3. Handle the Pressure
CHAPTER 3
HANDLE THE PRESSURE
I sabella
“Are you married?” I stare at the quiet man in a black suit seated across the conference table in my father’s office. He casts a glance out the window before returning his wary gaze to me. The imposing King Industries skyscraper towers over Midtown Manhattan, making it the perfect spot for my father’s seat of power. The city sprawls out around us, the frenetic hustle and bustle completely drowned out by the thick glass windows. Refusing his eye, I glance down at his resume, scanning the black font. He’s worked for a number of high-profile families, renowned senators, wealthy businessmen and even a famous pop star.
“I am,” he finally replies, drawing my gaze back up to meet pale green eyes. “Happily, for ten years now.”
Internally, I groan. I can’t be responsible for making his wife a widow if something goes wrong.
“Kids?”
He nods again. “Three actually, the little one just turned five.”
I rise abruptly, knotting my arms across my chest. “Thank you for coming, but I don’t think it’s the right fit.”
The man stares at me, eyes wide for a long minute before one of the guards escorts him to the door.
I can feel Papà ’s glare boring into me from the corner of the room. He hasn’t spoken a word in the past three interviews, allowing me to take the reins. But I have a feeling his silence is about to come to an end.
So I spin on him, pre-emptively. “I know what you’re going to say.”
“Oh really, what’s that?” He stalks closer, arms folded behind him.
“That I’m being too picky.”
“Well, yes, that’s one thing…”
“I won’t choose a man with a family,” I blurt.
“But Frankie didn’t?—”
“I know.” And I feel awful for it. He dedicated his entire life to me and our family, without ever making the time to grow his own. “But at least, there were no kids to mourn his loss at the funeral. I couldn’t handle that, Papà .”
His head slowly dips, something like understanding in his eyes. “Isa, these men choose this life. It is no fault of your own. If it’s not you, it’s someone else they risk their life for.”
“Then it’s their guilt to drown in, not mine. I won’t do it. I will not send one of these men to their ultimate doom.”
My father draws in a steadying breath, then places his strong hands on my shoulders. “You are much too kind of a soul for this life, little princess.”
A quick knock at the door sends my head spinning to the entrance. Papà ’s executive assistant, Clara, pokes her head in. Her warm gaze flows over me, and a smile parts her perfectly red lips. The stunningly fashionable older woman is like a grandma to me, taking the place of the maternal grandmother I never met. “Mr. Ferrara is here.”
“Are you ready?” My father lifts a dark brow.
“I guess I have to be, right?”
“I think you’ll like this one, Isa. He’s never been married and has no children, not to mention has an impeccable record. He should be the perfect match.”
As much as I’ve been dreading this day, I can’t deny the itch beneath my skin, to be free, to act like a twenty-two-year-old college grad again instead of an old recluse. “We’ll see about that,” I mutter, then stomp back to the conference table and sink into the high-backed chair at the head. I glance over my shoulder at Clara and return her smile. “Please, send him in.”
Clara’s grin widens, a glint of amusement sparkling in her eyes. “Of course, principessa .”
I roll my eyes at the nickname, momentarily diverting my attention from the doorway. Again, I feel that prickle, the shift in the air that has goosebumps rippling across my arms. I lift my gaze and find myself ensnared by a pair of eyes as dark as the midnight sky. In an instant, I'm captive to that piercing, intense stare, as if the world narrows down to the space between us. A shiver of anticipation runs down my spine.
I’ve never seen a man so beautifully terrifying, his presence breathtaking and intimidating all at once.
And oddly familiar.
My breath catches in my throat, confirming my sentiment from a moment ago, as my gaze settles on the immense shadow darkening the doorway. I force my eyes away from his, down to that strong Roman nose and high cheekbones, to the dark stubble across his wide jaw, then travel further down. Good God, his shoulders are so wide he’s forced to shift sideways to fit through the entrance. A black suit melds to his broad form, the sleek material like second skin. The hint of a tattoo peeks through the open collar of his pristine white shirt and suddenly, I must know what sort of art hides beneath.
I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to a man.
Any man.
He stalks closer, and every nerve in my body tingles in awareness. I cross my legs, to extinguish the unexpected building heat, and fold my hands atop the mahogany conference table, reminding myself why we’re here. I’m supposed to be interviewing him, not eye-fucking the man and imagining his naked, tattooed body sprawled beneath me.
He folds his massive form into the chair across from me and offers a guarded smile. “Good morning, Signorina Valentino.” The hint of an accent laces his words, the smooth, deep timbre, a perfect match to the gorgeous man perched before me. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me today.”
