Chapter One #3
“Six weeks for phase one if we receive full cooperation. Longer if documents are incomplete or leadership resists interviews.”
“No one will resist,” Mario says.
He says it calmly, but I hear the certainty underneath. Not just confidence but certainty.
In most companies, leadership buy-in is aspirational. Here, it sounds like an absolute.
“And who is leadership?” I ask, picking up my pen to make notes.
Mario looks at Lorenzo.
Lorenzo answers. “Mario is chief executive. I oversee corporate strategy and expansion. We have two more brothers. Ricardo handles certain operational divisions. Diego manages security and private contracting. Several senior directors report directly to at least one of us.”
“And the rest of the family?” Ainsley asks.
When there’s no immediate response, Ainsley barrels ahead before I can stop her. She obviously didn’t feel the change in the room.
“You each have two sons, and your brother, Ricardo, has another,” she says, checking her notes. “Are they involved in the business?”
Lorenzo’s expression has cooled by a degree.
“You’ve done your homework,” he says.
“She always does,” I reply before Ainsley can, hoping to defuse whatever just got their backs up.
Benjamin seems to have picked up on it as well, but poor Ainsley still seems to be in the dark. I’ll have to have a talk with her about that.
Ainsley’s pen taps once against her tablet. “Public records and social presence can tell you a surprising amount. Not enough to advise you properly, but enough to know the family is integrated into the business.”
“The family is the business,” Lorenzo simply says.
Something about the way he says it feels less corporate and more… personal.
Like it’s about more than just business.
I get the feeling again that my theory on the Contis and their dealings is not that far off the mark.
“Then the compliance structure has to account for that,” I say, hoping to shift the atmosphere back toward business. “Family companies have different vulnerabilities.”
Mario’s voice is still low, still dangerous. “Such as?”
“Informal authority. Undocumented approvals. Conflicts of interest. Blurred reporting lines. Employees afraid to escalate issues because the person causing the issue has their last name on the building.”
Benjamin adds, “And regulators tend to look harder when family ownership intersects with rapid expansion.”
It takes a moment, but Lorenzo’s expression shifts again, back into his less serious one. “That is one reason we wanted outside counsel.”
“And that’s only one of the reasons,” I say.
Mario leans back, and there is approval in his silence. I feel it before I can name it, and I hate how aware I am of it.
I did not come here to impress Mario Conti personally.
I came here to win a client, and they are not the same thing.
They cannot be the same thing.
“We should discuss engagement terms,” Lorenzo says, and I almost exhale in relief at the crisis averted.
I start gathering paperwork after a long and thorough meeting where I’m almost sure we got the job. I don’t want to celebrate just yet, but I can practically taste it.
I tap the file in my hands to line up the edges and slip it into my portfolio, preparing to walk out confident.
“Assuming engagement terms are acceptable and conflict checks clear, we could begin as soon as next week.”
“Tomorrow,” Mario says.
I still.
I feel Benjamin and Ainsley do so on either side of me as well.
Lorenzo says, “Mario.”
Mario does not look at him. “We did not bring Ms. Murray here because the work can wait.”
Typically, this would be the point I would firmly say no and walk out. Pressure from entitled executives who think that every professional, especially professional women, should rearrange their calendars for them, and be grateful for it, is cause for dropping an account.
But this doesn’t feel like that. This feels like something else entirely.
Mario Conti strikes me as a man who doesn't hear the word “no” often. He strikes me as a man who often gets what he wants when he wants.
But also as a man who has earned it.
He knows exactly what he is asking.
He also knows what the account is worth.
I find myself curious.
I smile politely. “My firm does not begin work without an executed engagement letter.”
“Then you’ll have one today.”
“After my review.”
“Of course.”
“And after I review any proposed modifications from your side.”
His mouth curves again. “You expect modifications?”
“I’m an attorney. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Lorenzo laughs under his breath.
“We can have our counsel send revisions within the hour.”
“Send them to me directly,” I say and hold out my business card.
Mario’s gaze meets mine, and he reaches out to take the business card from me.
His fingers brush mine.
Barely.
It is nothing.
A professional exchange. A business card passed across a conference table at the end of a meeting.
Except my body does not receive the information that way.
My pulse gives one hard, stupid kick and gallops away before I can rein it in.
Mario turns the card over once, reading the front, then the back. As if there is anything on it he does not already know.
“Victoria Murray,” he says.
My name in his voice does very bad, dangerous… oh-so-delicious things to me.
That faint Italian accent wrapping around each syllable.
I keep my expression calm through sheer force of will. “My direct line is on there.”
“We’ll have the revisions sent within the hour.”
He says it as if the matter is already settled. Like somewhere outside this room, someone is about to have a very difficult afternoon because Mario Conti has decided I will receive those revisions within the hour.
I should not enjoy that.
I really should not.
“Good.” I slide my portfolio strap over my shoulder. “Once we receive them, I’ll review and respond.”
“This was productive,” Lorenzo says.
“It was,” I agree. “Thank you for your time.”
He shakes Benjamin’s hand, then Ainsley’s, then mine.
Mario waits.
I turn to him last.
That is a mistake.
He extends his hand again.
I take it.
The contact is no longer surprising, which makes it worse. His hand closes around mine with the same measured pressure as before, but this time I feel the brief brush of his thumb along the side of my hand.
So slight it could be unintentional.
He’s not a man who does anything unintentionally.
My breath stays even through sheer professional discipline.
“I look forward to working with you, Ms. Murray,” he says.
“Likewise, Mr. Conti. We appreciate the opportunity.”
Our hands part, and once again, I feel it acutely.
Lorenzo walks us to the door himself. The security escort is waiting in the hall when the doors open.
We step out of the conference room, and I resist the urge to look back.
I make it three steps and fail.
Mario is still standing near the table, one hand in his pocket, his attention fixed on me.
The doors close before I can decide what to do with that.
The hallway is too quiet.
The elevator ride down is worse.
No one speaks until we’re on the other side of the revolving doors and on the busy street.
Then Benjamin says, “Well.”
Ainsley exhales slowly. “That man is not a normal CEO.”
“No,” I say.
My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
Benjamin watches me carefully. “Are we taking this client?”
I think of the building. The security, money, and opportunity. The risks buried underneath it all. And the way Mario Conti looked at me as if it were already a done deal.
I think of my firm’s name on the door of our small office. The associates standing beside me. The clients we have, the clients we need, and the kind of future that does not build itself.
Then I think of Mario saying, Tomorrow.
My stomach tightens.
“Yes,” I say. “If the agreement is solid, we take the client.”
Ainsley’s expression is unreadable. “And if the agreement isn’t clean?”
The doors open behind us, and two people walk out, chatting about lunch.
On the dark building in neat letters sits the name Conti Enterprises.
“Then we make it solid.”