She’s scared. She admitted it. But she’s still here.
Courage or insanity, I said.
I’m starting to think it’s both.
“Don.” Romano’s voice from the doorway. Smooth. Professional. “The calls from this morning. Should I continue to handle them?”
“Later.”
One word. He pauses, reads the room, and nods.
“Of course, Don.”
He doesn’t leave. His attention moves to the woman standing in my study, and his eyes narrow. Interest, maybe. Or calculation. Romano has been with this family for thirty-two years. He’s seen women come and go.
None of them walked in here uninvited and offered themselves as payment.
“The other daughter,” Romano says. Neutral. Testing. “Cassia, isn’t it?”
She turns her head toward him. Acknowledges him with a nod. No words. No explanation. No defense.
I file it away. She doesn’t trust him. Or she doesn’t know him well enough to engage. Either way, she’s sharper than she seems.
“That will be all, Romano.”
He hesitates. Just a fraction.
“Of course, Don.”
The door closes behind him.
Now it’s just her, me, and Renzo. My brother won’t speak unless I ask him to. That’s how we work. That’s how we’ve always worked.
I turn back to face her.
She’s studying me. Dark eyes steady, hands loose at her sides. She’s not fidgeting. Not filling the silence with nervous chatter. Just waiting.
Patient.
Like she already knows what I’m going to decide.
Maybe she does. Maybe she’s read the answer in my face before I’ve admitted it to myself.
My attention drags down her body without my permission.
Her collarbone catching the light. The dark hair spilling past her shoulders, thick enough to wrap around my fist. The tremblein her lower lip that she’s fighting to hide. A tiny mole just below her left ear that my mouth aches to find.
Fuck.
I take inventory of the rest because I can’t stop. Her hands hang loose at her sides, fingers relaxed but not clenched. The rise and fall of her chest, a fraction too fast, betraying the fear she won’t let reach her face. Feet planted like she’s bracing for a blow.
She’s waiting for me to refuse her. To dismiss her. To send her back to her father with her spine straight and her chin high.
She’s not going to beg. I can see that much. If I say no, she’ll turn around and walk out of here, and I’ll never see her again.
The thought hits like a fist to the sternum.
Terrified. But not running.
