He catches my look and winks.
I’m not jealous. Why would I be jealous of some random woman from Kane’s past? Except there’s a spike of it anyway, sharp and unwelcome, and I push it away forcefully.
Giuseppe is fiddling with his phone, tapping through menus. “You’re absolutely right, Kane. Hannah’s number was blocked. But I would never…” He looks up, confusion and dawning anger mixing on his face. “Scot was handling my phone in the hospital. I was too out of it to notice.”
He keeps walking, leading us deeper into the house. I’m shaking my head that Scot would stoop so low, yet not surprised. Asshole.
The living room has me pausing. An entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooks a terrace and a pool, currently covered with a blue tarp and buried in snow, but I can imagine how incredible it must be in summer. A stone fireplace dominates one wall, fire crackling and throwing warmth into the space. Modern furniture in grays and whites. And in the corner, taking up a ridiculous amount of space, stands the biggest white Christmas tree I’ve ever seen.
It has to be twelve feet tall, perfectly shaped, decorated exclusively in shades of blue and silver. Delicate glass birds with real feathers perch on branches. Oversized baubles catch and reflect the firelight. Ribbons in shimmering silver cascade down in elegant swirls. There are what look like hand-blown glass icicles, each one unique. The tree topper is a massive silver star.
It’s the kind of tree you see in magazines. The kind people hire professional decorators to create.
I’m staring, unable to help myself.
Giuseppe notices and smiles slightly. “My late wife loved Christmas. This was her design. I keep it the same every year in her memory.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say softly.
Giuseppe gestures for us to sit, and I sink onto a plush gray couch. Kane sits beside me, close enough that his arm goes naturally around my back, his hand resting on my hip.
The touch settles something anxious in my chest. Like his presence alone can ground me when I’m spiraling, so I don’t push him away.
Giuseppe paces in front of the fireplace. “I’m too old and too sick to deal with the childish games Scot sometimes plays. The business…” He sighs heavily. “I don’t want to see it fall apart because of family drama.”
He lowers himself onto the couch across from us, moving carefully like everything hurts.
“When Scot came to see me in the hospital,” Giuseppe continues, “he told me you two had a falling out. Said you weren’t trustworthy, that you were using the business for your own gain, that I should sell to him immediately before you destroyed everything we’d built.”
I take a breath, choosing my words carefully. “Scot has been trying to pursue me romantically. Beyond business partners. When I made it clear I wasn’t interested, he became angry. Aggressive. He told me the partnership was over, packed up my belongings without permission, kicked me out of my apartment, and changed the locks.”
Giuseppe’s expression darkens.
“I don’t want to cause drama,” I continue. “I’m not trying to turn you against your nephew. But I want a fair chance to prove I’m dedicated to running Confetti and Meatballs. I care about that business, about the clients, the events, the reputation you’ve spent decades building. I want to honor that legacy, not destroy it.”
This is my last shot. Working with an established business, all those clients already on the books, the reputation already built, it would be so much easier than starting from scratch.
Kane leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “You’re doing amazing, baby girl.”
The way he says it, low and intimate and full of confidence in me, sends heat spiraling through my body. His voice, the huskiness of it, the casual touch, the pet name that should annoy me but doesn’t. How did these Alphas start affecting me this fast?
Giuseppe picks up his phone from the coffee table, taps the screen, and sets it down on speaker.
It rings twice before connecting.
“Uncle Giuseppe!” Scot’s voice comes through, warm and solicitous. “How are you feeling? I was going to come by later to check on you.”
“You’re on speaker, Scot. I have Hannah here with me.”
Silence. Then Scot’s tone shifts, goes cold. “I told you to be careful with her.”
“Just listen,” Giuseppe adds, then coughs, hard, wet coughs that make him wince.
“Uncle, are you?—”
“Let me finish.” Giuseppe’s voice is firm despite the obvious pain. “I’m too old to keep running my business, too old to deal with drama and accusations flying back and forth. I thought you could handle taking over, Scot. But now I have serious doubts.”
“Uncle, what?—”
