Page 9 of From Italy With Love

“You’re welcome.” My voice was gentle, careful, a tone I learned years ago when I had to coax my frightened sister out from under beds during an attack, when I needed to make people feel safe when the world was anything but. I wanted to reach for her, to shield her from the storm of her father’s anger, to make promises I was in no position to keep. I told myself I was only being courteous, but the truth ran deeper. There was a rule I’d made for myself the day my father died. A line I swore I would never cross. That line was all that held me, and it was fraying fast. “And you have nothing to apologize for. It was an honest mistake.”

Kelley’s voice lashed out, low and venomous—more a growl than words. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

I could feel his hatred thrumming in the air, thick and electric, but this, his daughter, was not part of our game. She was collateral, and I couldn’t let that stand.

I ignored him. I couldn’t look away now, not when she was so clearly unraveling. I was trespassing into forbidden territory, and every instinct screamed at me to stop, to protect the fragile deal between our families, to remember why I was sent here. But my own past haunted me. My mother’s silent tears, the bruises she never spoke of. I swore I would never let someone suffer while I stood idly by, and here I was, risking everything because I couldn’t bear to be a coward again.

“Are you all right?” I asked, my words soft but weighted with desperate urgency. The risk was acute. A razor’s edge pressed to my throat. By comforting her, I wasn’t just defying Kelley. I was jeopardizing the fragile deal that Giovanni urgently needed. One wrong move, one perceived slight, and this room could become a tomb.

She nodded quickly, eyes on the floor, her voice a fragile whisper. “I’m fine. I should go.” Her hand clutched the book as if it could anchor her, and I saw myself in her. The need to escape, the desperate hope that someone might intervene.

“Of course.” I stepped back, forcing my body to obey, though every muscle ached to keep her from leaving. “It was truly a pleasure to meet you, Miss Kelley.” My words tasted of regret, bittersweet and heavy.

She looked up then, and our eyes met—hers wide with gratitude and fear, mine trying to tell her what words couldn’t. The air between us sparked, charged with something dangerous and undeniable. In that suspended moment, the world outside that silent, paper-scented room ceased to exist. Everything narrowed to her trembling hands, her pale cheeks, the storm in her gaze. I understood, with terrifying clarity, that I would pay dearly for this. If not with my life, then with everything I’d built, everything I thought I valued.

I saw her. Truly saw her. And impossibly, she saw me, too. That recognition was its own kind of peril. A silent promise, a connection that could cost us both everything.

Time stretched, the world holding its breath with us, until she finally looked away and hurried from the room, clutching the book to her chest. A shield against forces she could never control. As the door closed, the scent of old leather and fear lingered, and I turned to face Kelley, knowing full well what I had just risked. I had crossed a line from which there would be no return.

The door’s echo faded. I braced myself as I faced Kelley, knowing that I had just placed myself in the center of the crosshairs. The real danger wasn’t just losing the deal.

It was losing everything I still believed in.

Kelley’s fury was a living thing, pounding in the silence between us, and I realized whatever happened next, there was no going back.

His face was dark with rage, and beneath it all, I felt the certainty of what I’d done: I had chosen her. And there would be consequences.

“Sit the fuck down,” he hissed.

I walked back to my chair and lowered myself onto it, the worn leather sighing beneath my weight. Every movement felt deliberate, restrained; I refused to hurry, refused to betray any hint of fear. My palms pressed against my thighs, slick with sweat, as I sat and waited, my eyes tracing the dust motes swirling in the sunlight, the faint tick of a clock somewhere behind the closed door stitching together the silence.

Kelley stood rigid, chest heaving, his fists knotted so tight his knuckles blanched. The guard by the door shifted his boots, scraping softly against the floor. His hand hovered near his jacket, a gesture that made the air feel brittle and dangerous. The room was thick with anticipation, every sound amplified: the hum of the radiator, the slow, relentless ticking, my own heartbeat thrumming in my ears.

Kelley’s gaze locked onto mine, but when he spoke, his voice was less steady than before, shaky, raw, edged with both anger and something softer that threatened to seep through. “Let me make something very clear to you, Valentinetti,” he said, his voice quivering, almost breaking. “My daughter is none of your business. You don’t speak to her. You don’t look at her. You—” He paused, glancing down, throat working as he swallowed hard. “You don’t even acknowledge her. I will kill her myself before I let scum like you put your hands on her.”

I said nothing, though the taste of copper lingered at the back of my throat and heat flushed beneath my collar. My jaw tightened as I struggled to hold back words, feeling the tremor in my limbs beneath the table.

His words lingered, heavy and coarse, reverberating through the room like the echo of a slammed door. I watched Kelley’s face. I saw the hate there. This wasn’t just about me. It was a lifetime’s worth of grudges, a man haunted by every shadow he’d ever nursed.

And his daughter was the unwilling pawn, caught between fear and fury, her fate suspended in the space between us.

I wanted to speak, to shatter the silence with accusation or consolation, to call him out as a coward, a bully. A father consumed by his own greed, unable to see his daughter as anything but collateral. Rage simmered in my chest, throat tight, fingers curling around the edge of my chair as I imagined breaking his nose, imagined the sharp tang of blood and the shock in his eyes. But the words died on my tongue, replaced by a cold ache.

But I didn’t move, didn’t speak. The only sounds were the ticking clock and the distant, metallic groan of pipes. My anger was a living thing, coiled and waiting, but I forced myself to swallow it.

Because Giovanni had sent me here to get a deal, not to start a war. Because letting my temper loose would mean certain death. Because sometimes all I could do was taste my own bitterness, feel my heartbeat in my throat, and play the part that was expected of me, even if it felt like betrayal.

So I sat, stone-faced and silent, every nerve taut, waiting for Kelley, for the deal, for the storm I felt building in my chest. The room held its breath, and so did I.

Kelley glared at me, his stare not just challenging but searching—something desperate flickering behind his anger, as if he were waiting for me to slip and ruin everything. If I faltered now, I’d lose more than access and profit. I kept my body still, jaw clenched, refusing to give him an excuse. I could almost taste the threat in the air, sharp as ozone before a storm.

His posture wilted, ever so slightly, and with a sigh he sank back into his chair. “Sign the contract,” he rasped, each word edged with exhaustion and warning.

I drew the papers to me, the cool, heavy texture of the contract rough beneath my fingertips, each page releasing a faint scent of copier ink and stale air. My pen felt like lead, too dense, too deliberate, as I traced each clause, hunting for traps disguised in legal jargon. I pressed the pen so hard that my knuckles ached. The scratch of ink against paper was as harsh as the pounding in my chest while I signed the family name. I slid the papers back, the thick edge catching against a stain on the tabletop. A trivial detail, but suddenly monumental. The silence was brittle as glass.

Kelley scrawled his name with furious, stabbing strokes, the pen nearly tearing the paper. Then he stood and stalked to the door, each step thudding against the floorboards. The guard opened it as the hinges creaked like a warning, and Kelley vanished without a backward glance.

The guard’s gaze flicked up, flat and dismissive. “You’re done here.” His voice carried a finality that scraped at my nerves.