Chapter 9 Angelo
Angelo
Iwake before she does.
Sunlight cuts through the half-drawn curtains, painting golden stripes across Sarah’s sleeping form. Her dark hair—free from that severe bun she always wears—spills across my silk pillowcase.
I catch myself staring. My Little Auditor looks nothing like herself in sleep—she’s softer somehow, the sharp edges smoothed away, unburdened by whatever she's carrying during the day.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I snatch it before the sound can wake her.
Unusual network activity detected. Multiple access points. Singapore servers compromised.
Shit. Singapore is Veronica's territory. I frown, sliding out of bed and grabbing my shirt from the floor. Then I make my way to the kitchen, shutting the door behind me softly.
In the kitchen, I start the coffeemaker and dial Matteo. My brother answers on the second ring, his voice thick with sleep.
"Christ, Angelo. It's not even seven."
"We've got trouble." I keep my voice low, glancing toward the bedroom. "Security flagged unusual network activity. Someone's been poking around our systems from multiple endpoints, including Singapore."
"Fuck." The grogginess vanishes from his voice. "The Kovacs?"
"Maybe. They've been circling like vultures ever since we moved into Eastern Europe."
"I told you we should've handled them the old way."
I rub my temples, feeling a headache forming. "And I told you that those days are over."
“Yeah, I know,” Matteo grunts. “So, what's the plan now?”
"I have built some systems, and with that I can…"
"Angelo—"
The soft pad of bare feet on hardwood makes me turn. Sarah stands in the doorway, her hair tousled and wild, wearing nothing but my white dress shirt from the closet, the hem barely skimming her thighs. For a second, I forget how to breathe.
"Gotta go," I tell Matteo, ending the call before he can reply.
Sarah rubs sleep from her eyes, and without her armor—the tight bun, the pressed suit, the don't-fuck-with-me stare—she looks younger, almost fragile. Like she's let her guard down. Like I'm seeing the woman behind the wall.
"Morning," I say, pouring coffee into a mug. "Sleep well?"
She takes it with a shy nod, her fingers brushing mine. "Better than I expected."
"Regrets, Little Auditor?" I can't help but smile.
"Don't call me that." But there's no irritation or anger in her words this morning. Her eyes flicker to my chest, then away, a flush creeping up her neck.
"Where are you really from?" I ask, observing her reaction. "Sometimes I catch something in your accent that isn't New York."
She sips her coffee. "Chicago, originally. Moved around a lot as a kid."
"Chicago." I nod, storing this nugget away. It tallies with her file. "And your family?"
"There's nothing interesting there. My parents died in a car accident when I was young."
Correct too.
"What about you?" She perches on a barstool, crossing those long legs. "Growing up Bellanti must have been... intense."
I lean against the kitchen sink. "We're just a loud Italian family at heart. Sunday dinners with too much food and too many colorful words.”
She laughs—a genuine laugh that reaches her eyes, and my chest tightens. "Somehow I doubt that's the entire story."
"You'd be surprised," I tell her, taking a sip of my coffee. "Every family has secrets, but most days, we're just people trying to get by."
"People who make problems disappear?"
My hand freezes mid-air. I dropped my coffee.
"Is that what you think I do?" I ask quietly.
She holds my gaze. "I think there's more to Angelo Bellanti than a financial genius in Tom Ford suits."
"And what do you know about what I am?" I ask, keeping my voice casual despite the tension crackling between us.
"Nothing concrete," she blurts. Too quickly. "Just... rumors. Wall Street gossips like teenagers."
I study her face. Maybe I'm just being a little paranoid and she's merely striking a conversation, but something deep within me feels wrong.
But instead of dwelling on it, I stand upright and ask, “What do you want for breakfast?”
—
"The Zhangs are threatening to pull out of our Asian expansion," I tell Sarah as we ride the private elevator down to my penthouse. "They've been key partners for years, but regulatory changes have spooked them."
She nods, all business now in her sharp charcoal suit, hair once again pulled into that severe bun that makes her cheekbones look like they could cut glass. "What do you need from me?"
