The lake outside reflects scattered lights from the main lodge where other participants continue late discussions and networking.
Inside our assigned space, the only sounds are the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of wooden beams adjusting to the cooler evening air.
Nico fell asleep over an hour ago after another enthusiastic racetrack session. The boy had demanded I help extend the course across the living room rug, his small hands placing blocks with surprising precision.
I obliged, his focus reminding me of how I was at a young age. Livia had watched us from the doorway before retreating to her room.
She had barely spoken to me since the terrace confrontation and the charged moments throughout the day’s drills.
I sit in the living area reviewing flagged documents on my tablet, including the compliance gap Livia identified in the De Luca subsidiary proposal.
Not only is this a stain on De Luca. When presented, it would push them back farther. And for Ferretti Global Risk, that's a good thing.
Her discovery impressed me more than I let on. Most new analysts would have overlooked the mismatched filing dates.
She had not only spotted it but connected it immediately to operational inconsistencies. Her explanation about learning from the man who taught her to spot his own tricks still echoes in my mind.
Dante.
The pieces of her past continue to surface in fragments, each one adding weight to the growing picture I cannot ignore.
The day had tested every boundary we established in that contract. Every evacuation drill required my hand at her back.
Every boat transfer brought her body against mine. I remember the way she had trembled when I caught her on the dock, the sharp intake of her breath, the heat of her waist under my palm.
She had pulled away like I burned her, yet her eyes told a different story. The same hunger I feel. The same dangerous pull that began the moment she walked into my office for that interview.
Now it follows us here, amplified by the forced proximity of this family cottage and the public performance of our fake engagement.
I set the tablet aside and stand, stretching muscles tight from the physical drills. The kitchen light draws me. A soft glow spills across the hardwood floor. I walk toward it and stop in the doorway.
Livia stands at the counter, barefoot, wearing soft sleep shorts and a loose tank top that slips slightly off one shoulder. Her hair falls in loose waves down her back, still damp from what must have been a recent shower or bath.
She holds a mug in one hand and eats cereal straight from it with a spoon. When she senses me, she glances up and our eyes meet.
For a moment neither of us speaks. I step into the kitchen and open a cabinet, pulling out a stack of bowls. I set one on the counter near her with deliberate calm.
“There are bowls.”
Livia looks at the bowl, then back at me. A small, defiant spark lights in her eyes despite the exhaustion lining her features. “There is also joy, Valentino. You should try locating that sometime.”
Her voice carries a teasing edge, but it does not hide the underlying tension. I watch her lift another spoonful of cereal to her mouth.
Her lips close around the spoon. She chews slowly, and my gaze fixes on the subtle movement of her throat as she swallows.
Heat stirs low in my body. I remember those same lips parted on a shaky inhale last night on the terrace. I remember how they had trembled when my finger traced her neckline.
How close I had come to claiming her mouth and more.
Much more.
She watches me watching her mouth and, naturally, the air between us thickens. The kitchen feels smaller, the distance between our bodies charged with everything we are not saying.
I can see the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat. Her red-painted toes curl slightly against the cool floor.
I pull in a long breath that does little to steady me because all I really catch is her scent lingering in the narrow space alongside the sugary smell of cereal.
I lean one shoulder against the doorway and study her in silence. Then I push away from the doorway and move deeper into the kitchen instead, reaching for a bottle of water from the refrigerator.
