Chapter 4
four
. . .
Nicolette
I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Three days. That’s how long it had been since she sat across from me, her lips curved into that deceptively sweet smile promising war but disguised as civility.
I’ve had three days of site visits, investor calls, and endless meetings, and still, Valentina lingered in my thoughts like smoke in my lungs—chokingly thick and impossible to ignore.
The best and worst part was how much I liked it.
I sat in my bed, laptop open to the day’s project notes, but I wasn’t seeing numbers or permit approvals anymore.
I was seeing her. Valentina always had this way of walking into a room like she’d already conquered it, even when we were younger.
It was actually one of the first things I’d noticed about her.
Chin high, shoulders back, confidence radiating from her in waves.
Ten years later, and I still envied her in that regard.
And those damn dresses—tailored within an inch of their life, always hugging the curve of her waist and the swell of her hips, emphasizing everything that made me want to throw professionalism straight out the window.
I hated that I wanted to know what she’d feel like in my hands again, especially now that I knew everything my hands could do.
I was a child when we’d first discovered each other.
Even so, it was ridiculous how vividly I remembered things I shouldn’t have.
The first time we kissed, behind the bleachers at some charity softball game our families had organized to “promote community goodwill.” She’d tasted like cherry lip gloss and defiance, and I’d been instantly hooked.
Senior year had come hard and fast, with clandestine meetings and whispered promises; neither of us was sure how to fulfill them.
And then, just as quickly, it had all gone up in flames—because that’s what happens when you’re young, stupid, and caught between two men who didn’t know how to bow out gracefully.
Now we were older, supposedly wiser, and I was supposed to see her as nothing more than a reluctant business partner.
Except every time she leaned over a table, her perfume teasing me with warmth and subtle sweetness, I wanted to pin her against the nearest surface and remind her exactly how much of an adult I now was.
A knock at my bedroom door jolted me from the thought.
“Yeah?”
The door opened, and Lorenzo stepped inside, looking irritatingly perfect as always. He always had this effortless polish about him with his pressed shirts, dark slacks, and never a hair out of place. It was his favorite weapon; always appear in control, so no one questions whether you truly are.
“You busy?” he asked, though he was already crossing the room like he owned the damn place.
I arched a brow and gestured at the papers gathered around me and my laptop. “What do you think, genius. Do I look busy?”
“You look like someone trying very hard not to think about something,” he said, lips quirking. “Or maybe someone.”
I groaned softly and ground my teeth to keep from telling him to go to hell. “Say what you came to say, Lorenzo, and get out. I have work to do if I’m going to get these plans ready before I present them to Father.”
He sat on the edge of my bed, stretching out like he planned to ignore my words and stay for a chat. “How’s the project going?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Fine.”
“And how’s it going with Valentina?”
The question was a loaded one, and it had my guard snapping up instantly. “Fine. Why?”
He shrugged casually, but I knew better. Lorenzo never asked questions without a reason. “Just making sure you’re not…distracted.”
I crossed my arms and gave him a pointed look. “I’m not distracted.”
He gave me a look, the kind all older brothers seemed to have perfected over years of torment—a mix of skepticism and amusement.
“Nico, come on. I was there back then, and I remember how you two were. Matteo might have ignored what was right in front of his eyes, and father might be deep in denial that his darling daughter won’t be giving him an heir ever, but I harbor no such delusions. ”
My pulse kicked up, but I kept the scowl on my face. I didn’t need him knowing that he was getting to me. “That was a long time ago. I’ve changed, and so has she.”
“That doesn’t mean those feelings are gone,” he said evenly. “And look, I don’t care what you do in your personal life, but this deal is bigger than just you and Valentina. We can’t afford for you to get sentimental and blow it.”
“Sentimental?” I repeated, my voice sharpening.
He held my gaze, unflinching. “You’ve always had a thing for fire, Nico.
You like the chase, and you like a challenge.
You and Father are more alike than you think in that regard.