Swallowing hard, I shuffle through the papers in front of me, trying my damnedest to remember what Clara had said his name was until I find his resume. Raffaele Ferrara. Yes, that’s it ! “Thank you for coming, Mr. Ferrara.” I’m impressed with the coolness I manage given the sudden heat racing through every inch of my body.
I sit across from him, trying not to squirm, the sprawling boardroom doing nothing to temper the electric tension between us. The chandelier above the conference table casts a soft glow, accentuating the sharp lines of his suit and the undeniable presence he commands. I try not to linger on the sight of him, too aware of my wandering thoughts. Clearing my throat, I refocus on the task at hand.
"Mr. Ferrara, your record is impressive. Special Forces, then private security in some of the world's most volatile lands," I begin, scanning his resume while stealing glances at his hard expression. "What brings you to the doorstep of King Industries?"
Raffaele places his hands on the table, his posture a study in relaxed vigilance. "Protecting people is more than just a job to me, Signorina Valentino. It's a vocation. I'm here to ensure your safety, thoroughly. As to what brings me to New York specifically, I’ve grown tired of the endless travel in my stations abroad. I’m looking for a more permanent position."
The intensity of his tone tries to pin me down, make me feel secure, but it also pulls at the edges of my restraint. I lean forward, a playful smirk forming because apparently this man possesses some sort of magical power over me. I feel flirtatious, I feel alive for the first time in a month. And again, it all feels weirdly familiar. "Thoroughly, huh? Does that include tackling the dire threats of midnight chocolate cravings or extracting me from insufferably dull dinner parties?"
A spark of amusement lights up his dark eyes, briefly softening the steel in them. "If those pose a risk to your well-being, then absolutely."
My laughter cuts through the tension, sharp and maybe too raw. "My risks tend to be a bit more life-threatening than social faux pas, Mr. Ferrara." Though I wouldn’t mind having him in my arm for a gala or two. The man would look devastating in a tux.
He doesn't miss a beat, his gaze locking onto mine with unflinching seriousness. "I'm fully briefed on the actual threats, Signorina Valentino. I heard what happened at The Velvet Vault last month. I assure you my dedication to your safety is absolute."
Some of the fire blossoming below wanes at the dismal reminder. And a flicker of a memory rises to the surface. It was him . He was the gorgeous guy I’d seen at the bar a month ago.
“I can guarantee something like that would never happen under my watch.”
Something about his unyielding assurance makes me pause and slightly pisses me off. As if Frankie had fucked up somehow. Shoving down the inappropriate thought, I rein in my emotions. There's a challenge in his eyes, an unspoken dare that I find both disturbing and exhilarating. I lean in closer, dropping my voice to a whisper so Papà doesn’t hear. "But what if I'm the one who likes to bend the rules? I don't like cages, even gilded ones. How will you handle me then?"
His eyes narrow slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching in a semblance of a smirk. Does he remember me? "With respect, it's my job to keep you alive, not cater to your whims. However, I’ll do my best to manage both."
The daring in his tone sends a thrill through me, a lethal mix of annoyance and attraction. I push back my chair slightly, sizing him up. "And if things get... complicated? Can you handle the pressure?"
"Complications are part of the job," he replies without hesitation, his voice low and steady. "I always keep my cool, signorina ."
"Good," I say, a slow smile spreading across my face. "Because around me, things don’t just get complicated—they explode."
“I can see that.”
I get ready to stand, desperate to put some space between myself and this completely unexpected man. I wanted to hate him, planned on dismissing him like all the others, but I can’t seem to keep my eyes off him. “One last question, or two, rather.”
“Of course.”
“Are you married?”
He shakes his head. “Forming meaningful relationships is difficult in my line of work.”
I’m surprised by his candid reply, and by the twist of his lips, he seems just as stunned to have given it. “So no kids either?”
“No.”
“Good.” I bite my tongue, shaking my head. “That’s not what I meant, I just prefer a bodyguard who isn’t involved.”
Raffaele nods once, sharply. "Personal feelings and attachments have no place in my profession.”
“Right.”
“Then we understand each other well, Signorina Valentino."
He takes my hand, his grip firm and resolute. The contact sends a jolt through me, challenging my resolve. As I let go, I can't help but wonder if I'm sealing a deal with a guardian or sparking a war with a man who might just be my undoing.
“Yes, I guess we do.” Far too well possibly.
“I’ll await your decision then.”
My head dips and I press my lips together, not trusting myself to say anything else. Like can you start immediately? I can’t help my traitorous gaze from trailing after his impressive form as he walks away, his confident stride a promise of the fiery dance to come.