Carter
Chapter five
Three days passed before I saw a Valerio again. Not that I’d been counting.
The event space sat in the belly of a building that had been dipped in liquid wealth—glossy floors and dramatic lighting that made everything look like a stage set.
Across the room, Sienna "helped" with centerpieces. Her contribution mostly involved pointing at things and demanding they be shinier. Her laugh carried across the room—bright, insincere, and sharp enough to make me want to plug the cord into my ears instead of the outlet.
I crouched near the riser with a coil of extension cord that had the audacity to tangle itself every time I blinked. I’d been at the venue for two hours, and Luka had spent at least one of them hovering just at the edge of my peripheral vision, looking like he wanted to stage an intervention.
A cardboard box dropped onto the floor next to me with enough enthusiasm to make every screw in my kit rattle. Luka crouched beside it, elbows on his knees.
“Before you say it,” he started.
“You’re sorry?” I asked, not bothering to look up. “Again? That makes four times since I walked through the front doors. I’m starting to think you just like the sound of your own voice.”
“Yes. Again,” he said, ignoring the bite in my tone. “The first three didn’t seem to stick. You’ve got this way of looking through people like they’re made of glass.”
I coiled the cord with exaggerated care, my fingers working the rubber as if I could smooth out the memory of that beach. “You’re developing a habit. And habits are dangerous.”
“For most people,” he said, giving me a half-smile that was transparently hopeful. “But mine usually involve helping people.”
I gave him a flat look. In truth, the guilt was a two-way street I didn't want to drive down. I knew I’d been a bitch the other night—mouthing off to him like he’d forced my hand, when the reality was I’d climbed into that rig with my eyes wide open. I’d wanted the win. I’d wanted the speed.
But admitting I’d used Luka as a punching bag because I couldn't get close enough to dent his brother’s pride was a level of honesty I wasn't ready to pay for. It was easier to let him play the martyr than to admit Dominic’s smugness had rattled me so badly I’d started firing at the wrong targets.
He groaned. “Okay… occasionally helping. Sometimes accidentally offending. Balance.”
I let him sweat for a beat, enjoying the way his conscience clearly didn't fit right in his chest. It was a distraction from my own. Finally, I nudged the box with my shoe. “Help me run these cables along the back wall. Then we’re square.”
Relief loosened his shoulders. “Deal.”
We worked in silence for a few minutes. Luka was warm and uncomplicated—the kind of presence that didn’t demand I soften to make room for it. He was a steady idle compared to the high-revving disaster of his brother.
“So…” he said lightly. “Haven’t heard from my brother, have you?”
“Do I look like someone who volunteers for a root canal?”
“I told him to apologize.”
I snorted, tugging a strip of tape loose with my teeth. Is that what that text message was supposed to be? An apology wrapped in a threat? “I wasn’t impressed. Anyone with a pulse and questionable morals can send a cryptic text. It takes zero effort.”
Luka laughed under his breath. “Yeah. That sounds like Dom.”
A sudden shift in the room’s atmosphere rippled through the air before the doors even opened. Conversations dimmed by instinct. Movement slowed. Attention tilted as if gravity had picked a new direction.
Dominic appeared.
He walked in with his glasses pushed up onto his head, frames catching the overhead lights like a dare. He wore a fitted shirt rolled to his forearms like the sleeves had personally offended him.
I refused to acknowledge the sudden, sharp spike in my pulse—the kind of static that usually preceded a short circuit.
I absolutely did not notice the way the edges of the room seemed to sharpen, the atmosphere tightening as if Dominic had decided the available oxygen was his personal property and we were all just trespassing on his air.
It was a lot of presence for a someone who was essentially just a walking power trip in an expensive shirt, but apparently, the universe was in a mood to indulge him.
Sienna practically launched off her heels. She tried to grab his face for a kiss, but Dominic stepped out of the angle smoothly, a hand drifting to her shoulder to guide her away rather than pull her in. It looked polite if you weren’t paying attention.
I was paying attention.
Dominic’s gaze dragged across the room—a slow, surgical sweep. It found me. There was the smallest hitch—a flicker—like he’d expected me to be hiding and was annoyed to find me still standing.
I raised a brow, refusing to be the one who broke first. He didn’t look away. Not even when Sienna wrapped herself around his waist, her hands possessive as she staked her claim.
