Page 91 of Our Chaotic Love Affair

Her mouth opened. Closed. Her perfect mask slipped just enough that I could see the person underneath—petty, unhappy, desperate to make someone else feel as small as she felt.

I didn’t wait for her response. I walked past her, head high, and I kept walking until I was three blocks away and my heart had stopped hammering quite so hard. Then I stopped. Leaned against a building. Took a breath.

People only had power over me if I let them. I’d fought too hard to get where I was. I had built myself back up too many times from moments just like this to let anyone tear me down now. Not boutique saleswomen. Not bitter socialites. Not even my own insecurities.

I was capable. Strong. Resilient.

I got shit done.

I got what I wanted.

And there was one last thing I wanted to get before I left Rome.

CHAPTER 31

CASH

Rossi’s boardroom had a view that would have impressed me if I gave a damn about views right now. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Tiber. A massive conference table polished to within an inch of its life and meant to intimidate. Everything designed to remind visitors that they were in the presence of old European money and older European power.

I was a Bancroft. It was going to take a lot more than a nice fucking table and a sweet view to intimidate me. I sat at one end of the table with my phone pressed to my ear, barely registering any of it.

“Say that again,” I said.

My legal counsel back in New York—Sandra, the best contracts attorney we had—didn’t hesitate. “Rossi is hemorrhaging money. Has been for at least three years. Maybe longer. I just got the report back from our investigator. I’m still reviewing it. It’s extensive and alarming.”

I leaned back in the obscenely expensive chair. “How bad?”

“Bad enough that he’s taking loans against assets he doesn’t fully own. Bad enough that he’s months behind on payments to multiple creditors.” I heard papers rustling on her end. “We pulled everything we could legally access. The pattern is clear. He’s not exiting this contract because he wants to hurt the Bancroft name. He’s exiting because he can’t afford to do business with it. In a nutshell, we’re out of his league. Way out.”

“His wife,” I said. “Does she have money? Does she come from money?”

I needed to make sure I had all the facts. It wouldn’t be a surprise if Angelica swooped in to save her husband along with her reputation. People at the top liked it way too much to allow themselves to fall. They were prone to do things that they might not normally do, like seduce rich men.

Was that Angelica’s plan? Was that why she wanted a private meeting with me?

Hell no. Not even with a ten-foot pole. I knew women like that and there was less than zero chance I would allow myself to get sucked into that shitshow.

“His wife doesn’t have money,” Sandra said. “In fact, she’s part of the problem. Angelica Rossi has a documented spending problem. But that’s not the whole story. Federico has made some questionable investments. A failed hotel venture in Sardinia. A tech startup that imploded. He’s been trying to use the Bancroft association to shore up his reputation, attract new investors. Dropping the Bancroft name like he’s BFFs with all of you.”

“And when that didn’t work?”

“He decided to cut and run before we could discover the extent of his financial problems.” Sandra paused. “Cash, if you push this deal through, we could be tied to his mess when it all comes crashing down. And it will come crashing down. It might be a week or a year, but the house of cards will come down and he’s going to be taking a lot of people with him. I’m not sure if anyone else knows they’re sitting on a disaster.”

Cleo had been right. She had figured it out in a bathroom conversation with a bitter socialite while I’d been sitting at a table making small talk. She’d seen what I’d missed. Rossi wasn’t playing power games. He was drowning.

“Send me everything,” I said. “I want the full breakdown.”

“Already in your inbox. And, Cash?”

“Yeah?”

“Your father isn’t going to like this.”

I almost laughed. “My father doesn’t like a lot of things I do lately. What else is new?”

She chuckled. “Good luck.”

She hung up just as the boardroom doors opened. Rossi walked in flanked by four board members—two men, two women, all of them wearing expensive suits and expressions meant to put me on the defensive. Rossi himself looked composed, but I could see the tension around his eyes. The slight tightness in his jaw.