I didn’t even wait for her to respond, and I grabbed my things, about to storm out.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Arnoldo asked, confused.
“There’s an issue that needs my physical presence, apparently,” I noted as I stopped to answer him. “I will be back in a few days.”
Dillon’s eyes quickly glanced at my screen and whispered, “What the hell?”
Without another word, I left and speedily drove to Teterboro Airport, where my jet was being prepped for arrival, with a very confused Rachel on board.
“Ronan,” she called out, “Is everything—”
“We’ll know the answer to my question when we get to Tuscany,” I noted and spent the rest of the nine-hour flight awake, a sea of resentment roaming through my veins.
We landed with the sun in the sky. The jet lag would fuck me up, and before they even off-boarded the luggage, I requested to be driven to Nina’s boutique.
“But sir, we should get you settled in first, and the—”
“I appreciate it,” I interjected, “but I have to deal with this now.”
“Okay, sir, the car will be here soon.”
The bright neon pink sign of Nina’s boutique blazed, casting an eerie glow on the sidewalk.
Stepping inside, the cool rush of air conditioning and the scent of expensive fabrics and designer perfume in the air enveloped me.
“What are you doing here?” Inaya’s voice cut through the ambient noise, laced with irritation.
Ah. Inaya Abbas.
I fixed her with a steely gaze. “Where’s your boss?”
“Busy,” she replied, her tone dismissive.
“Sure,” I shot back, stepping further into the store.
“What?”
“Go and get Nina,” I commanded, my voice brooking no argument. “Please.”
Inaya stood her ground, hands on her hips, her expression defiant. “I won’t be doing that.”
“Fine,” I muttered, determination hardening my resolve. “I’ll have to do it myself.”
I began my search, striding purposefully through the store. The seamstresses glanced up from their work, their eyes following my every move as I navigated the expansive space with complete shock on their faces.
Finally, I spotted a door at the end of the hall with a nameplate;the name written in a looping script only she was capable of writing:Nina’s Office.
I moved swiftly through the boutique, my footsteps echoing off the polished marble floors. Each turn brought more luxury: mannequins draped in the latest fashion, mirrors reflecting my determined expression, and racks upon racks of clothing that seemed to stretch endlessly.
I finally reached the door to Nina’s office and paused for a moment. Through the frosted glass, I could see two figures in the dim light. Nina’s familiar silhouette and another—a man, tall and imposing.
Without hesitation, I walked towards Nina’s office, my footsteps echoing off the polished marble floor. The boutique’s opulent decor—crystal chandeliers, velvet drapes, and gilded mirrors—blurred in my peripheral vision as I focused on the door ahead.
I slammed the door open, heart pounding. Nina stood by her desk, speaking quietly with him. They both turned, surprise turning to shock.
“Amore mia,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence.
Before she could respond, I shot a glare at the guy. “Get out,” I ordered, fury evident.
