Chapter 13
Finn
I'm going through some paperwork. Doing some bookkeeping.
As I flip through pages and write, my mind keeps returning to Gianna.
I've barely seen her since that day at breakfast. It's been two days already.
Ailish just had to ruin everything. I take my phone and text Bernard to check up on her.
I've been doing so since that day. I make sure she has breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Despite my hesitation to leave the estate every morning, I have to work. There's a lot of accounting I have to do and meetings to hold.
I click on my computer, going through the series of emails I have to attend to before Stella knocks. She strolls in, her pad in her hand, and I know she's about to remind me of something I forgot.
"You have a meeting now, Mr. Costello," she says, looking up from her iPad.
I check my watch. It's noon already. How long have my eyes been buried in these pages? I pinch the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes for a second. I get up, reaching for my suit jacket. I slip it on, adjusting the collar as I walk toward the door.
Stella holds it open for me, and I walk out.
"Is everyone ready?" I ask, knowing I don't want to spend long hours there.
I still have a lot to do. Costello Motors, one of the many Costello businesses.
Behind the original business of the Costellos, we have legitimate businesses that we handle, and Costello Motors is one I manage.
"Yes," Stella replies, catching up with my strides. We reach the elevator, and Stella presses the button. The door slides open, and we enter. "Who is presenting the meeting today?" I ask, glancing her way.
"Tyler Briggs," she answers, and I nod.
The elevator door slides open, and we step out, walking down the hallway to the conference room. Stella pushes the glass door open, and I step inside, my footsteps echoing off the polished floor. The air is still, the kind of quiet that settles when everyone knows it's time to focus.
I catch a few glances shift toward me, but no one says anything.
I make my way to the head of the table. This boardroom has seen millions of dollars' worth of deals made, but what's about to be pitched today could set the tone for the next decade of Costello Motors.
I settle into my seat and glance down at the table, and Stella hands me the iPad and a cup of coffee.
The engineering team is already here, notebooks out, screens open. My eyes land on the young man at the far end, Tyler Briggs. He's been making noise in the R&D department lately, and today's his shot to prove it's more than just noise.
He stands as I sit, smoothing his tie. "Mr. Costello." He nods. His voice has that polite edge I've heard a thousand times before, equal parts respect and nerves. I nod back and motion for him to begin. He clicks the remote in his hand, and the presentation kicks off behind him.
Tyler dives in. His pitch is clear and confident. He talks about torque improvement, emission reduction, battery life—all the things I want to hear, but most importantly, he backs it up with data. Simulation stats, test results, comparative analysis.
When he finishes, I lean back, studying the room before zeroing in on him. "Have we run a full test under urban and off-road conditions?" I ask. "And how does it perform against the X-series we benched last quarter?"
"The three-phase tests are already done. It beats the X-series by twelve percent in hill climbs, eight percent in torque retention." I raise an eyebrow. That's better than expected.
The room loosens up. Marketing asks about consumer sentiment. Operations wants to know if battery components can be sourced domestically. Tyler holds his ground well, flipping through slides, answering without hesitation.
We discuss it for nearly an hour. Ideas bounce. Concerns rise, but that's how good innovation takes shape. I glance at my watch. Time's up. I scan the room before standing, tucking my hands in my pockets. "Keep testing," I say. "I want weekly updates."
I nod at Tyler, button my jacket, and walk out with Stella behind me. After the meeting, I don't head back to my office right away. Instead, I decide to do my rounds. Routines like this remind people I'm watching.
"You've got a call with the legal team at two. And procurement is requesting a quick sit-down about those late transmission supplies from Ohio."
"Push legal to 2:30. I want to stop by assembly first." We pass through the upper hallway, glass panels showing the production floor below. Rows of assembled engines glint under industrial lights, workers in uniform moving like clockwork.
Stella works on the iPad, jotting down reminders while I scan the scene.
"Morning, sir!" One of the floor supervisors spots me and stands straighter. I give him a nod. "How's the output looking today?" I ask, walking down the metal staircase into the main bay.
"We're back on track, two full units ahead of schedule. We caught the bottleneck at station 6 and rerouted the process."
"Good. Keep it tight," I say, my thoughts drifting to Gianna. Has she had something to eat?
I take out my phone to see if Bernard has said anything.
He left a message to say he's delivered breakfast to her.
