Giovanni snorted. “I swear, I’ve never heard you talk about a woman like this. Usually, you'd have her pinned to a wall until she begged you to stop—then begged for more.”
I let a slow breath escape, the corner of my mouth twitching.“Who says I won’t? Not to break her, of course… though…” I laughed, low and dark, the memories flickering behind my eyes. Giovanni chuckled through the speaker. But then my voice dropped. “She’s different. You can’t break what bends just enough to survive. She’s got fire. Real fire. And I want to feel it burn.”
Giovanni gave a low whistle. “Christ, Russo. You’re slipping. So what’s the endgame? Gonna let this one crawl under your skin? Or are you planning to make her yours—for real?”
"Oh, I'll claim her," I said quietly, the smile unmistakable in my voice. “The kind of claiming she won’t recover from.”
Giovanni burst out laughing. "Now that sounds more like you. But watch yourself—don't get tangled up too deep. You know what happens when you mess with dangerous women," Giovanni warned, a serious edge creeping into his tone. "They can do more than just turn your head. They can ruin you."
"Don't worry, Gio. I know exactly what I'm doing. And Vaughn will fall, no question. I just want to tighten the screws a little more. But first, find out how much Fiona really knows."
Giovanni grinned on the other end. "Got it, Boss. I'll handle it. And when the time comes... Sorrentino's still in play."
"Sorrentino." I nodded. "Keep him waiting. He'll be useful to us yet."
As we pulled into the underground garage of THE OBSIDIAN—an imposing black skyscraper that loomed like a titan among Miami's skyline, part of my portfolio, and home to my penthouse—I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the information I'd gathered circulate in my mind.
Vaughn was a dead man financially—he just didn’t know it yet. He was fighting a storm that would swallow him whole in the end. And I’d be the one to deliver the final blow... when the time was right.
And Fiona? She’d find out when I wanted her to. Vaughn wouldshatter that perfect image she had of him.
And me?
I’d be there when it broke.
Six
Fiona Robertson
Ipoured myself a coffee in the break room, even though I knew it would only hasten Rachel's "inquisition." She'd watched me yesterday with an expression that said it all—horror, shock, pure fascination—and that was before we'd even left the office.
Now she was already at the table. Her cup in hand, eyes locked firmly on me. She leaned back, watching me the way only Rachel could—knowing, penetrating, utterly relentless. I sighed inwardly. It was pointless to hide anything—Rachel would pry it all out of me, whether I wanted it or not.
I sat across from her and pulled my cup closer. But before I could take a sip, she began.
"So?" Her voice was calm, but that single word was like a scalpel. A faint smirk played on her lips. "Yesterday. Russo. You two. I mean—Fiona. How the hell did that happen?"
I took a sip, hoping the hot coffee would steady my pulse. No such luck. "It's not what you think," I muttered, fully aware of how unconvincing that sounded.
"Oh really?" Rachel arched a brow. "Fine, then explain it. And spare me the excuses. You know I can spot a lie from miles away." She propped her chin on her hand, eyes still fixed on me like she could read every microexpression.
I exhaled sharply. "He just walked into my office," I finally admitted. "No knock. Opened the door like he owned the place."
"What?" Rachel let out a short laugh, eyes widening. "Just like that? No warning? That’s so… audacious!"
"Tell me about it," I deadpanned. "I was about to saysomething, but he was already there. Standing in front of my desk like he owned the room. I mean—" I shook my head, replaying the scene. "You know my office. It’s not small. But with him there—he’s so massive, so sure of himself, that damn suit fitted like it was poured onto him—suddenly it felt claustrophobic."
Rachel lowered her cup, staring at me with disbelief and fascination. "And you? How did you react?"
"Me?" I shrugged. "I pointed out that knocking is customary." A smirk tugged at my lips. "Politely, of course—you know how I am."
Rachel snorted. "Oh, I’m sure you absolutely wrecked him with that."
"Not even close," I said, leaning back. "He just smiled. You know that infuriating, self-satisfied smirk that you either hate or—" I cut myself off before finishing that thought.
The break room door swung open, and three colleagues walked in. Tom was first, grinning like always, followed closely by Lisa and Jane, their eyes alight with unmistakable curiosity. Apparently, I was already the hottest office gossip.
"So, Fiona?" Tom raised his coffee cup in a mock toast. "Still in the Russo fever?"
