Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty One
Erica
All morning, I try to be normal. I do my best to contain myself.
And then Nico sends me the text. I’ve never been much for cursing, but this would be a good reason to start.
Don’t cross your legs.
I stare at the message, and then look up. His office door is closed, there’s no one else in the room.
My eyes land on the security camera in the corner.
So, he’s watching me. He’s enjoying watching me struggle, is he?
I should just set my phone down and refuse to do it. What’s he going to do to me, really?
Having my legs crossed is the only thing that’s given me the tiniest bit of relief the last hour, and I’m not uncrossing them.
I stare at my phone blindly. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!
Slowly, careful not to cause any more friction, I uncross my legs.
Then go back to staring at my inbox and pretend I can’t feel my pulse jumping out of my skin.
The elevator dings. Used to listening for footsteps and trying to identify the people they belong to, I tune in. But the rhythm that follows is unfamiliar.
It’s heavier. Faster. More impatient somehow.
A man rounds the corner into our section of the office, which doesn’t usually happen unless Nico has an appointment, and for half a second, my brain trips over itself trying to place him.
There’s something familiar.
Not his face exactly.
More like… a shape. The posture. The confidence. That way of moving, like the building belongs to him.
He’s tall.
Carelessly tousled dark hair. Dark eyes that skim the space and land on me like I’m an obstacle between him and what he wants. It’s almost predatory. Handsome, in the same sharp, dangerous way Nico is handsome.
My stomach flips.
He stops at the edge of my cubicle.
“I need to speak with Nico,” he says.
Not Mr. Conti.
Not my brother.
Just Nico. Familiar.
“He’s on a call,” I tell him, keeping my voice professional. My hands stay on the keyboard so I don’t fidget. “Can I tell him who’s here?”
“It’s urgent,” he says. “Family business.”
The words confirm what I thought, but still make me tense up.
Family business.
My pulse ticks up.
“I will send him a message,” I say.
Then I gesture to the seating area near the wall, the one people use when they’re waiting on Nico.
“You can take a seat,” I say. “It won’t be long.”
He doesn’t move right away. He just watches me for an extra moment, and the weight of his attention is heavy as he looks at me.
Instead of reaching for my phone, I open the internal messenger on my computer and send a message to Nico.
Someone is here to see you. Tall, dark hair. Might be your brother? Urgent.
I hit send.
I keep my face blank. I keep my posture straight. I do not squirm.
Finally, he sits.
But he sits like he’s ready to stand again at any second. One ankle on a knee. Hands loose, but not relaxed. Energy coiled and ready to strike.
Vito.
I’ve never met him, but I know who he is the way you know what the air smells like before a storm. A pressure change. You just know it, and you can’t explain it.
Violent. Impatient. Dangerous.
Less control. More impact.
The reality of what the Contis are—what Nico is—slides into focus in a way it hasn’t before.
It never bothered me with Nico. Or maybe it did, in the beginning, but not in the way it should’ve. I wasn’t truly afraid of him.
Not really.
But sitting here with another Conti in the room, watching me like I’m something to evaluate, the truth feels sharper.
He’s not just my boss.
He’s part of a world I can’t even comprehend. A world where lecherous men sit in dark rooms and bid on women and pretend it’s normal. Because for them, it is normal.
I force myself to keep typing. My cursor blinks. I type a sentence, delete it, type it again.
I don’t look at Vito.
I feel him looking at me anyway.
The urge to grab my mug and get up—refill it, rinse it, do anything to move—is strong. But moving feels like admitting I’m nervous. So I stay.
I lift my eyes, polite. Professional.
“Can I get you anything while you wait?” I ask. “Coffee? Water?”
“No,” he says simply.
And then, like he can’t help himself, his gaze narrows a fraction.
“You’re Erica,” he says.
It’s not a question.
My throat tightens.
I keep the smile on my face because that’s what my body knows how to do under pressure.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m Mr. Conti’s assistant.”
Vito’s mouth twitches, like he finds that almost funny.
“But that’s not all,” he says.
Heat crawls up my neck so fast I’m grateful for the warm lighting in this place.
I keep my hands flat on the desk so I don’t clench them. I keep my expression neutral.
I can feel my body doing that traitorous thing again—awareness sharpening, nerves lighting up—because of course it would pick now.
Oh God.
Please don’t let him know about the auction. Please don’t let him say it out loud. I will actually die.
Vito tilts his head slightly, watching me like he’s enjoying the discomfort.
“Cute,” he says.
My jaw drops. Like actually.
“Excuse me?”
He leans back in the chair, all lazy confidence, but his eyes stay sharp.
“The cliché,” he says. “Cute blonde secretary and her boss.”
My smile tightens until it feels like it might crack.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, like he doesn’t buy that for a second.
