Chapter 8
EIGHT
MATEO
The sun starts poking through the window, hitting the couch just right, and when I open my eyes, I have to squint.
A smirk pulls at my mouth as I think about overhearing Vanessa last night—her quiet moans, the sound of her shower afterward.
I’m pretty sure she thinks I was asleep, but hearing her masturbate was incredibly hot, enough to make my cock swell.
It makes me wonder who she was thinking about while she did it.
I remind myself that I can’t just fuck her, or get with her, right away.
I need to take my time, earn her trust. Don’t get me wrong, keeping the whole marriage contract thing a secret sucks, but if she finds out, she could end up hating everyone.
Especially if she thinks that’s the only reason Gino is okay with her being around.
I grab my phone and see it’s just before seven in the morning. Sitting up, I pull on dark navy pants and a white button-down shirt, then head into the bathroom to change.
When I step back out, Vanessa is standing in the kitchen, making coffee.
“I didn’t think you’d be up so early,” I say.
“I heard you moving around, so I thought I’d get up and make some coffee,” she says, handing me a cup. “The cream’s in the fridge, and the sugar is right there.” She points to a small white container on the counter.
With the brighter light, I really take in her apartment. It looks like something straight out of an interior design magazine—everything carefully chosen everything in its place. She clearly has an eye for design.
“I’m good with black coffee, but thank you,” I say.
I start walking toward the couch to grab my laptop when she asks, “Are you hungry? I have some bagels if you want one.”
“Thanks, but I’m good for now.” She grabs her cup of coffee and heads back to her room. I figure she either goes back to sleep or puts something on. There wasn’t a TV in there when I glanced inside, so she probably uses a laptop.
I sit down on the couch, open up my computer, and pull up my email.
We’re in the middle of negotiating a deal to build a new office development—one we hope will eventually become our main workspace.
I’m pretty sure Gino is getting tired of everyone working out of his dining room or crowding into his home office.
An email from John Mitchell, the real estate agent, catches my eye. He says we’re close, but he needs me to give him a call. Great—that doesn’t sound reassuring. He sent it before seven, though, so if I call now, he’ll probably answer.
After two rings, he picks up.
“This is John,” he says.
“Hey, John. It’s Mateo, you told me to call?”
“Yeah, listen—they’re getting close to accepting the offer, but they received another one late last night that they want to review.”
“What’s the likelihood of whoever submitted it getting it?” I ask, irritation in my voice.
“Highly unlikely, but there’s still a chance.”
“Great. Thanks for telling me.”
“Yeah, no problem. If we close this, everything should be wrapped up by the end of the week.”
I can hear him shuffling papers in the background.
“Alright, I’ll talk to you later. Thanks again, John.”
“No problem. Talk soon.”
I spend the next hour reviewing legal documents and submitting requests.
When I was in law school, there were moments when I wanted to spite everyone and focus on something else, like entertainment.
But after my father died, I decided against it.
I realized I needed to stay on my path and remember why I was becoming a lawyer in the first place.
I did this to help my best friend. Back in college, we came up with a plan: once Gino took over, we would make the businesses as legitimate as possible. And then build our own company.
My phone starts vibrating. I look down and see Gino calling.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey, man. How’s Vanessa?” he replies, his voice still thick with sleep.
“She’s good, I think. She’s been in her room all morning. I’m good too, by the way,” I say sarcastically.
“Well, good. I was going to ask how you were doing,” he says with a snicker.
“Yeah, doubt it,” I say flatly. “I talked with John. He said the Twelfth Street deal is almost done, but someone put in a last-minute bid.”
“We have to close the deal,” he says in a rush.
“I know.”
“Do we know who put in the bid?”
“No, and I don’t think John does either. He didn’t offer it willingly.”
“Great, that makes it easy,” Gino says. I can practically feel him rolling his eyes on the other end of the phone. “We need to figure it out. Have you gotten those signed docs from the city yet?”
“Yes, I am reviewing them right now,” I say, glancing at my computer, looking over the permit forms from the city to build a new structure on our property on Eighth Street.
We’ve been slowly renovating properties Antonio left neglected, and we’re also buying new ones to strengthen our territory to eventually use for our business.
“Good. Let me know when we’re good to go so I can call in the crews to start working,” he says.
“Will do. Talk to you later, man.”
“See ya,” Gino says.
I hang up the phone and continue reviewing the permits.
My mind drifts between this tension building with rival families and the added pressure of having Vanessa around.
Her presence only fuels the fire. If those families find out about her, it could spark even more conflict—some of them trying to broker a deal to marry her off.
Gino would never agree, but that wouldn’t stop the anger.
Parts of the city could quickly turn into hotspots for retaliation.
As the attorney for the Esposito family, I’m involved in any contract or deal that’s made. If there were ever a contract for Vanessa, I would be involved.
Since Antonio died and Gino took over, I’m more involved in every step of brokering deals and growing the empire.
Since taking control, Gino is a force. He expanded the business beyond clubs and restaurants into construction and office spaces.
He’s made so much money but doesn’t act like it.
He keeps it hidden so it’s not out in the open.
