Chapter Four

I walked into the conference room with Diego guiding me by the hand. He said he didn’t want to risk leaving me alone with strangers in the house. As if I couldn’t handle myself. I would much rather spend time with the house staff—or even Maria—but he wouldn’t hear of it. His decision was final, as always.

The conference room was silent and cold when we stepped in, the kind of silence that wrapped around your skin and made you shiver. Four men were already seated around the sleek mahogany table. Three of them were strangers, unfamiliar faces laced with tension and secrets. The fourth was Eli, Diego’s second-in-command. They had been whispering amongst themselves, voices low and urgent, but the moment Diego entered, silence fell in the room like a guillotine. 

Something in the air felt wrong, like the faint scent of smoke before a fire. I couldn’t name it, couldn’t place it, but I felt it crawl along my spine the second we walked in. Still, I didn’t dwell on it. I wasn’t familiar with the inner workings of Diego’s world—not really. I was just beginning to understand the edges of the empire I was supposed to become a part of.

One of the seated men spoke first. A short, stubby man with a deep scar running down his left cheek. He didn’t bother to hide the way his gaze raked over me before turning to Diego with barely concealed irritation.

“Why is there a lady here, Diego? This was supposed to be a closed-door meeting between business partners.”

Diego, already seated at the head of the table, exhaled slowly and adjusted his cufflinks with the calmness of a man who knew he didn’t need to raise his voice to command attention in a room.

“This is Elena,” he said, eyes locking with the scarred man’s. “My wife-to-be. She’s a part of my legacy now. My empire. Anything you can say in front of me, you can say in front of her, Luigi.”

The way he said my name made something flutter in my chest— it was equal parts possessive as it was protective. He didn’t glance at me once, but his hand stayed on mine firmly, grounding me. 

Luigi’s eyes narrowed, and I saw something flicker in them—disapproval, maybe, or disdain—but it vanished as quickly as it came. “Congratulations, Romano,” he said, the smile on his scarred face as fake as a knock-off designer bag. “This is indeed a… happy occasion.”

Diego gave him a curt nod, then leaned back, his eyes turning colder. “Now, shall we begin with why the fuck my goods are being held at the port?”

Luigi glanced at the others, then cleared his throat. “The shipments were flagged at the port. Routine inspections, or so they claim.”

Diego arched an eyebrow. “Routine inspections? For three days straight?”

“No one’s touching them,” another man who was seated—tall, bald, and sharp-eyed—interjected. “They’re just… stalled. Bureaucratic rules in place.”

Diego’s voice sharpened. “Which means someone is interfering.”

Eli finally spoke, voice calm but loaded. “The timing’s too perfect to be a coincidence. Someone tipped them off.”

“Not from our side,” Luigi said quickly. “We’re clean.”

“You think I’m fucking stupid?” Diego snapped. “Your man Carlo was seen near the customs office two nights ago. And now you expect me to believe it’s all a coincidence?”

Luigi stiffened. “He was checking on a different shipment, Diego.”

“You expect me to believe that too?” Diego asked, leaning forward. “You think I don’t have eyes on every single thing that leaves or enters that port?”

The third man—gray-haired and silent until now—spoke up. “If we’re going to start accusing each other, then this alliance is already fractured.”

“It’s only fractured when loyalty starts to fade,” Diego said, tone even but deadly. “And right now, I’m wondering who the hell I let sit at this table.”

Luigi’s smirk returned. “Maybe you should ask yourself if involving outsiders—” he looked directly at me “—is what’s compromising your judgment.”

Before Diego could respond, I spoke. “Outsiders don’t stay outsiders for long, if they’re smart enough and loyal.”

The table went quiet.

Luigi’s eyes narrowed at me. “And do you think you’re smart enough, señorita?”

I smiled, sweet and dangerous. “I suppose you’ll find out.”

Eli chuckled under his breath, but quickly silenced it when Diego spoke again.

“My patience is thin, gentlemen,” Diego said, his tone ice. “You will fix this. You will ensure my shipments are cleared and untouched. Or next time, we won’t be having a conversation. We’ll be writing eulogies.”

Luigi nodded stiffly. “Understood.”

“Good,” Diego said, rising to his feet. “Then we’re done here, gentlemen.”

We walked out, and even with the tension still hanging thick between us, I couldn’t help but feel proud. Diego had handled them—controlled them. Every word, every stare, was dominance incarnated. He didn’t just command the room—he ruled it.

He was in control. All bark and bite.

