11

Christopher Gravemoor:

I was too stunned to speak.

I didn’t know what to do in that moment.

Because seriously—what the hell was wrong with Amara?

“I'm sorry,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “You know she didn’t mean that, right?”

“Yeah,” she replied quietly. Too quickly.

She wouldn’t meet my eyes. Just nodded like it didn’t bother her.

But I saw the way her jaw clenched. The way her hand gripped the mug a little tighter.

I could feel it in the way the air between us shifted. Like the silence between us had grown claws.

“Yeah. So… you’re not going to work?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

She shook her head. “No. It’s Saturday. Not my shift.”

She paused, then added, “I’m going to do laundry so… see you later.”

Her voice was distant. Dismissive.

And before I could say anything else, she was already walking off, mug in hand and a quiet ache trailing behind her.

I sighed and turned, heading upstairs to Amara’s room.

Her nanny was brushing her hair, the usual morning routine. I crouched beside the bed and motioned for the nanny to give us a moment.

“Hey,” I said gently. “That thing you said earlier… it wasn’t very nice.”

Amara blinked up at me. “What thing?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You asked Isabella when she’s leaving. That kind of thing hurts people, even if you don’t mean it that way.”

Her expression fell. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know you didn’t. But it still hurt her feelings. She’s a guest in our house, and more than that, she’s… someone important.”

Amara pouted. “Should I say sorry?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I think that would be a good idea.”

She tilted her head. “Where is she now?”

“The laundry room. Go on, sweetheart. Just be yourself. You’ll make it up to her.”

She smiled, hopped off the bed, and padded away in her fluffy socks.

I stood there for a moment, watching her go. Then my phone buzzed.

A message from Mikhail popped up—urgent.

I stepped into my study and locked the door behind me before answering.

“Mikhail?”

“We got a response from the Cataldi family. They’re ready to sign.”

I froze. “Wait—the old man himself?”

“Yes. Giovanni Cataldi. He’s flying in this evening. Said he wants to sign the deal face-to-face.”

Giovanni Cataldi wasn’t just a name. He was an old-school legend—powerful, untouchable, and rarely involved in deals anymore. The fact that he was coming in person? That meant something.

“What’s the catch?” I asked, already suspicious.

“No catch. Just one condition. He wants to meet the people behind the deal, not just the numbers. Real faces. Real intentions.”

That was rare. And risky.

“Tell him I’ll be there,” I said. “Send me the final draft.”

“Done.”

I hung up, staring out the window for a moment.

This wasn’t just a contract. If this alliance held, it meant less chaos, more structure. Fewer blood deals—and more control. It was the kind of move that could let me keep my hands clean… or at least cleaner.

I changed into a tailored dark suit, the kind that didn’t just fit the body but fit the kind of power I needed to walk in with. Crisp, calm, unshaken.

By the time I stepped out, my driver was already waiting.

“Airport,” I said, sliding into the backseat.

The city passed in a blur of tinted windows and low sun. We took the back route, not because I was hiding, but because it paid to be unpredictable. Twenty minutes later, the private terminal welcomed me like an old friend. The jet was prepped and ready—black, sleek, and silent.

Once onboard, I sat with a glass of still water, watching clouds shift beneath us. The world looked clean from above, like none of the dirt down below mattered.

The jet touched down in less than an hour. A black SUV waited on the runway. No fanfare—just business. The drive to the Cataldi estate was long, winding through acres of vineyards and guarded fences. Their style hadn’t changed in decades—old money, old rules.

The main gates were tall, iron-forged, and slow to open. I rolled down the window slightly and caught the faint scent of cigar smoke and oak.

Security stepped in. Armed, silent, thorough. They checked everything—driver, vehicle, me. They didn’t smile. They never did.

Once cleared, we drove through, deeper into the estate.

It was nearly 4 p.m. when we pulled up to the grand villa—sunlight laying gold across the ancient stone walls. Two guards stepped forward to escort me in.

No words. Just a nod. That was enough.

Inside, the air was cooler, still, and smelled like old books and leather. Footsteps echoed across marble as they led me through halls that looked untouched by time. And then we stopped in front of a heavy wooden door carved with the Cataldi crest.

The man himself was waiting on the other side.

Giovanni Cataldi. Head of one of the oldest, cleanest, and quietest families still standing. The kind of man who didn’t raise his voice but could still silence a room just by walking into it.

He stepped forward, a faint smile on his face. “So… this is the Christopher Gravemoor I’ve been hearing about.”

I offered a firm handshake. “Depends on what you heard.”

He chuckled. “Only good things. You run a tight ship, make clean cuts, and most importantly… you know when to stop talking.” He motioned to the leather seats near the fireplace. “Sit. Let’s make history.”

The papers were already laid out. Clean, detailed, and more diplomatic than most of what I usually signed. No blood, no secrets. Just strategy.

I looked over them once. Then once more for politics’ sake. And then I signed.

Giovanni poured us both a drink. Expensive whiskey—aged, deep, and meant to be sipped.

“To peace through structure,” he said, lifting his glass.

I didn’t want it—but I took the glass out of respect. “To order,” I replied, and drank.

We talked for a few more minutes. Nothing serious. Just surface-level things powerful men talk about when they don’t want to be enemies.

Eventually, I stood. “I’ll be heading back.”

“About that,” he said, walking with me to the door. “With how late it’s gotten and the drive back… I’d suggest you stay the night. There’s a hotel nearby. Discreet, secure.”

I paused, nodded once. “Send the address.”

“You’ll like it. No noise.”

That mattered to me.

As the SUV drove away from the estate, the sun had nearly dipped below the hills. I leaned back, watching the sky darken.

One good move today. A clean one.