Page 138 of Ricardo

“Valecourt complained.”

Cold disdain for the man flashes through me. “Of course he did.”

“He felt rushed.”

“He was not rushed. He was forced to honor a schedule he agreed to.”

Mario’s eyes lift to mine. “He also mentioned you were less charming than usual.”

“I am devastated,” I say, monotone.

“I thought you might be.”

I turn another page, scanning the execution block. For all his arrogance yesterday, Alistair Valecourt knew better than to make the process difficult.

“He signed,” I say. “His feelings are immaterial.”

“That was my position as well.” Mario studies me for a beat. “Julia handled herself well?”

My fingers still only for a fraction of a second.

I keep my gaze on the page. “Very well.”

“Valecourt can be unpleasant.”

“He was.”

Mario’s expression cools. “How unpleasant?”

“Enough that I corrected him.”

That earns a faint nod. “And Julia?”

“She remained professional.” I close the file and set it back on the desk. “More professional than he deserved.”

Mario absorbs that, his face unreadable.

“She has good instincts,” he says.

“She does.”

“She notices details most people miss.”

“Yes.”

“And she does not get flustered easily.”

I think of Julia flushed beneath me, breathless, laughing into my mouth, glaring at me over a breakfast pastry while wearing nothing but my sheets.

“No,” I say evenly. “She does not.”

Mario’s gaze narrows slightly.

I meet it without expression.

There are many things my brother does well. Silence is one of them. He uses it the way other men use threats. He lets it sit in a room until the weaker man feels compelled to fill it.

I am not the weaker man. He knows this, so he doesn’t bother.