Page 9

SOPHIE

I slam my office door harder than necessary. The echo vibrates through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but I don’t care.

My father’s voice still lingers in the air, patronizing, condescending, and impossible to ignore.

“Just be careful you don’t get too close, Sophie. He’s your client, not your conquest.”

As if I don’t already know that. As if I haven’t spent every damn day walking the tightrope between professionalism and... whatever the hell this all-consuming chaos with Alessio is.

Never mind the fact that I’m juggling PR landmines with Alessio's recent run in with the Russian mafia. No, let’s reduce it all to hormones and poor judgment.

Classic James Henderson logic: undermine first, justify later. When in doubt, undermine your daughter’s credibility.

I sink into my chair, jaw tight, heart pounding.

My control is hanging by a thread, and he knows it. That smug, backhanded warning wasn’t just about professionalism. It was about Alessio.

And the worst part?

He’s not entirely wrong.

I drop into my chair, pulse still rattled, and pull out my phone to shoot off a text.

Got a minute?

I stare at the message after I hit send.

Denver will know what to say. He always does.

Denver meets me in the company lounge ten minutes later, coffee in hand and concern in his eyes. He slides into the chair across from me.

“You look like you’re two seconds from torching the building.”

“I might be.” I wrap my fingers around my lukewarm cup. “For now, I just needed to talk.”

"Anything in particular?"

His brow lifts slightly.

That’s something I’ve always loved about Denver. He cares. He listens.

“About your BFF. He's infuriating, does whatever the hell he wants, and struts around the apartment like he owns the place."

Of course, I leave out the part where he walks around half-naked and that I caught him...playing solo.

"I get that he’s charming. Too charming. But with his track record, and with the recent incident at my apartment, I don't know if he's reliable. And I need that from him if we're going to make this work. Why... why do you trust him so much?”

Denver leans back with a slow exhale.

“I’ve seen him at rock bottom. When he first got here after their mom died, he was.

.. wrecked. Angry. Grieving. Barely speaking English.

He must’ve felt like Enzo just dumped him into some foreign school like he was someone else’s problem.

But from what Dad told me, he wasn't coping well back home. Enzo must’ve felt like Alessio’s only option was to start fresh.

Away from all the painful memories that reminded him of his mother. ”

I blink.

Denver shrugs. "In a way he's like us. A kid trying to find a way to grieve the death of his mom. And it doesn't help that his father was navigating the same things he was."

I swallow the hard lump in my throat.

This is all news to me.

When our mother died, at least I had Denver. But Alessio...he was alone.

Denver shakes his head. “High school was brutal. Alessio got into fights. Skipped class. He fell into wrong crowd."

My chest tightens as I picture teenage Alessio. Lost. Hurt. Alone.

“That little shit even tried to start something with me. That's until I gave him a beating he wasn't going to forget." He combs his fingers through his hair.

"But even then, he had this look, like he was just trying to survive the next day. I tried to look out for him after that.”

This is a whole new light being shone on Alessio. A side of him he has buried so deep, it is hard to find anymore, apparently.

“Look, sis. He fucked up a lot. But he never stopped trying. And once you earn his loyalty?” He nods, eyes locked on mine. “He’s all in.”

That lands harder than I expect.

I look down at my coffee, swirling the contents.

Denver watches me for a beat, then adds softly, “Just be careful, Soph. I’m not saying he won’t screw up again. I’m saying... if he cares about you, he’ll fight like hell to get it right.”

His words lodge in my chest, heavy and hot.

I nod, but my throat is too tight to speak. Because part of me wants to believe that so badly it aches. That Alessio could be more than the chaos he shows the world. That beneath the swagger and the smirks, there’s a man worth the risk. That the flickers of vulnerability I caught are the real him.

But the other part, the one still nursing the scars from trusting the wrong men, curls inward, defensive.

I can’t afford another mistake. Not when everything is already on the line.

By the time I get back to the apartment, I’m already mentally preparing for the mess I’ll find. Dishes in the sink. A protein shake mess. Him without a damn shirt on.

I unlock the door and instantly smell it, the scent of his body wash and something vaguely burnt. Probably the remains of whatever culinary crime he committed trying to use the toaster again.

I drop my keys into the bowl and glance toward the living room.

Naturally, he’s sprawled across the couch like a smug Roman emperor, all bare chest and cocky, one arm slung behind his head like he’s posing for a damn cologne ad. Wearing nothing but those damn gray sweatpants that cling in all the wrong, or maybe right, places.

