Page 28 of Wrong Pawn. Right Capo.

I need something… someone to clear my head. I reach for my phone and dial Annora. It rings so long I don't think she'll pick up, but she eventually does.

“Hey, Nora,” I chirp.

“Hey,” she replies, and I instantly sit up. I know that voice—it’s the voice she uses whenever she’s trying to hide something.

“Annora, what’s up?”

“Oh, please, you called, so I should be the one to ask—”

“Cut the bullshit, Annora.”

It takes a moment, but she finally says, “Mom had a seizure last night.”

I hold my breath. Her mom has early-onset Alzheimer’s and her deadbeat stepfather is more of a liability than an asset. That’s what she’d said when I asked about her family. That’s the only background she’d ever revealed to me, despite being friends for about two years.

“I’m so sorry. Is she okay?”

“They’re transferring her to Silver Care Facility upstate. They have a specialized neuro unit there.”

“I- I-” I don’t know what to say. “I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I could do to hel—”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Her Alzheimer’s is progressing faster than we thought, but it’s fine,” she says. “Look, I-umm, gotta go. This audit is kicking my ass. I’ll call you once I’m done.” She tries to throw in a laugh, but it does nothing to diffuse the situation. I still let her go. She ends the call.

As usual, she doesn’t let me share in her burdens, or at least, let me in fully. I wish I could press further and make sure she’s really okay, but Annora is… a tough nut to crack.

I sigh, needing something else to clear my head.

Setting down the wine glass and grabbing my iPad from my bag, I pull up the international market reports I bookmarked a week ago, scrolling through my sales projection and brand penetration matrix. The last six months of relentless shoots, launches, and collaborations have all been tailored toward one particular goal: getting recognition on the Forbes list.

Swiping through my contact list, I initiate a call to the London-based international agency I’ve been reaching out to for months now. I want my brand to attain sustainable global recognition, not just a single-season surge. Hopefully, I can schedule a formal session with them and make them see how lucrative a mutual partnership would be.

“Servtrix Agency, how may I help you?” a receptionist calls out.

“Elena Rossi, I’d like to speak with the partnership manager, please,” I say, keeping my fingers crossed that this time they actually put me through.

“Please hold.”

My eyes drift to the jet window beside me, and I see that the cityscape of New Orleans is sprawling beneath us. This blue line snaking through the city must be the iconic Mississippi River.

When Enzo first told me of the plan to send me to New Orleans, I was a little angry. Once again, I felt things were out of my control, but I listened because I understand that he’s doing this for me, and because he cares for me.

After losing his wife to cancer, he made her one dying promise—to keep their daughter safe. Years later, a brutal hit meant for him took their daughter’s life anyway. I think some part of him still carries that guilt, and somehow, it comes out as love toward me and my sister, Bella.

A sudden change in cabin pressure shakes me from my thoughts as the engines roar, signaling our final descent. Moments later, the jet touches down smoothly on the tarmac, bringing our three-hour journey to an end.

The receptionist on the other end has yet to connect me with the manager, so I pick up my Chanel bag and head out of the jet onto the runway. I don’t turn around to check for him; I can tell he’s behind me from that sandalwood fragrance oozing through the air.

Annoyingly sexy.

“Miss Rossi, you’re through to Mark Russel, a top partnership manager with Servtrix,” the operator finally announces. A rush of excitement hits me; after days of trying to break past their gatekeepers, I’m finally connected to a real decision-maker. There’s a brief silence before Mark Russel’s voice booms through my AirPods.

“Miss Rossi.”

“Mr. Russel, thank you for taking my call. I’m calling regarding a collaboration with your agency. I’m the CEO of Elané, a makeup and skincare brand—”

“I’ve heard of Elané. Get to the point, please.”

Chewing on my lower lip, I release a deep breath. “As I said, I’d like to initiate a collaborative deal with your agency. I’m not building one of those small-scale businesses for fame and profit, I’m constructing an empire that’ll be reckoned with long after I’m gone…”