Page 32 of Intrigue

The way he’s wanted this as much as I have.

And the way he’s done fighting it.

When he pulls back, my lips are swollen, my breath ragged. His thumb brushes my bottom lip, eyes hooded, dark.

“I should walk away and make sure this doesn’t happen again,” he mutters.

I grip his wrist, holding him there. “But you won’t.”

A sinister curve of his lips. “No,” he murmurs. “I won’t.”

We both know what this means.

We both know the consequences.

But in this moment, with the taste of his mouth still on mine and my father’s house standing tall behind me, I don’t care.

Let my father go to hell.

Let the whole damn world follow.

Because Alessandro Vescovi just kissed me.

And I’m never going to be the same.

Chapter 10

Alessandro

I lean back in my leather chair, the weight of the day pressing down as I review the latest security footage from Cassian’s gallery. The shutters come down for the last time, and there’s a satisfaction in watching what little he has built here crumble. Yet behind that, a pang of something unsettling, almost like regret. This isn’t my first hostile takeover, but there’s something different about this one.

I pour another drink as I stand and watch lightning illuminate the city skyline from my home office. It is probably going to rain tonight.

My financial advisor enters with his usual precision and his tablet in hand. The financial report makes me smile as I flip through—Cassian’s complete destruction laid out in neat columns and percentages.

“The anonymous tip worked perfectly,” Marcus says, adjusting his tie. “His biggest investor pulled out this morning. The others will follow.”

“Numbers?”

“Gallery’s value dropped 60% overnight. Total losses approaching two million. No bank will touch him now.”

“Good. Make sure he doesn’t secure any outside funding.”

I can’t help but replay the flashbacks of orchestrating this downfall. It was seamless, really. Buying the gallery through shell companies, planting those rumors of money laundering and stolen art among Florence’s elites. I knew it would cause a scandal that Cassian couldn’t outrun.

I continue sifting through the tablet, sifting through eviction notices, each one bearing my signature. I imagine the look on Cassian’s face when he receives that final blow. There’s a sense of pride, yet something about this victory tastes different, bitter, perhaps.

I dismiss Marcus with a nod, settling back at my desk. The contract waiting there is the one meant for Selene, and it feels heavier than the stack of papers it really is. My phone vibrates, pulling me out of my reverie.

“What?” I snap.

“Sir.” It’s James again. This has to be his sixth call today. I put him in charge of monitoring the ins and outs of that gallery. “She just entered the building. Taking the elevator to Cassian’s temporary office.”

Of course she is. I stand, straightening my cuffs. “Keep your eyes peeled.”

The walk to the home gym takes exactly forty-seven steps. I count them, using the rhythm to steady my thoughts. A good five hours sweating out my frustration. Then I take a shower and get dressed before retreating back to the office. I replay the feeds, which show Cassian explaining everything to Selene, her face crumpling as reality sets in.

Victor appears beside me, his reflection ghosting across the monitors. “The eviction notice is ready for delivery tomorrow morning.”