“We have an agreement,” Ramirez says, his voice snapping me back to the moment. “And there are consequences I’d hate to enforce if the terms of our contract aren’t met.” He twirls the letter opener between his fingers. “I hear the quality assurance protocols in Italy aren’t as thorough as they are in America. If the terms of that agreement aren’t met”—his gaze hardens on Giancarlo—“accidents happen here, yes?”
My pulse quickens. That doesn’t sound like business. That sounds like a threat. Giancarlo doesn’t flinch. He’s built like a man who carries bricks for fun—broad, solid, and definitely not the kind of guy who backs down easily. His hands look like they’ve been used to pour concrete—or break jaws.
His jaw twitches as he gives a shallow nod.
“We’d hate to see that, right?” Ramirez smirks, eyes flicking to Sebastian and then Mr. Edmond.
Sebastian shifts in his seat, glancing at his dad. Mr. Edmond stays stoic, but there’s a flicker of unease in his eyes that makes me nervous. As long as I’ve worked for Earl Edmond, he’s embodied power, wealth, and control. I’ve seen him bulldoze billionaires without smudging his cuff links. But since this meeting started, that confidence has been... diluted. Like someone swapped his espresso with weak decaf.
Before we left Dallas, I caught wind of the issue that cut Edmond’s meeting with Ramirez short at the museum. An issue with one of Edmond’s longtime suppliers in Italy—a guy named Marcello. Apparently, shipments of a specialized concrete additive stopped without warning. Ramirez blamed port delays. But after our meeting this afternoon, Edmond’s not buying it.
Now Giancarlo’s the one in the hot seat. He’s Edmond’s trusted project manager in Europe, but now it looks like Ramirez has commandeered him, the way a mafia boss might borrow your favorite contractor—with threats and a smile.
Mr. Ramirez stabs the letter opener into the desk, and I flinch. Hisgaze darts to me, an icy smile playing on his lips. I straighten in my chair, refusing to cower even as a chill skirts across my skin.
“If Marcello needs a reminder how important this deal is, I’ll make sure the message is loud enough every man from here to Rome will hear it.”
Giancarlo gives another tight nod, and with a flick of Ramirez’s fingers, he’s dismissed.Yeah, I’m pretty sure Marcello’s getting a horse head in his bed.
I shudder at the visual. This isnothow I imagined the meeting going. But I should’ve known it wouldn’t involve quick notes and cappuccinos the second Ramirez instructed us to leave our cell phones and laptops in our rooms. Sebastian looked ready to argue, but Mr. Edmond placed a hand on his arm and gave the slightest shake of his head. That was enough. We followed orders.
Maybe Ramirez made the request to protect the deal’s confidentiality—but my gut says otherwise. This smells like suspicion. So when he handed me a pen and paper, asking if I needed to take notes, I smiled and accepted out of courtesy... then didn’t write down a single word. I don’t trust him not to cross-reference my bullet points with a bullet.
If I’m passing anything along to Athena, it’ll be from my memory. So far, what I’ve got is shaky at best: Something called Aurelite-X is being imported into Italy for manufacturing. Of what? No clue. The conversation kept switching between English and Italian like a cursed Duolingo challenge. Maybe that’s the point—keep everyone off balance. Keep us guessing.
Ramirez rises from his seat and buttons his suit jacket. The meeting is over and I release the breath I’ve been holding.
I wait until Mr. Edmond and Sebastian stand before inching toward the table where the paperwork sits. If I can get a glimpse of what’s on it, just one detail, it might be enough to satisfy Athena. But Ramirez sweeps the documents into a folder and locks it in the desk.
“And everything is set for the transfer of funds?” Sebastian asks, voice light but a little too eager.
Mr. Edmond shoots him a look—less reprimand, more resignation.
Ramirez claps Sebastian on the shoulder like they’re old friends, and Mr. Edmond’s sharp gaze tells me he doesn’t like it. “Money is the last thing you need to worry about. Craig Miller will ensure every dollar is accounted for and protected. All one billion of them.”
One billion dollars.
My stomach drops. What exactly is CraigfreakingMiller going to do to protect that kind of money? For the last forty-eight hours, I’ve been slowly rebuilding a version of him in my mind—piecing together the boy I used to know with the man who ordered me a dress so I wouldn’t feel humiliated. The guy I just confided in about my dad and why I’d never let anyone make me feel powerless again.
And now? He’s working for a man who just threatened someone with a smile and might be moving blood money through this deal.
Athena was right. I need to stop romanticizing him and remember who Ben’s working for—and why I’m here.
Ramirez ushers us out of the office. “The villa staff has prepared a beautiful meal for our final evening here. Let’s go and enjoy it.”
Yeah, because nothing says “Bon appétit” like veiled threats.
I glance back at the desk, pulse quickening. I don’t know what Aurelite-X is or what kind of deal Mr. Edmond and Sebastian signed on to, but I know Athena’s willing to pay. And tonight I’m going to get into that locked desk.
I leave my room with my phone and key pick set stashed in my clutch. Just in case the perfect opportunity comes for me to sneak into Ramirez’s office.
The scent of garlic and herbs drifts from the kitchen, curling through the villa’s ancient halls and reminding me I haven’t eaten since my sad excuse for breakfast hours ago. My stomach growls in anticipation as I follow the corridor toward the dining room.
I turn the corner, then stop.
Ben’s voice. It’s faint but unmistakable, coming from a small room just off the hallway. The door is mostly closed—but not all the way.
“If it has to be done tonight, I’ll handle it,” Ben says, his tone calm.