And God help me, he looked sexy as sin when he was in business mode. His hand never left mine the entire time, anchoring me to his side like a warning to the room. At one point, his palm slipped from my hand to my thigh and stayed there, his fingers splayed lightly against my skin. The warmth of it, the possessive way he touched me like I was already his—it made it almost impossible to focus on the conversation.

It was infuriating and dangerous how well he knew where to touch me, how to unravel me, and he hadn’t even undressed me yet. The heat seemed to always pool between my legs whenever I was around him, leaving me feeling out of breath and horny to say the least. He was doing things to me that I couldn't put words to, even with the slightest stares and physical contact. 

—-------------

By the time dinner came, the household had settled into a contained silence. Diego sat at the head of the dining table, regal with his expression unreadable. I was seated to his right, my place clear. Eli took his seat at the far end of the long table, his eyes trained on his plate.

Dinner was quiet. Too quiet. The only sounds were the occasional clinking of silverware against porcelain and the soft shuffle of servants as they moved in and out of the room. The tension was palpable, thick enough to slice with a knife. No one spoke. 

I could feel Diego’s gaze on me—intense, unwavering. Watching me. Studying me. I pretended not to notice, focusing on the food I had no appetite for. He was about to speak—his lips parting, his eyes softening—when a small, high-pitched voice shattered the silence.

“Daddy!”

A little girl with wild red curls bolted into the room and ran straight toward Diego, throwing her arms around his neck with all the enthusiasm in the world.

My fork slipped from my fingers and clattered to the plate. The sound echoed too loudly in the quiet room.

My breath caught as I stared, frozen. The girl clung to his neck, giggling in delight. Diego’s hands settled around her tiny frame. And his expression—God, his expression—melted.

It was real affection. Genuine warmth. Nothing like the man who’d commanded the meeting earlier. Nothing like the man who touched me like I was his and whispered possession in every glance.

I blinked, trying to process what I was seeing. A child. His child.

I turned to him, but he was already watching me. Not with guilt, but with guarded caution.

He hadn’t told me. Not a word. Not a hint. We were supposedly engaged. I was living under his roof. Technically sleeping in his bed. Yet somehow, he had a daughter.

And I knew nothing about it. I didn’t know this man at all. I stared, frozen, disbelief curdling in my chest.

Diego leaned down slowly and lifted the little girl into his arms, his expression softening in a way I had never seen before. She giggled and hugged his neck, both chattering something in Spanish I couldn’t understand.

While I was still trying to process the sight of the little girl—his daughter—a woman walked in, pregnant and glowing. She was stunning, with waves of red hair and striking green eyes but bore an uncanny resemblance to the child in Diego’s lap. She carried a small children’s school bag in one hand and walked like she belonged here.

Without hesitation, she leaned down and kissed Diego on the cheek. Her hand briefly rested on his shoulder before she moved to sit beside Eli at the far end of the table. She looked at me and smiled sweetly, leaving me even more confused. 

“Evening, Eli,” she said warmly.

Eli smiled, nodding. “Evening, Mira. You look radiant.”

She blushed and adjusted herself in the seat beside Eli, setting the school bag gently on the floor. She looked at Diego and the the little girl with an easy smile. 

The little girl, still perched comfortably on Diego’s lap, lit up at the sight of Eli. “Hi Uncle Eli!” she chirped.

“Hey, Calah,” Eli replied playfully, winking at her.

“She wouldn’t go home until she picked out which drawing to bring,” Mira said, exasperated but fond. “She said it had to be perfect for Daddy”

Diego chuckled, pulling Calah a little closer. “Is that right, princesa? You made something special for me?”

Calah nodded enthusiastically. “It’s a picture of me, and Mommy! I put a baby in her belly too.”

Mira gave a short laugh and rolled her eyes. “She’s been telling everyone she’s getting a baby sister. I’ve stopped correcting her.”

“You’ll make a great big sister,” Diego said to Calah, kissing the top of her head.

Mira smiled at the sight, then turned to Diego with a softer expression. “And thank you for handling the situation at the clinic,” she said, her voice soft. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“You shouldn't thank me, Mira. You know I’d do anything for you and for Calah.” Diego smiled, his tone steady and sincere.

Their exchange was warm, comfortable—close in a way that said they had history. Not romantic, but deep. And I sat there, wondering where exactly I fit in all this.

Then, Calah turned to Diego with innocent curiosity brimming in her eyes and pointed directly at me.

“Who’s this, Daddy?”

Diego’s eyes flicked to me, softening in a way that only made my stomach tighten. He smiled, full and open, heart in his eyes.

“This is Elena, Calah,” he said gently. “And she’s going to be my wife soon.”