He has a smug expression on his face that says, what are you going to do about it, dolcezza?

“Seriously?” I toss my bag on the kitchen counter. “We wear shirts in this apartment, you know.”

“Correction.” Alessio eyes the screen, not a hint of shame in his voice. “You wear shirts. I prefer the freedom of going without. Since this is the only freedom I get for now, I guess.”

“Wh—”

The doorbell rings.

I freeze, eyes narrowing. “You expecting someone?”

He raises a brow. “Do I look like I plan things?”

Fair point.

I should be worried that it might be another unwelcomed visitor, but my father assured me it wouldn't happen again.

I swipe through my phone to my doorbell app.

Halie? What is she doing here?

I groan, crossing to the door.

My gorgeous, sharp-tongued friend from college is wearing skin-tight denim pants and a cropped halter top that shows off her toned stomach and long legs.

Her body is the kind men write songs about, all curves in all the right places, confidence oozing from every step. Her long braids are pulled up in a messy bun, lips glossy.

When I open the door, her eyes scan me before flicking over my shoulder. Landing

on him.

“Hi, Soph, I was in the neighborhood, so I figured I'd drop by.”

Obviously, a lie.

She gives me a hug before blinking twice. “So, this is the infamous Alessio?”

“In the flesh,” he drawls, sitting up a little straighter as if he suddenly remembered how muscles work.

Halie’s mouth curves into a slow, delighted smile. “Of course, he is.”

My jaw clenches.

She steps inside, letting go of our hug, before lowering her voice. “You didn’t tell me he was a walking thirst trap.”

“I didn’t think it was relevant.” I shoot Alessio a glare as he stretches just enough to make his abs flex.

God help me.

Halie barely gives me a chance to offer her a drink before she grabs my wrist and pulls me out of Alessio’s view. Her eyes are wide, her expression far too amused for my comfort.

“Girl,” she whispers, glancing over her shoulder. “You didn’t tell me he was that Alessio.”

“What do you mean, that Alessio ?” I try, and fail, to sound indifferent.

Halie gives me a look that could melt steel. “Please. Tall, built like sin, and wearing gray sweatpants like he’s trying to break the internet? That Alessio. And he was definitely eyeing me like dessert.”

I roll my eyes so hard it nearly gives me whiplash. “He eye-flirts with lamp posts, Halie. Don’t let it go to your head.”

She cackles. “Sure, but lamp posts don’t blush every time he stretches and shows off those abs. You, however…”

My face burns. “We’re just sharing space. Barely. He’s like a walking HR violation, and I’m one step away from taping a shirt to his chest.”

Halie grins like she’s watching a telenovela. “So, just roommates who happen to have unresolved sexual tension so thick it could suffocate a grown man. Got it."

She crosses her arms. “But don’t think I didn’t notice that little spark between you two. Tell me you haven’t had a taste.”

My face goes full-on inferno. “It was one night. Years ago. A bad decision fueled by tequila and poor life choices. We’re coworkers now. Well technically, I work for him. Kind of. And no, we haven’t again... It’s not like that.”

Halie arches a perfectly manicured brow. “Uh-huh. And I’m a nun.

Mistakes don’t make you look like your panties are on fire every time he stretches.”

I shoot her a look, but she just grins wider.

“Girl, come on. You’ve got it bad, and he knows it. That man breathes, and you short-circuit like a hair dryer in a tub of water.”

I groan, dropping my head into my hands. “I do not short-circuit.”

“You do. And that’s why you need to stop playing defense. You want to survive living with a man like that? Take the reins. Power play, babe. Keep him off balance. You don’t let a guy like that lead…unless it’s straight into your bedroom, and even then, only if he begs.”

I blink. “Are you seriously giving me sex advice right now?”

She sips from the iced coffee she brought herself and shrugs like a queen on her throne. “Please. I’ve turned wild boys into purring kittens and made them beg for a leash. You’re welcome.”

Alessio wanders into the kitchen just as I’m recovering from Halie’s sex-guru monologue. He’s still shirtless, of course, and now sipping a smoothie like it’s his job to remind the world he has abs sculpted by the gods.

He leans against the counter, eyes sweeping over Halie with a slow, calculated appreciation.

“So, you’re the friend.” His voice is smooth as sin. “Soph’s mentioned you.”

Halie raises an eyebrow, lips curving. “Oh? All good things, I hope.”

Alessio’s smirk is lethal. “She said you were dangerous. I like dangerous.”

I bristle before I can stop myself. “I also said she could see through bullshit from a mile away.”