“You’re not stupid,” he says. “And neither am I.”
I don’t respond because I can’t think of a response that won’t make this worse.
The silence stretches.
I hear the faint murmur of Nico’s voice through his closed office door.
A normal work call. A normal day. My body is anything but normal.
And Vito is still watching me like he’s waiting for me to slip.
I lift my chin a fraction. Keep it polite and professional. Whoever he is, he’s still one of the bosses.
“Mr. Conti will be available as soon as he’s finished,” I say, and my voice stays cool and calm through sheer force of will.
Vito’s gaze drifts over my face one more time, slow and assessing. Then he grins, and it transforms his face. For a second, I’m a bit flustered to see the boyish humor on such a dangerous face.
“That was a very polite way of telling me to mind my own fucking business,” he says.
My stomach drops, and I feel a little sick. Because he’s right.
Oh, God. What do I do?
“I didn—” I shake my head. “That’s not what I said.”
Vito’s grin lingers like he likes the pushback.
“No,” he says. “But it’s what you meant.”
I hold his gaze for one beat longer than is comfortable, then look back at my screen like I’m not being openly sized up in my own cubicle.
The handle on Nico’s office door turns.
My pulse spikes on reflex.
The door opens, and Nico’s frame fills the doorway.
His eyes go straight to Vito. Then to me. Then back to Vito again.
Something in Vito shifts immediately. The boyish humor goes away. All that coiled energy tightens.
“Vito,” Nico says.
Vito stands like he’s been waiting for permission to move. “Took you long enough.”
Nico’s gaze flicks to me again, quick. Assessing.
I keep my face neutral, but I’m sure my face is still flushed. My hands stay on the keyboard. I don’t give either of them anything to read.
Vito steps around my desk and walks into Nico’s office like it’s his office too. Nico pauses at my cubicle for half a second, just long enough for his voice to drop.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
I nod once. It’s not a lie. It’s not the whole truth either.
His eyes hold mine for a beat. Then he turns and shuts the door behind him.
A short while later, the door to Nico’s office opens, and my body reacts by tensing up before my brain can catch up.
Vito steps out first, still wrapped in that same impatient energy. His eyes scan the room again, as if something might’ve changed in the fifteen minutes they were in there.
He glances at me as he passes my desk.
And he winks with a little smirk.
My stomach drops straight through the floor.
Not flirty. Not fun. Not cute. Like we have a secret I never agreed to share. Like he knows something about me now that other people don’t.
And, oh God, maybe he does. Maybe he knows about his brother’s… tastes in bed. And if he knows we’re sleeping together, he must think that I—
My whole face turns a deep red.
Mortifying.
And not in the fun way with Nico.
He keeps walking, long strides, already headed for the elevators as if nothing happened.
Nico follows him out a second later.
His gaze tracks Vito down the hallway for half a beat, eyes narrowed, jaw set. Then he turns to me and stops at the edge of my cubicle like he always does, like this is normal.
His eyes cut to my face. Then flick quickly in Vito’s direction.
“Something happen?” he asks, low.
I shake my head so fast my hair whips. “Nope. Nothing. He just… needed you.”
Nico doesn’t buy it.
His gaze stays on me, sharp and suspicious, like he’s trying to decide if he needs to pry the answer out of me or not. Then his phone vibrates once in his hand, and his attention shifts.
“I’ll be working out of the office for the rest of the afternoon,” he says, voice back to business. “Don’t schedule anything new. Push anything non-urgent.”
I nod, grateful for the normal task.
Then he adds, like it’s an afterthought, “I had planned on getting us out of the office this afternoon. Hotel nearby.”
My pulse jumps.
“Spend some real time ‘welcoming you back,’” he says.
The flush on me now has nothing to do with embarrassment.
“I guess that’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” he says regretfully.
“Actually,” I say, “we got a little… distracted this morning, but I was going to tell you that my dad feels so bad about me having to stay home with him every night for his recovery, and since the in-home nurse is working out so well, he’s decided that she should stay overnight a couple days a week. ”
Nico’s gaze sharpens.
“One of those days is today,” I finish.
His eyes heat, the change so fast it warms me up.
He leans closer just enough that it feels like a private conversation, even though no one else is around to hear. “I’ll text you my address,” he says. “Be at my house after work. If I’m not back by the time you get there, someone will let you in.”
My throat tightens.
My brain flashes to his car. His gate. Cameras. Privacy. A house that’s probably built like him—solid, controlled, impossible to get into without permission.
I nod.
“And, Erica,” he murmurs, gazing intently into my eyes, “the rules apply, even when I’m not around to enforce them. All of them.”
The rules. No orgasms, no touching myself, no crossing my legs.
“Yes, Sir,” I say, breathless.
His gaze drops briefly to my lips, then he turns and walks off down the hall, following his brother.