But I’ve heard how Valentina handles complications, and despite her efforts to seem cool and put together, she burns hotter than most. If you don’t keep your head in the game, you’re going to get scorched. ”
Anger flared in me at his insinuation and at myself for giving him even a hint of ammunition.
I moved then, sliding off the bed and pacing to the window to hide my expression.
He wasn’t wrong. It pained me to admit that any part of me was like our father, but I had seen the type of women he paraded around when he was with his associates.
He liked fire too. The difference between the two of us is that he liked to see it stomped out by his hand.
I’d rather stoke it until it raged into an inferno.
“Thank you for the concern. But I think you forgot something,” I said as I looked at his reflection in the window. “I’m one of the few people in this family who knows how to keep it in my pants. I think I’ll be fine.”
Lorenzo looked at me for a beat longer before chuckling and shaking his head. “Good. I’ll hold you to that.”
When I turned, he was already heading out, leaving me alone with the ghosts he’d stirred up.
I stayed at the window for a moment, staring out at the grounds of our property.
The lights of Midtown glittered faintly in the distance, bright and alluring, like promises you should never trust. By the time dinner rolled around, I had rebuilt my armor piece by piece and safely tucked away thoughts of Valentina in the vault where I kept everything I didn’t want the taint of this family to touch.
Romano family dinners were less meals and more performances designed to see how well you could stand torture.
The long mahogany table gleamed under the chandelier’s light, the silverware perfectly arranged, wine decanted and breathing like even the alcohol knew better than to misbehave.
My father sat at the head, as immovable as a mountain.
To his right, Lorenzo sat looking calm as ever.
On his left, Matteo sat, mouth moving a mile a minute.
He was the youngest, so he got away with squirming like a kid who hadn’t yet learned the fine art of how to sit still at church.
I slid into my seat across from Lorenzo, back straight, expression cool.
“How’s progress on the building in Midtown?” my father asked, not bothering with pleasantries.
I set down my napkin in my lap and deliberately took my time picking up my utensils.
“The permits are cleared, and Valentina has the new subcontractors lined up. The first round of laundering schedules is finalized, and contracts have been forged and signed. We’re right on track to have things up and running as planned. ”
He gave a single approving nod. “Good. Don’t forget what’s at stake. A lot rides on this project.”
“I’m aware,” I said evenly.
His gaze sharpened, cutting through me like glass. “And don’t lose sight of where your loyalties lie. Valentina Moretti’s loyalty is to her blood, not you. Don’t be stupid enough to think otherwise.”
The words stung, though I kept my face neutral. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Across from me, I saw Lorenzo’s lips twitch, and I wished the table were smaller so I could kick him like I used to when we were kids, and he seemed to enjoy me being chastised.
“See that you don’t,” father said. Then, as if the matter was settled, he added with calculated nonchalance. “And don’t concern yourself with anything beyond the project. Focus on the deadlines we set, and I’ll handle everything else.”
My instincts flared like warning sirens. “Everything else?”
He waved a hand, dismissing me as though I were a child. “Family matters. Not your concern.”
His parting shot irked me. Am I not part of this damn family?
I wanted to push and demand he tell me what he was plotting, because I knew that tone—knew what it meant when my father started compartmentalizing “family matters.” But I also knew how that would end.
He would shut me down, remind me of my place, and I’d get nothing but silence for weeks until he decided I was useful to him again.
So, I swallowed my suspicion and gave him what he wanted, obedience. “Understood.”
The conversation shifted to Matteo’s latest misadventure with one of our clubs—a shipment of wine bottles mislabeled and almost seized by customs—but I barely heard a word.
My mind was elsewhere. On my father’s evasiveness.
On Lorenzo’s aptly timed warning. On the way, Valentina’s eyes had met mine in that first meeting, challenging and heated all at once.
Something was brewing beneath the surface, and I had the sickening feeling this project was just the opening move in a much larger game. The only question I was left pondering was whose side Valentina might land on.