Chapter Ten #2
Eleanor’s mouth curves, faintly. “It didn’t feel like a sales pitch, but it absolutely was. I also think they have genuine pride in it, though, so that helped tremendously.”
David makes a small sound of agreement. “The tour was strategic. They highlighted systems. Security. Processes.”
I keep my face neutral, but my mind flicks, briefly, to being wrapped around Antonio in the hallway last night. Well, I hope none of their superior security caught that.
I press my pen harder against the table than I need to.
For the first time, I worry. Maybe they did, and when we meet, I’ll be compromised.
Malcolm’s gaze shifts to me. “Overall, they were polished. Serious. Prepared.”
“Good,” I say, not letting my inner thoughts show. “That’s what we want.”
“It’s what we want if it’s real,” Eleanor says smoothly. Her eyes slide over me, measuring. “Roberto is the one who feels… solid.”
David nods once. “He’s careful.”
Malcolm lifts a hand slightly, like he’s about to turn the page. “But what about the other one?”
“What other one?” I ask.
“The other brother,” David supplies. “Antonio.”
My spine tightens painfully before I can stop it.
My breath strips from my lungs.
Antonio.
The name hits me like a backhand across the face, leaving me dumbstruck.
I blink once, slowly, almost stupidly.
“Antonio,” I repeat, carefully.
Malcolm nods, obviously not picking up on my tone. “Antonio Conti.”
Eleanor’s mouth tilts. “Quite the charmer, that one.”
David snorts quietly. “That’s one way to put it.”
I force air back into my lungs and let it out evenly.
“A charmer,” I echo, blandly. “In what way?”
Eleanor leans back, fingers laced on the table, expression composed. “He has that… polished confidence,” she says. “The kind that makes people talk more than they intended. He’s good at it.”
David glances up. “He didn’t say much in a business capacity. Not directly. But he made sure everyone felt noticed.”
Malcolm nods. “He’s the sort who could sell you your own watch and make you thank him for the opportunity.”
I let out a small, controlled breath that could pass for mild interest.
“That’s not inherently a problem,” I say.
“No,” Eleanor agrees. “Not inherently.”
Malcolm’s gaze stays on me. “You weren’t there. So you didn’t get a read.”
“No,” I say, and, thankfully, it comes out even. “I didn’t.”
My stomach twists anyway, because I did. I got a read on him that has nothing to do with boardrooms and everything to do with breathless kisses, sliding hands, and the way he zeroed in on me the second I walked into the room.
Like he knew me.
Like he knew exactly who I was.
I keep my face blank.
David taps his pen. “Roberto was clear about their intent. They want the acquisition to be clean. They emphasized compliance.”
“And yet they have a brother who works the floor,” Eleanor says, voice mild. “And who enjoys working the floor.”
Malcolm gives a faint shrug. “It’s their style. High touch. Relationship-forward.”
I nod once, as if I’m filing it away like any other data point.
“So,” I say, voice steady, “we have a polished operation, a strong face in Roberto, a competent operator in Caterina, and a… persuasive personality in Antonio.”
Eleanor’s eyes sharpen slightly, pleased with the phrasing. “Yes.”
Malcolm leans forward. “Which is why I want your focus to stay where it belongs. You’re not swayed by personalities.”
I almost laugh.
No. No, I’m not.
“I’m not swayed,” I agree.
David looks at his notes again. “The question is whether their compliance posture is real or performative.”
“That’s always the question,” I say, and this part is true enough to anchor me.
Malcolm’s phone lights up briefly on the table, then goes dark again. He ignores it.
“All right,” he says, turning the meeting back into structure. “Next steps. We have two interested parties with different angles. We have Bellandi pushing expansion and speed. We have the Contis pushing integration and polish.”
Eleanor’s gaze stays on me. “And we have you.”
I hold her stare without flinching. “You do.”
Malcolm nods once, decisive. “Then we proceed the way we always do. Documents. Disclosures. Process. Due diligence.”
“We have a meeting with them Monday morning,” Eleanor says. “Since you couldn’t make the gala last night, we thought we’d set one up as soon as possible. It’ll be in one of their conference rooms, their turf, unfortunately, but that’s the way it has to be.”
“We can manage that,” I say, continuing this meeting on autopilot while my mind races a mile a minute.
David nods once. “You’ll take point.”
“I will,” I agree.
“Good,” Malcolm says. “No improvising. We go in, we get answers, we leave.”
My pen moves across the page in a clean little line that means nothing. A decoy. If my hands look busy, no one watches my face as closely.
Monday. Their conference room. Their turf.
And in my head, the night rewinds in brutal flashes—his smile, his voice, the way he stepped into my space so confidently, so charming and sure, the way he looked at me the first time our eyes met.
Not curious. Not interested.
Certain.
Like he wasn’t meeting me.
Like he was confirming.
A cold pulse of anger runs under my skin, sharp enough to sober me in an instant. Because if he knew—if he knew exactly who I was before I ever gave him my first name—then every second of that night shifts.
The jokes weren’t just flirting. They were positioning.
The attention wasn’t just attraction. It was strategy.
And I let him close.
I let him touch me.
My stomach turns with something that feels like betrayal. I can’t show it. I can’t even let my eyes tighten, because Eleanor will see it, and Malcolm will ask questions, and David will start connecting dots.
So I keep my face smooth and my posture perfect, and I nod and answer questions.
But inside, something hard clicks into place.
If Antonio Conti knew who I was before we ever met, then he didn’t win me.
He targeted me.
And he’s going to pay for that.
I’m going to make him pay for that, and I know exactly how.