Matteo
Lindsay Beaumont’s office is not what I expected. I’m honestly not sure what I’d expected. My gaze sweeps over the space, cataloging every aspect. The desk is too clean. Not empty, just precise.
There are files stacked neatly, aligned like they were measured. The window behind it lets in light, but the blinds are half-drawn, cutting it into clean lines across the floor and the desk. There’s nothing personal in the room apart from two framed photographs on the desk.
One of the photographs is her with her father, and the other one is her hugging my sister-in-law, Valentina. She seems happy in the pictures. Light, free, and so beautiful it’s almost painful to look at.
My gaze shifts to the shelves: legal texts, case binders, all arranged with the same quiet order. This isn’t a place she’s comfortable in, I notice. It’s not sentimental, it’s functional.
I stand in the middle of the office, my fingers brushing lightly against the back of one of the chairs opposite her desk. The office speaks to her reputation of control, intelligence and discipline.
She’s a top ADA at twenty-nine, so she’s definitely capable. It’s cold, though, which is completely at odds with the woman I slept with a couple of days ago.
That woman had so much fire in her, I’m worried I’ve been burned. Permanently.
I hear the door open behind me and take a couple of moments before turning around. And just like before, there’s that same magnetic energy I felt. The one that was impossible to resist. My eyes collide with those starry blue ones, and it’s like my heart collapses.
I might need to make an appointment with my cardiologist.
Once she gets over her shock, anger sharpens in her expression. It’s a good look on her, the color in her cheeks, her blonde hair flowing down her back.
“Get out,” she says, shutting the door behind her.
It closes with a quiet click that feels louder than it should. I glance around the room instead, slow, like I’m still considering it.
“Nice office,” I tell her. “It’s very… sentimental.”
She scoffs, clearly gleaning my sarcasm, since there’s absolutely nothing sentimental about this space. She steps further inside, walking past me and setting her bag down on the desk. She does all this without taking her eyes off me.
“You have about five seconds to explain why you’re here before I call security.”
I don’t move. “Five?”
Her jaw tightens. “Four.”
I tilt my head slightly, watching her. My gaze drops briefly to where her fingers rest against the edge of the desk.
“I’m not here for anything nefarious, Ms. Beaumont,” I tell her. “I simply want to talk.”
Her lips press together briefly. The irritation in her expression is clear as day.
“Besides,” I continue, walking closer, ignoring the change in her expression, the slight panic in her eyes, “if you were going to call security, you’d have done it already. Which tells me you’re curious.”
She pauses for a moment, during which I drop into one of the chairs behind her desk. She sucks in a sharp breath before straightening and heading to her chair, putting the wooden desk between us like it matters. She takes a seat as well, her expression resolute, closed off.
“Let me guess. You’re here to gloat. Revel in the fact that you got me to climb into bed with you. That we slept together. I was wondering when you’d show your face in front of me again,” she states.
I study her for a second before my lips pull up in a small smirk.
“We slept together?” I ask, my eyebrows furrow as I feign confusion. “According to you, nothing happened that night.”
Her jaw clenches so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crack from the effort. The force of her glare could cower weaker men, bring them to their knees. Instead I meet it with an easy stare of my own.
“Just say what you want and leave,” she grits out.
“I want you to drop the case.”
Silence. Not shock. Not confusion. Just.. stillness.
Her eyes narrow slightly, “You think I’m just going to drop the case against your family?”
I shake my head slowly, “Not that one. The Bratva one.”
She pauses, this time managing some surprise, “How do you even know about that?”
“I have my sources. And you’re in way over your head. Drop the case.”
Another pause. Then quietly, she says, “No.”
“What?”
She meets my gaze, fire in her expression.
“Would you like me to say it in Italian?” she questions. “Noh.”
I tilt my head slightly, irritation sliding beneath my skin.
“Stai attenta, bella,” I murmur, warning her to be careful. “You’re on thin ice.”
“What’s it to you?” she snaps. “You’ve won. At least for now. I have to take down bigger fish, so you get to stay safe in your little bubble a little while longer.”
I know she’s baiting me, but damn if she doesn’t have me right where she wants me. I stand up and walk over to where she’s sitting.
“Bigger fish, huh? Cute. But I know you don’t believe that, princess. I don’t think you’ve ever had anything bigger,” I say, closing the gap between us.
