Marco exhales sharply, like he’s already out of patience. "What do you want, Mancini?"
Antonio ignores him, eyes still locked on me like he’s peeling back layers. "I gotta admit, I didn’t expect this. You, in a Salvatore’s arms."
He tilts his head, feigning curiosity. "Didn’t you write some scathing piece about ourcorrupt criminal empirelast year?"
I don’t flinch. I meet his gaze head-on. "If you read it, you’d know I wrote about the Lombardis too."
Mancini grins, all teeth. "Fair. But still, boss, you should’ve warned me you were slumming it with the press."
His gaze flicks to Marco, full of mock amusement. "Luca’s looking for you. Something about finalizing negotiations. You know—actualbusiness, not…extracurricular activities." He turns back to me, his smirk widening. "Or is this research? A little hands-on investigative journalism?"
My blood runs hot.
Marco shifts slightly, like he’s preparing to step between us, but I don’t give him the chance.
"You must be confusing me with the women you spend your time with, Mancini," I say, my voice cool, cutting. "Some of us don’t need to trade favors to get what we want."
Mancini chuckles. "Feisty. No wonder you like her, boss." Then he leans in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make it feel personal. "Just don’t let her get too comfortable. We both know you don’t keep things around for long."
I feel it like a slap.
I turn to Marco, waiting—waiting—for him to shut this down. To at least have the decency to deny it.
But he doesn’t.
His expression is unreadable, like this conversation is beneath him. LikeI’mbeneath him.
And that? That is what snaps the last fragile thread of my patience.
I smile, sharp as a blade. "You know what, Mancini?" I say sweetly. "You’re absolutely right. Marcoisa selfish bastard."
Marco’s jaw tightens. Finally, a reaction.
But I don’t care.
I push past him, past Mancini, my heels clicking against the stone with every step. I don’t look back, don’t give either of them the satisfaction of seeing just how deep that cut.
I don’t stop walking until I’m outside the estate, the night air cool against my heated skin.
Later that night, I find myself curled up on my couch with my laptop open, trying and failing to focus on work. My phone buzzes.
I don’t expect it to be him.
But it is.
Marco:I can’t live with this being a one-time thing. Can you?
A sharp breath escapes me, my fingers tightening around the phone. Damn him.
4
MARCO
Five Years Ago
The text is sent, but, much as I want to, I can’t put my phone away. It sits in my palm, the message glaring up at me like an open wound.
"I can’t live with this being a one-time thing. Can you?"
