Chapter 16
Present
Hawaii, New York City
THE SUN WAS CLIMBING FAST now, casting the beach in molten gold and soft rose hues as Matteo and I walked back along the sand toward the villas.
The resort was still sleepy – only a few early risers strolled by with coffee cups in hand, their flip-flops making lazy slaps against the wooden paths.
My nightdress clung damply to my skin, hair tangled from the wind and saltwater, but I didn’t care.
Matteo walked beside me barefoot, shirt draped casually over his shoulder, and for once, the world felt simple. Easy.
That illusion shattered the moment we rounded the corner near the cabanas.
Gìo stood like a storm cloud in a black suit and white dress-shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his dark hair slicked back, sunglasses perched low on his nose. His expression was somewhere between irritated older brother and busy Capo di tutti i capi.
“Where the hell have you been?” He asked the moment he spotted me. “You have to fly out to Vegas. Urgently.”
My steps faltered. “What? Now?”
“Yes, now. A situation came up.”
“But we were going to have breakfast in town – ”
“You can eat on the plane.”
“Yeah, but I really wanted to go into town – ”
“So, you waited until the last day to do it?” He lifted a brow, his tone turning sharp.
The bite of his words stung more than I wanted to admit. My jaw clicked, ready to defend myself, but Matteo stepped forward before I could say anything.
“Gìo,” He said, calm but firm, his voice carrying that quiet authority that made people listen.
My brother turned his head toward him, exhaling through his nose. “This is important.”
“I know,” Matteo replied smoothly. “But we can make it work. I’ll fly to Vegas with her. Handle the business together, make sure she’s got what she needs.”
Something in Gìo’s expression shifted at that. He eyed Matteo for a long second, then looked back at me, assessing.
“That might actually be a good idea,” he said finally. “Two heads are better than one.”
Matteo shot me a sideways glance – steady, composed, like he’d just rerouted a bomb without breaking a sweat. I wasn’t sure whether to thank him or strangle him for being so calm while I was still trying to process the emotional whiplash.
Breakfast in town was gone. Reality had come crashing back in, sharp as the Vegas-bound jet waiting for us, reminding me exactly what the past week had been. A fantasy.
Half an hour later, at seven sharp, the two of us were in the sky.
Matteo’s jet sliced cleanly through the early morning clouds, the world below still tinted with that sleepy golden light that made everything feel softer, quieter.
Inside, the cabin smelled faintly of warm pastries and coffee, the air-conditioned cool a stark contrast to the Hawaiian humidity we’d left behind.
Cream leather seats, dark wood paneling, and soft ambient lighting gave the space an almost cocoon-like warmth – private, elegant, untouchable.
We sat across from each other at a small, glossy table near the window.
Breakfast had been laid out beautifully: fresh fruit platters, croissants still steaming from the oven, tiny jars of honey and jam, and two plates of fluffy omelets with herbs sprinkled on top.
A silver coffee carafe gleamed between us, still steaming.
Matteo leaned back in his seat, his white linen shirt freshly changed, the morning light brushing the strong lines of his face. There was a boyish glint in his eyes as he lifted his coffee cup toward me.
“Now, I know it’s not Hawaii, but it’s a start.”
I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “Thank you, Matteo. This is really sweet.”
He shrugged lightly, but his gaze lingered on me just long enough to make my stomach flutter. “Can’t have you running around hungry, Donna.”
For a while, we talked business. Vegas wasn’t for pleasure – it never was.
I had to meet with some lawyers and accountants regarding one of our family’s investment shells; endless paperwork, contracts, tax strategy…
the kind of work that didn’t make headlines but kept the empire standing.
Just thinking about it made my shoulders tighten.
“Gìo should really be handling this,” I muttered, twirling my fork through the fruit salad. “He’s the boss. Legal logistics is his thing.”
“You’re the best,” Matteo replied, matter-of-fact. “That’s why they trust you with this kind of work.”
I sighed, leaning my cheek against my palm. His eyes softened slightly.
“Alright,” he said, setting his fork down. “Gods of the air. Zeus, obviously – but there were others too. Aeolus, master of the winds. Ever read the Odyssey?”
My head perked up immediately. “Of course.”
The corners of his lips curved, pleased by my reaction. “Then you’ll know Aeolus gave Odysseus that bag of winds to help him sail home. Imagine trusting someone that much – with the weather itself.”