I love the way her breath catches when I press my length against her back and tilt her head back to look at me. She’s wearing a pink lipstick and her pretty little mouth is slightly opened.
Fuck, I want those lips around my cock so fucking bad it hurts.
She wants me. Maybe even as much as I want to be inside of her. She wants to play games, though, so I won’t push. But I sure as hell won’t sit by and let her get herself killed fucking with the wrong families.
I’d destroy them all first.
I step back, giving her space once again, and sit down. I switch tactics, trying to get her to see reason.
“What do you even know about the Bratva?”
She recovers, leaning back in her chair. “I know enough. And I’ll know even more soon.”
“I doubt it. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.
You think they’re like us? We watched you for years, Ms. Beaumont.
I had your full file before my brother’s wedding.
Your conviction rate, your Columbia transcripts, your caseload.
I knew about this RICO investigation when it was still case notes in a manila folder on your desk. ”
I let that land.
“You’ve been building it in our house, and we let you, because you hadn’t found anything yet that mattered, I made sure of that. The question you should be asking is why we’re still letting you.
“Hell, your efforts even landed my sister-in-law in danger, and you’re still breathing. If it were the Bratva, you’d be dead right now, your body floating on a river somewhere.”
She smiles, and it’s entirely fake, entirely disingenuous, but no less beautiful because of it.
My gaze drops to her mouth, and suddenly I’m thinking about kissing her until that polished little act cracks apart beneath my hands. Damn this woman.
“Are you saying I’m special?”
I bite back a growl, “I’m saying you’re going to get yourself killed.”
She lets out a small sigh. I count one breath, then another, before she speaks, her voice cool.
“You seem to have a flawed perception of me, Mr. Vitale. I’m not some pure innocent woman who thinks unicorns exist and there’s a pot of gold at the end of rainbows.
I’m well aware that there’s evil in the world.
And I have no misconceptions about the power of good or how it can prevail over evil.
I know what I’m dealing with, and I have no intention of fighting fair or with clean hands. ”
I lean forward, taking in those words with no small measure of interest.
“So what’s with the moral pompousness?”
“It’s not pompousness,” She grits out. “No matter what I do or what means I take to achieve what I want, I will simply never be as evil as you and your world. I will never condone taking an innocent life, and while I may dirty my hands, at the end of the day, I’m doing it for the greater good.
None of my actions are motivated by selfishness. ”
“Moral pompousness indeed,” I say slowly, amusement coloring my tone. “You’re very cute, princess. And you’re also going to get yourself killed.”
Our gazes connect at the end of the statement. The air between us shifts, becomes tighter, charged. My gaze flicks briefly to her mouth, then back to her eyes. It’s subtle, but she catches it and it only makes her more angry.
“If I do get myself killed, then it’s none of your business,” she snaps. “And stop calling me princess.”
I study her for a moment before getting to my feet.
“You know you like it,” I say, my voice light and teasing. She snarls in reply. “I’ll see you around. Try not to get yourself killed before then.”
I turn around and leave before she can say anything else. No one bats an eye as I walk out of her office. It’s amusing. They spend their days trying to catch bad guys. And yet they have no idea about the one that walks in their midst.
Lindsay’s very aware of who the bad guys are. The problem is, she keeps putting herself in danger to try and take them out. Perhaps one day she’ll learn that her efforts, while laudable, achieve nothing.
Because I always win.
My phone vibrates against my skin and I pull it out, reading the text from my youngest brother.
Elio: The Don’s back.
I’ll be there in ten minutes, I reply.
I arrive at my family home and head straight upstairs to the Don’s home office. The room is quiet when I walk in. My brothers are all settled inside.
Salvatore sits at the head of the table, a glass of something dark in his hand, untouched. Raffaele leans back in his chair to his right, arms crossed, watching the door like he’s been waiting. Eli is close to the window, half turned.
They all look up when I enter.
“Where were you?” Salvatore asks as I pull out a chair and take a seat.
“Taking care of business,” I answer vaguely. “Welcome back. You’ve got a glow about you. Good to see you happy, big brother.”
“Thanks,” he says gruffly. “Now, status report. “What’s gone on since I left? I know you failed to capture the Shadow.”
My hand curls into a fist and I try not to have a visible reaction at the mention of our eldest brother.
“Dante left the country a few days ago. He could be anywhere right now,” I state.