Chapter 2 - Shadows in the PenthouseThe private elevator of Ferraro Tower ascended in silence.
Inside the glass box, suspended forty stories above the glittering, rain-slicked grid of Chicago, the air was thick enough to choke on.
Giana stood in the corner, her arms crossed over the crimson silk, trying desperately to steady her breathing. The gala had dissolved into a riot of whispers, police sirens, and scattering politicians within minutes of Alessio’s display. Ashford had been dragged out bleeding through the service elevators, his UK backers scrambling to pack their bags before dawn.
And Alessio? Alessio had simply taken Giana’s elbow, guided her through the panic like a king walking through a cleared courtyard, and deposited her into his bulletproof SUV without saying a single word.
Now, they were heading to the top floor.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Giana said into the quiet hum of the cable.
“Done what?” Alessio asked, his back to her as he stared at the glowing floor indicator.
“Made a spectacle of yourself. Of me.” Giana unclenched her fists, her fingernails leaving white crescent marks on her palms. “For three years, I’ve kept my head down. I’ve made sure no one looked at me twice in this office, let alone every high-ranking criminal and corrupt politician in the state. Tonight, you put a target on my back the size of Lake Michigan.”
The elevator pinged.
The doors slid open to reveal the sprawling, dark-wood-and-glass expanse of Alessio’s private penthouse office.
Alessio stepped out, but instead of walking toward his desk, he turned around, leaning back against the doorframe. He unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket, tossing it carelessly onto a leather armchair. His white dress shirt was slightly rumpled at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to reveal thick, corded forearms.
“A target?” Alessio scoffed quietly, stepping toward her. Each step he took felt like a physical weight pressing her back against the glass wall of the elevator. “Giana. Look at me.”
She forced herself to meet his dark, burning gaze.
“For three years,” Alessio continued, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that made her knees weak, “you have hidden behind oversized blazers, charcoal skirts, and a mountain of spreadsheets. You thought if you made yourself invisible, the monsters of this city wouldn't notice you. But they noticed. Every man who walked into my office noticed.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything?” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. “Why let me hide?”
“Because,” Alessio murmured, stopping just inches away from her, trapping her between his body and the glass, “if I had told you three years ago what I thought every time you brought me my coffee... I wouldn't have been able to run an empire. I would have locked you in this tower and burned the key.”
May you like
Giana’s breath hitched. The heat radiating off his body was overwhelming.
“You think I made a spectacle of you tonight because of a business war?” Alessio’s hand came up, his fingers brushing a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. His touch was feather-light, yet hot enough to brand her skin. “No, Giana. Tonight was a message to every rat in Chicago. The moment you walked into that room in red, the illusion ended. You are mine. You have always been mine. And if anyone looks at you wrong again, I won't just break a table.”
