Page 19 of His Little Angel
His office looks like a warzone. Everything is shattered, flipped, torn apart. His hands are bleeding from slamming into the walls so many times the drywall bears dents shaped like fists. His hair, always perfectly slicked back, sticks up in wild, frantic directions.
I don’t know what happened or what triggered this.
But I know this: I’ve memorized this man down to his molecules, and even I don’t know how to calm the demon pacing this room.
“Sir? You asked for me?”
He turns.
And God help me… there’s nothing human in his eyes.
“You’re fucking late.”
He stalks toward me like he’s hunting, like the carpet is a forest and I’m prey. He never curses at work—not in these pristine walls he built brick by brick. This isn’t Enzo. It’s the fucking devil staring out through his eyes.
“I gave Veronica some space,” I say, my knees almost buckling. “She needs to adjust without me breathing down her neck. That’s all.”
His shoes brush the tips of my heels. He’s that close. His breath hits my lips—mint and bitterness and something burning underneath, something primal.
“So that’s why you’re late,” he hisses. “To give her space.”
“Yes, sir.”
His pupils are blown wide, swallowing the blue whole. He looks deranged. Unhinged. Frozen and on fire at the same time.
“So it wasn’t because you were too hungover from drinking with that son of the oil tycoon last night?”
For a second, my brain flatlines.
How the fuck does he know? Why does he care? Why is his voice shaking like he wants to strangle someone?
“No,” I manage. “My personal life had nothing to do with my decision.”
Personal.I emphasize it. Because something about the way he’s looking at me—like I owe him an explanation—makes me furious, humiliated, and confused all at once.
He presses me back until my spine hits the wall.
“Personal?” he echoes, mocking.
“Personal,” I snap back. “Yes.”
“Before you resigned to ‘see the world,’” he seethes, “the job was your life. The office was your life.Iwas your life. Now you want to talk to me about personal?”
He’s right. He was my life. He filled every corner of my mind, every second of my day. I built entire universes around a man who never looked at me as more than convenient.
“That’s not the case anymore,” I say quietly. “Veronica will take over. I’m done.”
“How quickly you forget,” he whispers, his gaze tearing through me. “How quickly you move on.”
Move on? From what? From what exactly does he think I need to move on? He never showed me anything but professionalism.
“I suggest you do the same, Mr. Morelli,” I bite out.
His reaction is instant. He grabs my arms and slams me back against the wall, pinning me there with nothing but rage.
“Did you quit because of your little boyfriend, Mila?” he growls. “Did he promise to take care of you? Tell you to stop working? Is that it? Are you that type of woman?”
His words are poison.