Chapter 6
ETTORE
Everyone in the room goes quiet when I check my phone again.
I’m in a legitimate meeting for our real estate business, discussing low-income housing.
The upper echelon isn’t keen on the idea at all.
They want to bleed as much money from the people as possible.
Some of them look at me with judgment in their eyes.
They know who I am. Know how I got to this position.
Is this killer really going to judge us?
I stare at Mara’s message. Rage boils in me, combined with a grudging sort of respect. It’s more complicated than she understands, though. It’s not as simple as rushing home to make sure my baby is okay. But now, suddenly, the idea of not doing that makes me sick.
One of my oh-so civilized employees straightens up and says, “Sir, we must conside—”
“No,” I cut in. I’m done playing these games. “Win the project. I don’t care about the cost. Other developers will cut corners. I haven’t worked so hard for so long without being able to do a little good now and then. The meeting is over.”
“But sir—”
I slowly turn to face him head on. He’s a grey-haired man who went to Harvard Business School and has worked for many Fortune 500 companies, the sort of man who would squeal and call for help if thrown into a pit with another man baying for blood.
He bows his head. Everyone stands and leaves.
I look at the photo again. There’s a churning in my gut. Is that how my Sylvie sees me, surrounded by darkness, but with love still pulsing out of me? It’s love she can’t access in the photo. I thought I was doing enough. I thought I was trying.
I call my chauffeur and tell him to have the car ready.
As I walk through the office, there is a mix of responses.
Some men look with unashamed awe, clearly wishing they could be me.
They have no idea how heavy this crown is.
Others have a combination of fear and resentment.
Some women are indifferent. Some openly ogle me.
There are a few who have been making eyes at me for a long time.
None of them interest me. Only Mara has changed that. The woman who just overstepped her mark and scolded me.
No one else would dare to do that. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons she’s so damn alluring.
That, and the way every item of clothing, no matter what it is, settles temptingly against her curves.
The enthusiasm in her texts when she tells me what Sylvie has been doing.
Her bright laugh ringing through the house.
I force myself to focus. She’s an employee. This is not acceptable.
Mark calls as the chauffeur pulls up to my estate. I answer, holding the phone to my ear. “Found them?”
“No, Ettore,” he replies. “I’m sorry. Whoever did this, they covered their tracks real good. We’ve got CCTV of a car pulling up, but there are no plates, and all the men are covered head to toe. We’re going back through the streets. I wanted to know if we should expend cop assets on this.”
I grind my teeth. There are always decisions. “No,” I say. “That looks like overreacting. They prod, we explode. Just do your best with what you have.”
When I see Sylvie in the front yard, near the fountain, I tell my driver to stop.
She’s splashing around, sunlight glistening off her big smile.
There’s a tugging in my heart when I imagine what other fathers would feel now.
Fathers who don’t have to worry about their daughter one day hating them for their dark deeds. Or being married off to another Family.
“Daddy!” she cries, rushing out of the fountain. She stops nervously in front of me. “I don’t want to get you wet.”
I chuckle and sweep her into my arms. She giggles and clutches me tightly. Over her shoulder, I see Mara watching, her knitting needles in her hand.
She looks… fierce, flawless, ferocious even. She’s wearing her staple hip-hugging jeans that cling to her thick thighs and a top with frilly white bits on it. No cleavage, but there doesn’t need to be any. Her breasts are tempting enough.
I put my daughter down and focus. Reading Mara’s texts is difficult enough. Being with her in person is more than a challenge.
“Sylvie, do you know where Livia is?”
“In the kitchen. Cleaning.”
I laugh. She says it like it’s the most boring thing in the world.
“Be a good girl and help her.”
“Daddy. Why?”
I kneel and gently cup her chin. “Look around you. Look at this place. It’s big and expensive, and we’re very lucky to live here. The biggest danger when growing up in a place like this is that you become ungrateful for it. It becomes too normal. Do you know what I’m trying to say?”