"Your expertise. The Zhangs respect specialists. Show them we're managing risk properly, and they'll stay."
"You want me to convince them to keep their money with you?" One perfectly arched eyebrow rises. "That's not typically what risk managers do."
I can't help but smile. "Consider it a test of your…adaptability."
The restaurant is hidden beneath Manhattan in a former bank vault. Mr. Zhang and his son are waiting, their expressions closed and wary.
"Mr. Bellanti," Zhang says, standing to shake my hand. "And who is this?"
"Sarah Bennett," I introduce her. "This is our new risk management specialist. She's been auditing our entire operation with fresh eyes."
Zhang's interest visibly piques. His son, however, looks unimpressed.
"Perhaps Ms. Bennett can explain why we should maintain our partnership when three other firms have offered better terms with fewer... complications," the younger Zhang says, his tone dismissive.
I watch Sarah carefully. She's nervous, but she keeps it at bay. Being nervous is bad for business. It makes you easy prey.
"Mr. Zhang," she says, leaning forward slightly, "those other firms don't have Angelo Bellanti."
Zhang's son scoffs. "One man doesn't make a company."
"No," she agrees smoothly. "But this man transformed the Bellanti portfolio from a one million dollar operation to a 3.7 billion dollar global enterprise in under six years. While maintaining regulatory compliance across seventeen countries with conflicting laws."
I keep my expression neutral, but I'm impressed. She's done her homework.
"The regulatory landscape in Asia is shifting dramatically," she continues, her voice confident. "Those other firms are offering better terms because they're taking shortcuts that will collapse under scrutiny within eighteen months."
She pulls out her tablet, displaying a chart I've never seen before. "This is my analysis of regulatory enforcement patterns across the Asia-Pacific markets. Notice the three-year cycle? We're entering an aggressive enforcement phase in exactly seven months."
For the next half hour, she methodically dismantles every concern the Zhangs raise.
By dessert, both men are nodding along with her recommendations, the younger Zhang actually taking notes.
As we leave, Zhang pulls me aside while Sarah walks ahead to the car. "Your Ms. Bennett is... formidable," he whispers. "Keep her close."
I watch her retreating figure. "I intend to."
—
In the car, Sarah finally relaxes, a small sigh escaping as she leans back against the leather seat. "Did that satisfy your test?"
"Beyond expectation," I admit honestly. "Where did you get that enforcement cycle data?"
Her smile falters slightly. "Research. I specialize in pattern recognition."
I study her profile in the dim light, the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. She's brilliant; that much is clear. Dangerous too, in ways I'm still figuring out. And God help me, I'm drawn to both aspects.
"You're not what I expected," I tell her, my voice lower than intended.
She turns to me, a question in those dark eyes. "What did you expect?"
"Someone less... captivating."
Color rises in her cheeks. "I'm just doing my job."
"Are you?" I ask softly. "Because I'm wondering exactly what that job is, Little Auditor."
Her breath catches, but she recovers quickly. "Risk management. Nothing more."
I reach across the seat, brushing a strand of hair that's escaped her bun. She doesn't pull away. Instead, she leans into my touch ever so slightly, her eyes never leaving mine.
"I've spent my life building walls, keeping people at a distance,” I say, letting my fingers linger against her cheek. “It's how I've survived. But with you—"
I stop myself, surprised by the sudden honesty threatening to spill out. A few months ago, she was just another risk consultant I found intriguing.
Now she's becoming something else entirely—someone who sees past my carefully constructed facade, who challenges me, who makes me want to lower my guard, though I know I should raise it higher.
"With me?" she prompts, her voice barely above a whisper.
"With you," I finally say, "I'm not sure the walls are high enough."
She studies me, something unreadable in her expression. "Maybe that's not such a bad thing."
But it is. Because for the first time in my life, I've found someone who makes me forget to be careful. Someone whose secrets might be as dangerous as my own. Someone who slipped past my defenses before I even realized they were down.
I always told myself I wouldn't create or entertain any form of weakness in myself.
Bellantis don't do weaknesses, but for the first time in my life, I've found mine.
And she's sitting right beside me.