A low, localized spark lit in my chest—an unwelcome feedback loop I hadn't authorized.
There it was again, that same erratic pulse that had surfaced the other night, uninvited and impossible to ignore.
It wasn't that I wanted to be the one standing there; it was just that my instincts were apparently corrupted, throwing a false positive at someone I couldn't stand.
“If looks could kill…” Luka said beside me.
“He’d already be carving the body count into his hood ornament,” I muttered.
Dominic finally blinked, cutting his attention away with precision. He directed Sienna toward a cluster of executives as if she were another task on a checklist that bored him.
“Carter,” an event coordinator called, sounding like she hadn’t slept since the car was invented. “Take that box of merch down to the supply closet? South hallway. We need to clear this riser.”
“Sure,” I said, hoisting the box. Apparently, my job description now included manual labor and pretending my spine loved it.
I headed for the side hallway, the crowd noise dulling with each step. Halfway down the corridor, a voice slid into the space between my thoughts.
“You collect my brother now?”
I didn’t have to turn. My body had apparently decided it could recognize Dominic Valerio by the exact frequency of irritation he triggered.
“Relax,” I said, not slowing down. “He’s not a limited edition.”
Footsteps matched mine instantly. Controlled. Unhurried. He didn't just walk; he tracked.
“He isn’t a toy,” Dominic said. “Find entertainment somewhere else.”
I stopped. I set the box down with a dull, heavy thud and finally turned to face him. He stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, crowding the hallway with that sheer, suffocating presence.
“If this is you accusing me of gold-digging, you’re late to the insult, Valerio. You beat yourself there in the pool house. And that version had more creativity.”
“I care about it plenty,” he said, his gaze dropping to my crossed arms with a chilling sort of focus. “Empty accounts make people desperate. And desperate people make for expensive mistakes.”
His eyes didn’t linger, but they didn't have to.
I saw the way his pupils flared, the dark centers swallowing them for a fraction of a second as his focus caught on the curve of my chest braced against my arms. The muscle in his cheek didn't just jump; it locked, a hard white knot appearing beneath his skin.
He yanked his stare back to mine, his expression flattening into something merciless, as if he could wipe away the evidence of that one, involuntary look.
“I care that Luka is too trusting,” he continued, his voice dropping into a register that was lower, harsher, “and your family has a talent for walking straight into fires like you’re searching for the heat.”
“Your brother was the one who dragged me into your beach circus,” I said.
“You could have said no.”
“I did. You’re just used to people folding when you walk into a room. I didn’t get the memo.”
It was a lie, and a blatant one. I hadn't said no once. I’d hesitated, sure, but the second the helmet was in my hands, I’d been all in.
Admitting that I’d been just as hungry for the adrenaline as Luka was for the chaos felt too much like giving Dominic a win he hadn't earned.
So, I let the lie sit between us, sharp and armor-plated.
His expression seized tight, like I’d jammed a wrench between his teeth. “Stay away from Luka. He doesn’t need the fallout that follows your last name around.”
The words landed low. Heavy. There it was—the stain that never washed out. I stepped toward him, tilting my chin up to keep our eyes locked.
“Say my father’s name,” I murmured. “Go ahead. You’re dying to.”
Something flickered across his face. Not guilt. Not satisfaction. A seam splitting open in the armor. “No,” he said finally. “That’s your weight to haul, not mine.”
“How considerate. Threaten me, judge me, but don’t say the name. That would make you responsible for something.”
His mouth curved without humor. “I’m responsible for more than you know.”
“Is this the part where you warn me that being near Luka will compromise your 'dynasty brand'?” I asked. “Because I promise you, the last thing I want is a front-row seat to your family drama.”
“Then stop standing in it,” he said.
“The closet’s at the end of the hall,” I said, jerking my chin toward the door. “So either get out of my way or let me pass.”
I moved to hoist the box, but Dominic didn’t step aside. Instead, he reached down, his hand clamping over the opposite handle before I could even clear the floor.
“You’re going to drop it,” he said, his voice flat and clinical. “The last thing this event needs is a Hayes scuffing the merchandise before it even hits the floor.”
“I’ve handled heavier things than a box of keychains. Let go.” I gave the box a sharp yank toward my hip. He didn't budge. He was a human anchor, rooted to the spot.