I laughed softly. “Or imagine opening it by accident, and losing everything you’d gained. Which is exactly what happened.”
He chuckled, low and warm. “Fair point. Mortals and their impatience.”
And just like that, the heaviness that had crept into me during the business talk melted away.
We fell into that easy rhythm again – the kind that had become surprisingly natural between us.
We debated Greek versus Roman interpretations, traded little historical facts, teased each other about favorite myths.
Hours passed like that. The jet soared over endless stretches of blue sky and pale clouds while our laughter and quiet conversation filled the cabin. I’d expected the flight to be long and tedious, but with Matteo, it slipped by like silk between fingers – effortless and bright.
Somewhere over the desert, with sunlight painting everything in warm honey tones, I realized I hadn’t thought about business once.
We landed in Vegas just after noon, the dry desert air greeting us like a wall of heat the second we stepped onto the tarmac. The sky was cloudless – a sharp, endless blue that made everything beneath it look brighter, louder, harsher than Hawaii’s lush greens.
By the time we slid into the back seat of the sleek black town car waiting for us, the city was already buzzing outside.
Las Vegas in the early afternoon wasn’t as chaotic as it was at night, but there was a hum to it – an undercurrent of movement and decadence, of people chasing luck under the relentless sun.
Matteo sat beside me, one arm casually draped along the back of the leather seat, his sunglasses low on the bridge of his nose.
I sat a little more upright, phone in hand, scrolling through a stream of emails that had piled up while I was too busy falling under Hawaii’s spell.
The Bend awaited – our downtown business property that required my signature, my presence, my focus.
I was halfway through typing a curt reply to an accountant when Matteo’s smooth voice broke through my concentration.
“How about that brunch I promised? In a proper café.”
“I wish I could, but I’ve got my meeting in fifteen minutes.”
“Alright. Lunch then. You have to eat at some point, princesa.”
The car slowed to a stop in front of a tall building. I was already reaching for the door handle.
“Stuck in meetings all day. I’m sorry – ”
“Dinner.”
The single word made me pause. I turned slightly, phone lowering into my lap. His sunglasses were off now. His golden-brown eyes caught the light like honey.
“Let me take you out properly. No distractions. No one else. Just us.”
My fingers hovered on the door handle, caught between sense and temptation. It would be our first real dinner together – the first time it would actually feel like a date. We hadn’t kissed yet, but the tension between us had been building like a storm.
Matteo tilted his head slightly, a soft grin tugging at his mouth. “What do you say, Francesca? One more night with me. Good food, good wine… Better company.”
I exhaled slowly, and despite myself, I felt a smile bloom. “Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”
His grin widened, lighting up his face in a way that made my heart skip. “I’ll pick you up at seven from DeMone Tower. Good?”
“Good.” I nodded, still smiling.
“Good. I’m counting down the minutes.”
I laughed softly, feeling a blush.
I opened the car door, stepping out into the warm Vegas afternoon. The sun kissed my skin; the air smelled faintly of asphalt, heat, and money. I turned briefly as I reached the glass doors of the building. Matteo was still inside the car, watching.
He didn’t tell the driver to leave until I disappeared safely into the building.
And as the doors closed behind me, my pulse was still thrumming – not from business, but from the way he’d said dinner. Like it wasn’t a question at all, but a promise.
The restaurant was draped in soft, golden light – warm and flattering, like candle flames caught in amber.
Jazz curled through the air, low and rich, seeping from the small stage at the front where a band played something slow and old, all honeyed saxophones and lazy percussion.
The murmur of elegant conversations floated around us, punctuated by the occasional clink of wine glasses.
Matteo and I sat in a curved booth, side by side rather than across from each other.
The table in front of us was intimate, covered in a crisp white cloth, set with polished silver and wine glasses that gleamed like crystal in the dim light.
To my right, rested a lush bouquet of red roses – deep crimson, velvety, impossibly romantic.
He’d handed them to me when he picked me up earlier, just as the sun had started melting into the Vegas skyline.
“So… You just go on vacation whenever you want. Isn’t that…”
He nodded, urging me to continue. “Yes?”
“Lazy?” I whispered.
A slow smile pulled on the corner of his mouth. “I did not work this hard, to have a schedule, Francesca. The beauty of being rich is that no one tells you what to do.”