I wonder what she's doing. I told her to call me if she needs anything, but I haven't heard anything from her.
I thought things would be different after that night at the rooftop. After the kiss we shared.
We haven't gotten the chance to speak yet. Or maybe she's just avoiding me.
I put my phone away and continue walking. We stop by the quality control department. A few engineers are huddling around a dismantled gearbox. I ask questions not to test them, but to understand what's being built. They walk me through it with diagrams and figures, and I take mental notes.
As we move, I stop by the design wing. New renders are pinned on foam boards. Curves, paint options, interior layouts—it's all coming together. I point at one of the more aggressive front grilles.
"Let's not overdesign," I say to somebody close to me.
"Understood," he replies.
"What's next on my schedule?" I ask Stella, and she falls into step beside me.
"Nothing for the next thirty minutes," she replies, and I breathe out a relieving sigh. I haven't been sleeping well lately because of Gianna, and it's affecting my day.
I walk back to my office alone. Stella has taken her position in her office, and I push my glass door open. I enter and walk straight to my seat, dropping my phone on the desk. I take off my jacket and collapse in the chair with a deep exhale.
I roll my sleeves up to my wrists, loosening a few buttons near my collar as I lean back into my chair. I remain like that for some minutes, my mind drifting to Gianna when my phone rings.
Sitting up, I pick up the phone to see Declan's name displayed on the screen. I answer and bring it to my ear.
"What's up?" I say, leaning back in my chair as I run my hand through my hair, trying to shake off the weight of the day. My office is dim, quiet except for the AC. I'm hoping this is something minor, something I can brush off, but Declan's voice cuts through like a blade.
"The Italians intercepted our weapon shipment to Boston." Just like that, the air shifts. His voice is cold, sharp, and laced with fury that I know not to cross. I sit up immediately, every trace of exhaustion gone from my body in an instant.
"What?" I say in disbelief, a tightening in my chest. My fingers curl around the edge of the desk. "No one knows about the shipment. How did that happen?" I ask.
Declan raises his voice, fury now fully unleashed. "You know what, I'll just ask the enemy in our midst. I'm sure she'll know how." It hits me like a slap. My stomach drops. Gianna. My heart jumps to my throat as I shoot up from my seat, the chair screeching backward.
"Don't touch her!" I growl into the phone, already grabbing my keys off the desk. They jangle loudly in my grip. "She doesn't know about the damn shipment!" I say.
Declan doesn't respond at first. There's only silence, the heavy kind, like the eye of a storm.
"There's only one way to find out," Declan finally says, and the line goes dead. "Don't touch her, Declan," I bark, but he's already hung up. "Fuck!" The curse slips through my mouth as I yank the door open. I rush past Stella's office without a second glance to the elevator.
My shoes slam against the marble floor, the hallways blurring around me as adrenaline takes over. I press the button, and it's slow to open up. It feels like it's mocking me, testing my patience, drawing out the seconds I don't have. I have to get to Gianna.
Come on, come on, come on.
The door finally opens, and I step in. The door slowly closes, and I hear Stella's voice calling to me to know where I'm going, but nothing is more important than Gianna. Nothing.
The elevator seems slower than it is. Why is it moving so slowly? I take out my phone, dialing Gianna's number. It rings. Please, pick up. Please. I pray as the elevator moves. I know Declan and what his anger looks like, and I never want Gianna to be on the receiving end of it.
The door slides open, and I burst into the garage, sprinting to where my car is parked.
I slide into the seat, buckling the seat belt with urgency.
The engine roars to life, mirroring the storm raging in my chest. I grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles go pale, but I don't care.
I throw the car into gear and slam my foot down.
The tires screech against the concrete, and I'm off. I dial Gianna's number again, but she's still not picking up. Where did she drop her phone? Has Declan gotten to her? I need to get to the estate before Declan does something stupid.
The street blurs around me. My foot stays heavy on the gas, and the speedometer climbs. I weave through the traffic, left, right, cutting inches with my bumpers. Horns blare, but I barely register them.
My jaw clenches so hard it aches, and my heart pounds against me like a warning drum. I can't stop thinking about Gianna. Her face when she's scared. That quiet way she tries to act like everything's fine, even when she's clearly crumbling inside.
The estate is ten minutes away. If he touches her... I curse under my breath, slamming my fist on the steering wheel.