nothing more."
"They seem determined."
"Most people are determined until they realize who they're up against." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Tell me, Sarah, why financial forensics? You could make twice as much working for one of the investment banks."
The sudden change in conversation catches me off guard.
"I like puzzles," I say, which is accurate enough. "I enjoy finding what others have tried to hide."
"Is that why you're so…. methodical? I've watched you work. Every note in perfect order, every spreadsheet impeccably formatted." His eyes crinkle at the corners. "It's actually quite interesting to observe."
I feel my cheeks warm, unsure if he's complimenting me or mocking me. "Organization leads to clarity."
"And clarity leads to...?"
"Truth," I say before I can stop myself.
He studies me for a long moment. "And what if the truth isn't what you expected to find?"
My gaze flicks involuntarily to the penholder on his desk. "The truth is the truth, regardless of expectations."
"Is that what you tell yourself?" He sets down his food. "Some truths are more complicated than balance sheets and audit trails, Sarah."
"I should go," I say. "It's getting late."
"Always so proper." He stands when I do, closer than I expected. "Always so in control."
Suddenly the lights in his office flicker and go out, plunging us into darkness.
"Power outage," he says, his voice closer than before. "Happens sometimes during thunderstorms. The backup generator will kick in soon."
I hadn't even noticed it was storming outside. The rain pounds against the windows now, lightning briefly illuminating the room in stark white flashes.
"Let me help you." His hand finds my arm in the darkness, his touch burning through the thin fabric of my blouse.
Another flash of lightning, and I see him—too close, eyes intent on my face.
"I can manage," I say, but my voice comes out embarrassingly breathless.
"Can you?" He's definitely closer now. I can smell his cologne, something expensive and subtle that makes me want to lean in. "You know, you strike me as someone who never loses control, Sarah.”
The next flash of lightning reveals that infuriating smirk. "Am I wrong?"
"You think you're very charming, don't you?" I counter, not moving away like I should.
"I know I am. That's different." His hand moves up my arm, leaving a trail of heat. "But you're immune, aren't you? The serious little auditor who's too smart to fall for my charm."
"And you're used to women falling at your feet because of your name and your bank account."
He laughs, low and deep. "You really don't give a fuck, do you?"
Another lightning flash, and his face is so close to mine I can feel his breath on my lips.
"I'm not like other women, you know," I whisper.
"No," he agrees. "You're not, and it would be an insult to assume you are."
The flash of lightning strikes again, and for a moment, it illuminates his face, and the pure desire I see swirling in those green eyes makes my breath hitch.
I don't know who moves first. Maybe we both do. But suddenly his mouth is on mine, and everything I know about self-control evaporates.
His kiss is nothing like I imagined—and yes, I've imagined it, despite my best efforts not to. It's not aggressive or demanding. It's careful, questioning. Like he's solving a puzzle too.
But then I make a sound—embarrassing, needy—and something in him shifts. His hands frame my face, tilting my head back as the kiss deepens. My hands find his shoulders, feeling the muscle beneath his shirt.
For one blinding moment, I forget who I am. Who he is. What I'm doing here.
The lights suddenly flicker back on, and reality crashes down.
I jerk back, heart pounding like I've run a marathon. Angelo's eyes are darker now, his breathing uneven. For a moment, there’s a vulnerability in his expression that I've never seen before, but it’s gone so quickly I might have imagined it.
"I—I need to go." I grab my jacket, my laptop, moving like the building's on fire.
"Sarah—"
"This was a mistake." I'm already at the door. "We work together. It's inappropriate."
"Is that really what you're worried about? Professional boundaries?" His voice has that edge again, the one that hints at the darkness beneath the charm.
I can't answer that. Not honestly. So I do what I've been trained to do—I retreat, regroup, reassess.
"Goodnight, Mr. Bellanti."
I don't wait for his response. I walk—not run, because I never lose control, not completely—to the elevator. Inside, I press my fingers to my lips, still burning from his kiss.
What have I done?
—
My apartment is dark when I let myself in, but I don't turn on the lights. I drop my keys, shoes, and my bag at the door.
I immediately go to the bathroom. I flip the switch, wincing at the harsh fluorescent light. The woman in the mirror is a stranger—cheeks flushed, lips slightly swollen, eyes too bright.
"What the hell was that?" I whisper to my reflection.
I grip the edge of the sink, trying to steady myself. This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to plant the bug, gather information, build a case.
Clinical. Detached. Professional. Just as I've always been with all of my jobs.
I wasn't supposed to feel anything when he kissed me except perhaps disgust.
"You're here to destroy him," I remind myself, voice harsh in the quiet bathroom. "So why do you want him to kiss you again?"
My reflection offers no answer, just accusing eyes that know too much.
Maybe he's not as bad as the SEC has painted him. Perhaps there's more to the story. Maybe—
I shake my head sharply, cutting off that dangerous line of thinking. This is exactly what men like Angelo Bellanti do. They charm and disarm and make you doubt what you know to be true.
The evidence doesn't lie. Patterns exist within the transactions, shell companies, and deal timings. The SEC didn't choose me for this assignment on a whim.
I splash cold water on my face, trying to wash away the lingering feeling of his hands, his lips, his warmth.
This is just a job. The penholder is in place. The mission is proceeding.
But as I turn off the light and retreat to my bedroom, I can't shake the feeling that I've crossed a line I never meant to approach, let alone cross.
For the first time since I took this assignment, I'm no longer certain which betrayal I'm more afraid of—the betrayal of my oath to the SEC or my betrayal of the man I was sent to destroy.