Chapter 3
three
. . .
Valentina
The conference room at the main Moretti estate smelled like old wood and cigars.
Heavy velvet curtains muted the daylight into a dim, golden haze, and a single chandelier hummed faintly above, its crystals swaying ever so slightly as if the air itself was holding its breath.
I hated coming out here, preferring the den at my house for having uncomfortable conversations.
But this was a major meeting, that much I knew.
I had heard my father talking to my uncle, Malcom, about wanting extra security on site.
I didn’t blame him. It wasn’t every day you invited the enemy into your space.
Every man seated at the long glass table carried himself like a king presiding over his domain, but we all knew the truth.
Every empire in this room was one wrong move away from crumbling.
That knowledge sat in the silence between us, sharp and metallic as a blade pressed to the throat.
But it was this knowledge that also put everyone on equal footing.
I took my seat, my father to my right, solid and severe as always, while Camilla stood just behind me.
She never sat during these meetings, preferring to hover like the threat she was, hands clasped behind her back, a living reminder that I wasn’t to be underestimated—even if my father treated me like a piece on his board rather than a player.
Even with the seriousness of this meeting, I couldn’t help the way my gaze was drawn to a particular side of the table to the one person I’d both dreaded and secretly hoped to see.
Nico sat two chairs down from her father, poised like a weapon on display.
Her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek twist, showing off a jawline sharper than I remembered from the party, cheekbones cutting shadows across her face.
She wore a tailored black suit again that hugged her in all the right ways without being remotely soft.
Her eyes were lethal like polished obsidian that promised you’d bleed if you looked at her the wrong way.
God help me, she looked devastating. I hated that I noticed.
I hated more that I couldn’t stop noticing.
I forced my gaze away, schooling my features into something cool and detached.
She didn’t deserve to see a reaction from me, not today.
And not after I’d vowed never to let her get under my skin again.
I needed to have all my wits about me today.
I only knew a slight bit about what this meeting was for, and it wouldn’t do for me to get surprised by either side of the table when there were already so many eyes watching for any little weakness.
The meeting began the way these things always did, with idiotic posturing, subtle digs disguised as small talk, and backhanded compliments barely dressed in civility.
My father opened with a speech about “mutual opportunities in volatile times,” and Nico’s father, Angelo, countered with a thinly veiled remark about “certain partners needing to modernize their methods if they want to stay relevant.” The old men laughed, but it was a brittle sound, like glass about to crack.
I sat, still and silent, watching the game unfold.
This was their world; a constant dance of dominance, every word weighted, every gesture measured.
But beneath all the civility, the undercurrent was unmistakable—neither side trusted the other.
They were here because they had to be, not because they wanted to be.
And they both knew that if one of them faltered, the other would pounce without hesitation.
Lorenzo Romano, Nicolette’s older brother and, apparently, the only one in that clan with a functioning brain, cut through the bullshit and finally got to the meat of things.
“If we want this truce to stick,” he said, leaning forward, his voice calm but firm. “We tie our interests together in a big way. With something that bleeds both our money until it’s too tangled to undo.”
The room stilled, and all side conversations ceased. My father’s eyes narrowed slightly, but to my surprise, he didn’t dismiss the idea. He understood leverage when he saw it, even if he didn’t like it being pointed out by anyone but him.
“Fine. I agree.” His gaze slid to me then, sharp as a knife’s edge, and my pulse kicked up a notch. I knew whatever he was about to say, I wasn’t going to like it. Still, I kept my expression neutral, letting none of my thoughts bleed to my face. “Valentina will oversee our side.”
Fuck. Of course, he’d say that; never mind the fact that he rarely trusted anything to me before.
Why he would toss the responsibility to me now, in front of the Romanos, so they see I’m competent and invested when he knew he’d second-guess every decision I make behind closed doors, I couldn’t understand.
Still, there was no declining this. Not for me.
“I see. Then, Nico will oversee ours,” Lorenzo replied smoothly.
What?
I didn’t miss it then—the flicker of surprise in Nico’s eyes, quick as a spark, before she masked it.
Clearly, she hadn’t expected that either.
Her lips parted slightly, then curved into the faintest smirk, like this was a game she was already planning to win.
She looked over at me, nodding her head in a way that was hardly subtle.
I refused to give her the satisfaction of looking away.
“That is amenable. What exactly is the project we’ll be partnering on?” I asked, my voice steady.
“A luxury condo-hotel in Midtown,” Lorenzo replied, gaze sliding over me and immediately dismissing me.
His casual disdain had me clenching my teeth to keep from sneering.
“Development rights are already in motion. Clean money on the books, dirty cash funneled through subcontractors, vehicle imports tied to the build. It’s high-end, lucrative, and untouchable. ”
It was perfect. Too perfect. And a project like that—so visible, so intertwined—was a risk.
If there was even one loose thread, the whole thing could unravel in a big way.
My father was gambling a lot more than I expected him to on this alliance, and I’d just been volunteered as his stake.
No … this was more like a sacrifice. I didn’t doubt that if shit went sideways, he would treat me like a loose thread and snip me cleanly.
