I saw it in the way Matteo’s gaze sharpened. In the way Hoka went still. In the way my father looked at me for a beat too long before answering.
“No.”
The word landed flat and immediate.
I held his gaze. “I can do it.”
“I know you can,” he said. “You’re still going back to Boston.”
My nostrils flared “In one week.”
“And at the end of that week,” he replied evenly, “you’ll still need a degree.”
There it was.
Not doubt. Not dismissal.
Something worse.
Patience.
“You want me in the business,” I said.
“I do.”
“You’ve been bringing me in for two years.”
“Yes.”
“Then let me be useful.”
His expression barely changed, but I knew that look. I had seen it all my life. Alessandro Benetti was immovable once he made up his mind.
“You are being useful,” he said. “You’ve identified the weak point. I’ll have Rudy and Marco follow it through.”
I said nothing.
He stepped closer then, one hand settling briefly on my shoulder, not soft exactly, but firm enough to mean more than the words themselves.
“You finish Hawthorne,” he said quietly. “Then come home and do this properly.”
The room stayed silent because everyone there understood what that meant.
It was not a suggestion, it was a promise.
I looked away first. There was no point fighting him in front of the others when I already knew he was right. The degree mattered. The timing mattered. The role waiting for me at the end of it mattered.
It was just becoming increasingly inconvenient that the life I was meant to return to now had Emily in it.
“Boston,” Matteo said lightly, as if tasting the word for hidden meaning. “You seem very eager to get back there.”
“I have exams.”
Hoka’s silence grew even more pointed.
Matteo smiled into his drink. “Of course you do.”
A few more topics were discussed after that, but the room had lost its appeal for me. Nothing major enough to require my input, just final notes, names, dates, shipments, precautions. By the time my father dismissed the meeting, I was already half out of my chair.