She looks at me, thinking hard. “I think so.”
“So, will you help her?”
She throws her arms around me again. “Yes, okay.”
I give her a squeeze. “Thank you. I love you.” My voice cracks unexpectedly on the words.
“I love you too, daddy.”
She turns and rushes to Mara. “Mara, do you want to he—”
“I need to speak with Mara,” I say, joining them.
“Go on,” Mara says, her greenish, gray eyes filled with kindness.
Once Sylvie is gone, I stand over Mara on the front porch. She looks up at me with her eyes going wide. I don’t know if she’s scared or angry or something in between.
“I didn’t mean to call you home from work,” she murmurs. “I thought you worked from home, anyway.”
“It depends on the day, depends on the job,” I tell her, keeping my voice steady. The drawing is sitting on the table in front of her. She places her knitting beside her thick thigh. My body aches, and my heart does strange things too.
“Are you going to fire me?”
I sit opposite her, our legs almost touching under the table. Her scent fluttering in the wind, straight to my core. But she doesn’t smell like perfume. She smells like woman, her own scent that has my groin staining. I’m shocked by how difficult it is not to lean over and breathe her in.
I’ve never found it difficult to resist a woman.
“Where did you learn to knit?”
She’s taken off-guard. Good. If I’ve learned one thing in my life, it’s how to dominate a meeting.
“One of my better foster parents. I thought they were going to adopt me. Built up this whole fantasy in my head about it. Anyway, they didn’t, but I never quit the knitting.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t overshare.”
“You don’t strike me as someone overly concerned with boundaries.”
She leans forward. I was wrong about her cleavage. Fuck. I was very wrong. Her top rides down a little, revealing the top of her breasts. This beautiful, sassy woman has no idea the power she has over me. At least, I hope I’m hiding it.
She prods at the drawing on the table. “If I was a little girl who drew this, I’d want my nanny to take it seriously. So yeah, I overstepped.”
I’m not as good at dominating as I thought just a moment ago.
“You’re admitting you’ve gone too far with your employer, then,” I say.
“How do you normally punish employees who misbehave?” she asks, head cocked.
I must be imagining the breathiness in her voice. The rise and fall of her chest. I’m starting to ache like some goddamn beast who can’t keep his impulses in check.
“I’ve allowed you to text me, which wasn’t part of the original arrangement.”
“Allowed me,” she repeats.
I place my arms on the table and lean in close to her, expecting her to move back. But she doesn’t cower. She leans in closer. I can feel her breath on my face. Nerves gleam in her pretty eyes, but not enough. She’s more confident than most mobsters.
“Allowed you,” I growl. “Yes. Do you disagree with my choice of words?”
“You can fire me,” she says. “Or you can punish me. But you don’t get a say in what I do and don’t do. If I do something you think is wrong, then fine, I’ll take the consequences.”
“Most women in your position would be apologizing.”
“How wonderful for them,” she says sarcastically.
When I smirk, she smiles too. It’s a quick moment of acquiescence. But I’m quick to rein in my expression. She leans back, folds her arms. Her breasts pressed together. I’ve got no clue if she’s trying to play me on purpose, but she’s certainly distractingly alluring.
“Who do you work for, Mara?” I ask huskily.
“You,” she whispers.
The air crackles with tension. We’re staring at each other. Eye-fucking each other, truth be told. It’s like in the gym when there was this unspoken hunger in the air, both of us knowing how easy it would be to give in to these impulses.
Or—I’m the cliché boss, seeing signs that aren’t there, wishing all this into existence. I refuse to be that man.
I stand, looming over her. She licks her dry lips and stares up at me. This position doesn’t require much imagination. Sitting in front of me, a mouth watering view of her cleavage.
“It’s time to apologize, Mara,” I say.
“Is that so?”
I step forward. I keep my hands stubbornly at my sides so I don’t reach forward and slide them into her hair, guide her to me, use my nanny right here on the front porch like an unhinged madman.
Like a Don who takes what the fuck he wants.