Almost everything feels too perfect, and I can’t shake the feeling that something bad is coming. You could call me a pessimist. The last time things ran this smoothly was right before Gino’s mother was killed.
Building an empire is literal blood, sweat, and tears—and a fuck ton of coffee.
Once I start working, I slip into autopilot.
I barely get up, except to grab more coffee or go to the bathroom.
I don’t realize nearly three hours has passed, buried in notes and documents, until Vanessa clears her throat.
“You need to drink more than just coffee. Here.” She hands me a glass of ice water. “And you need to eat something. When was the last time you ate?”
She’s changed into jeans and a gray V-neck T-shirt.
I hesitate, suddenly feeling like a kid about to be disciplined by a parent. “Last night at dinner.”
“I am making myself grilled cheese. Would you like one?” she asks in what I can only assume is her mom tone.
“Sure. Thanks.” She walks away toward the kitchen, and I turn slightly to watch her go. She has an amazing body, but she wears clothes a little too big for her—almost like she’s afraid to show off her figure.
“Ow, shit,” she hisses.
“Are you okay?” I stand up quickly and walk over to her.
“I just burned my finger on the pan—nothing major.” She runs her finger under cold water.
“Do you have a first-aid kit?” I ask.
“It’s in the bathroom, under the sink.” I walk into the bathroom and grab it.
“Sit down,” I tell her, pulling out a chair at the small dining table.
“I’m the nurse, you know. I can do this,” she mentions as I start rifling through the kit, looking for burn cream.
“If I get hurt, you can patch me up,” I reply. “But since you’re the one with the burn, I’ll be doing the fixing up.”
“Fine,” she says softly.
I take her hand, noticing how smooth and soft her skin feels beneath my fingers.
I rub the cream gently onto her left middle finger, then grab a small bandage and wrap it carefully around the burn.
I briefly blow on her finger to help the cream dry faster.
When I look up, I catch her blushing—and I realize I’m really starting to enjoy seeing that color rise to her cheeks.
I finish wrapping the bandage around her finger. “All done. Probably not as good as you would’ve done it yourself, but hopefully it doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“Thank you. You did a pretty good job,” she says, offering a soft smile.
We stare at each other for a few seconds. She swallows, stands, and heads back into the kitchen, probably to finish making lunch. I clean up the first-aid kit and slide it back under the sink.
When I step out of the bathroom, I see her coming out of the kitchen with two plates.
She sets the sandwiches on the coffee table and takes a seat on the couch.
Her gaze drops to the remote, clearly debating whether to change the channel.
I have a finance station on—it’s become routine whenever I’m working.
“You can change it if you want,” I tell her, walking over and sitting down next to her on the couch.
“It’s alright. I don’t want to interrupt your work.”
“I have it on as background noise. I promise I won’t be mad if you change it.
” She still hesitates, so I grab the remote and flip through the channels until highlights from last night’s game appear.
She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask me to change it or keep it, so I leave it here.
The channel stays on as I continue working.
“What are you working on?” she asks, breaking the silence.
“Some contracts for your brother.” She looks over at me with her soft green eyes, like she wants me to say more, and I almost feel transfixed by her.
I don’t stop talking. “He wants to purchase a building, but someone came in at the last minute and put in another bid, so we’re working to secure the deal. ”
She nods in agreement, clearly not understanding all of it, but listening anyway. I turn back to my laptop and continue reviewing and editing.
“Is there anything I can help with? I’m not a lawyer like you, but I like to read.”
“I’m sorry—I can’t let anyone look at this stuff outside of the people involved in the deal.” I feel bad saying no, but she seems to realize almost immediately that there’s not much she can do. She doesn’t respond.
She gathers our empty plates and carries them into the kitchen to clean them. I hear her rustle through the kitchen, opening up and closing cabinet doors. Something’s frustrating her. A moment later, she lets out a sigh.
“I don’t have a lot of food,” she says softly, irritation creeping into her voice. “Well, not enough for two people. I usually go grocery shopping on Mondays, but I was on call and I didn’t have time.”
“We don’t have to lock ourselves in here. We can go out and do things. I’ll be done with this in a bit, and if you want, we could grab some food and stop by the grocery store.”
She nods. “I’m going to lie down for a bit. I normally sleep during the day.”
She leaves the living room and walks into her room, softly closing the door.
My mother once told me that the person you’re meant to be with will show up when you least expect it.
That’s how she met my father. She was working as a waitress when she served him, fresh off a brutal breakup earlier that same morning, not looking for anyone at all.
My dad pursued her for weeks before she finally agreed to go on a date with him.
The rest is history—they got married, and then had me.
I never thought I wanted that. Marriage.
The whole thing. I’m not someone who enjoys being around a lot of people, and as an only child, I’ve always been used to my own space.
The closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother is Gino.
And now, somehow, there’s the very real possibility that I could end up marrying his sister.
Kevin and Lucy did a good job raising her, at least in my opinion. She’s quiet, though. I realize she barely spoke at dinner last night. I think that’s partly because everything happened so fast, and I’m certain it was her first shootout.
If Gino really wants me to get to know her, and possibly marry her, I’m going to have to help draw her out of her shell.