I looked over at him as he clasped his hands in front of him, the picture of cold authority. “So? Do we agree?”
My instinct screamed for me to object and point out the obvious complications of working with a family where rivalry was damn near embedded into our genetic makeup. Did I need to remind everyone here that trust built on necessity was no trust at all? I opened my mouth to speak—
And then Nico’s eyes met mine as she finally spoke.
“I agree.”
There it was again: challenge, heat, and the promise of trouble wrapped in the darkest kind of temptation.
It hit me like a sharp jab to my gut. This wasn’t just business.
It never had been, not with her. The memory of teenage fights behind locked doors, of words that cut too deep and glances that lingered too long flickered through me like an old film reel.
She was every mistake I’d sworn I wouldn’t repeat.
And I wanted to repeat it. God help me, I wanted to.
“As do I,” I said, my voice breaking the silence like a gunshot.
A ripple of surprise passed around the table at both of us agreeing without a fight.
My father gave a barely perceptible nod, as if this had been my idea all along.
Lorenzo looked satisfied, and Angelo’s lips twitched in something that might’ve been approval—or warning.
But I didn’t care about any of them. I cared about the way Nico’s gaze lingered on me a fraction too long, like she was daring me to take back my words.
Let them think I was a team player. They didn’t need to know I had other motivations. They didn’t need to know that I was about to step willingly into the fire.
I found myself in a sunlit Midtown office surrounded by blueprints, financial forecasts, and one infuriating Nico Romano.
We had barely been together a few days before the reality of having to work with someone as stubborn as her set in.
When we met up again three days after our families' meeting, I had wondered how we would handle the tension between us.
Camilla had joined me for the first couple of days, clearly not wanting to leave me alone with the enemy.
But now, she had chosen to wait it out in a nearby café, no doubt chatting with some woman she met online but never planned to meet up with.
It was a shame because right now, we could really use someone to chaperone and keep me from strangling the woman ranting in front of me.
“These renderings are a joke,” Nico said, tossing a set of architectural drawings onto the table with a dismissive flick of her perfectly manicured hand.
The pages fanned out across the polished mahogany surface of the desk like shrapnel.
“The layout for the penthouse units doesn’t optimize the skyline view. Who approved this?”
“I did,” I replied, deliberately calm, folding my arms across my chest. “Because maximizing usable square footage nets us an extra half-million per unit. But sure, let’s throw away profit so some trust-fund brat can Instagram the city from her bathtub.”
Her lips curved in that smug little smile that used to make me want to punch her and kiss her just as badly. Annoyingly, it still had the same effect on me now. “Always thinking about money first, huh? Guess daddy taught you well.”
The jab landed like a slap. I felt the heat crawl up my neck, a flush of rage that threatened to show, but I forced myself to remain calm.
I could tell she was just as frustrated as I was by any setback, and I was the easiest one to lash out at.
I understood it even as I wanted to wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze.
“Better than being the family disappointment, Nico. Which you will be if you don’t get it together and look at the bigger picture.”
Her eyes darkened, a dangerous shift from gleaming amusement to something colder, sharper. For a heartbeat, the room went silent and the air heavy just like before a summer storm. Then she stepped closer, her movement slow and predatory.
“Careful, Moretti,” she said softly, her voice silk over steel. “Push me too far and you might find out just how disappointing I can be.”
My pulse kicked hard in my chest, an involuntary betrayal. She was too close, her perfume, amber and smoke, threading through my lungs, making it impossible to think straight. I should’ve stepped back, but I had never backed down from a challenge, and I wasn’t going to start now, not with her.
“Promises, promises,” I murmured, my words slipping out like a challenge.
I could see the moment things changed, though the air still carried that heavy stillness that kept me on edge.
Nico laughed, low and wicked, before turning back to the table like nothing had happened.
I watched as she gathered the papers, stacking them neatly where before she had tossed them without care.
“We’ll need revised renderings,” she said, all business again, like she hadn’t just threatened to set me on fire with her words. “We need to cater to the delicate sensibilities of those with bank accounts large enough to purchase, while also making sure we max out our return on investment.
I sat down, forcing my shaking hands under the table. “Fine. I’ll call the architect. But next time you have an opinion, maybe try voicing it like a partner instead of a spoiled brat.”
She glanced up with one brow arched, and for a fraction of a second, her mask slipped, revealing hurt, real and raw. Then it was gone, replaced with an icy smile. “Noted.”
The rest of the meeting was a battlefield of barbed comments and veiled innuendos.
Every decision—financing structures, contractor selections, even the goddamn color palette—turned into a sparring match.
Underneath it all, there was a current of something darker.
Something hotter that left me needing to fan myself or dip out to find an empty room.
At one point, when she leaned over to point at a line item on the budget, her hand brushed mine, and I felt something jolt straight through me.
By the time she left, my skin felt charged like all my nerves had been activated at once, and I was filled with restless energy. I sat there, staring at the door long after it clicked shut, my heart still pounding. This wasn’t just business anymore. It never had been.
And God help me; I didn’t want it to stop.