Page 1 of Diego

Chapter One

Diego

“I told you not to live in a building that we don’t own.”

I lift my gaze from my phone and stare across the conference room table at Lorenzo. “Are you really going to ‘I-told-you-so’ me?”

The words come out closer to a snarl than a question, which only makes the corner of my brother’s mouth twitch. He knows better than to smile outright, although the effort it takes him to restrain himself is written all over his face.

I turn the phone around and shove it across the polished table toward him anyway, even though he has already read the email once. Maybe I’m hoping the second viewing will somehow make him sympathetic.

Though not likely.

The email arrived at 6:14 this morning with all the warmth and consideration an eviction notice warrants.

Effective immediately, all tenants are required to vacate the premises due to concerns regarding the structural integrity of the building.

There are three other paragraphs beneath that, explaining assessments, inspections, liability, access restrictions, and the building owner’s profound regret for the inconvenience, but none of it changes the relevant part. I have to move out today.

Lorenzo picks up my phone and scans the message again with an expression that tells me he is enjoying this far more than any decent older brother should. “If you lived in a building we owned,” he says, setting the phone back down, “this wouldn’t be happening.”

I lean back in my chair and narrow my eyes at him. “We were in the process of purchasing it. I was taking care of that issue.”

“You were attempting to take care of it.”

“We made an offer.”

“Which they rejected.”

I tap two fingers against the tabletop, already regretting showing him the email in the first place. “Negotiations take time.”

Lorenzo gives me a long look. “I suppose it’s a good thing they weren’t successful, now, isn’t it?”

I hate when my brothers are right, but I especially hate when Lorenzo is right because he has the deeply irritating habit of being pleased without doing anything obvious enough for me to call him on it.

He doesn’t need to smirk or laugh. He can sit there with that calm expression while making it perfectly clear he’s right, and he knows it.

In fairness, I did ignore him, but that does not make his satisfaction any less annoying.

I’ve lived in the building for three years, and until this morning I had no intention of going anywhere.

It is a converted warehouse a few blocks from the river, renovated into oversized luxury apartments with exposed brick, high ceilings, private terraces, and underground parking. I liked it the first time I walked through it because it had character without trying too hard, plenty of privacy, and no direct connection to my family. That last part had been intentional.

There are benefits to having the Conti name attached to more businesses and properties than I care to count, but sometimes I just want to go home without walking into another place where someone knows my brothers, reports to my brothers, or ultimately receives a paycheck from a company one of us owns. This apartment gave me that.

I bought furniture I actually liked, stocked the bar properly, had the closet redone to suit my needs, and settled in with every expectation of staying there for the foreseeable future.

Now some engineer has decided the building is unsafe, that everyone has to get out immediately, and I am supposed to be grateful the owner expressed regret for the inconvenience.

Lorenzo slides my phone back toward me. “Where are you staying in the meantime?”

I reach for it and turn it face down beside my coffee. “The boys have generously offered to let me stay with them.”

For approximately two seconds, Lorenzo manages to keep his face straight. Then he turns his head, and I see the slight curve of his lips.

“Are you laughing?”

“No,” he says wisely.