Chapter 3 - The Man Behind The Name

Emily stared at the message for almost a full minute, because the words were simple and too simple.

We need to talk.

No explanation, no apology, no request, just a statement like Adrian Marcelli was used to people rearranging their lives around whatever he wanted.

Her first instinct was to ignore it, her second was to ask why, and that was the problem because she wanted to know, and she hated that.

Emily placed the phone face down on the counter and continued locking up the gallery, pretending her hands weren't shaking as the key stuck and she had to jiggle it twice.

She had spent three years building a life where nobody could tell her what to do, not her father, not her family, not anyone, and she wasn't about to let one intimidating man in a perfectly tailored suit change that.

Her phone buzzed again on the counter and she froze.

Another message.

Adrian Marcelli: Tomorrow. 10 a.m.

Marconi's private room.

Emily stared because the confidence was almost insulting, he didn't ask if she was available or if she wanted to meet, he decided.

Normally that would have annoyed her enough to refuse, but something stopped her, maybe curiosity, maybe the fact that she wanted answers, or maybe she wanted to understand why a man who seemed impossible to surprise had looked at her like she was the last person he expected to see.

She picked the phone up.

Emily: You don't usually ask people before ordering them around, do you?

She immediately regretted sending it, but three dots appeared almost instantly.

Adrian Marcelli: No.

Emily blinked because that was it, no excuse, no attempt to defend himself, and she almost laughed.

Emily: At least you're honest.

The reply took longer this time.

Adrian Marcelli: Tomorrow. 10 a.m.

Emily rolled her eyes because of course, and she typed back before she could talk herself out of it.

Emily: Fine. But I'm not ordering lunch.

No reply, so she placed her phone in her bag and left the gallery, telling herself it was just to get answers. That was all.

Adrian had expected many things, fear, anger, a refusal, but he had not expected Emily Pascarelli to argue with him through text messages.

Ethan stood across from his desk, watching him. "You smiled."

Adrian looked up from his laptop. "I did not."

"You did, when she said she wasn't ordering lunch, right after you sent her the time and place like she was an employee." Ethan leaned against the doorframe.

"I didn't smile."

"You did." Ethan nodded seriously. "Right, and I have never seen you threaten a man over a missing shipment either."

Adrian gave him a cold look and Ethan immediately stopped talking, almost.

"She's different," Ethan said, quieter this time.

Adrian looked back at the file on his desk where Emily's photo was still on top, the one from the charity event three years ago where she looked miserable.

"That was the problem," Adrian said. "She was."

Everyone around him wanted something, money, protection, power, a way into the Marcelli name, but Emily wanted none of it. She had walked away from the Pascarelli name and built something without it, a gallery that barely paid rent and an apartment with secondhand furniture.

That was rare, and Adrian didn't trust rare things because they usually came with a hidden price.

"Why does she matter to you?" Ethan asked.

Adrian closed the file. "She doesn't."

Ethan raised an eyebrow and Adrian ignored him. "The Pascarelli family matters, that's all this is."

At least, that was what he told himself.

Emily arrived at Marconi's exactly at 9:58, not because she cared about impressing Adrian but because she refused to give him another reason to think he controlled anything.

The hostess led her through the main dining room to the back where the private room was quieter than the main restaurant, too quiet, the kind of place where people made decisions that changed lives, and she hated that she noticed.

The door opened before she could knock and Adrian stood there, no guards, no audience, just him, which surprised her because for some reason she had expected the entire room to announce his arrival. Instead he simply stepped aside.

"Come in."

Emily walked inside to find a small room with a dark wood table, two chairs, and a window that looked out over an alley, no food, no coffee, nothing that made this feel like a normal meeting.

"I have to admit," Emily said, stopping in the middle of the room, "I expected more intimidation."

His eyes moved to hers. "Is that what you think this is?"

"Honestly?"

"Yes."

"A little."

For a second something almost like amusement crossed his face, almost, then it disappeared.

"Sit."

Emily sat across from him in a chair that was too nice for a room that felt like an interrogation, folding her hands on the table so he wouldn't see they were cold.

"You wanted to talk," Emily said.

Adrian studied her. "You left the Pascarelli estate three years ago."

Not a question.

Emily's expression changed slightly. "That is not exactly small talk."

"I didn't invite you here for small talk."

"I noticed."

A silence settled and most people probably hated silence around Adrian because they rushed to fill it, but Emily didn't since she had learned that people revealed more when they weren't rushing.

"What do you want to know?" she asked finally.

"Why did you leave?"

Emily looked away briefly because the question was too direct. "My family and I disagreed."

"About?"

"Things I didn't agree with."

Adrian watched her carefully. "You knew what your family did?"

Emily looked back at him because there it was, the reason, not curiosity, not concern, but suspicion.

"You think I'm like them."

"I think people are influenced by the families they come from."

"And I think people can choose who they become," the answer came quickly, too quickly.

Adrian went quiet because it sounded like something he wanted to believe but couldn't.

"You don't know my family," he said.

"No."

"You don't know what they've done."

"No."

Emily leaned back in the chair. "But I know what I've done."

That caught him. "What does that mean?"

"It means I'm not responsible for every decision my father made," her voice softened slightly, but only slightly, "and neither are you."

The words hit harder than she realized because nobody spoke to Adrian that way, not his employees, not his enemies, not even his family. They saw the Marcelli heir, the future leader, the man who couldn't afford weakness, but Emily saw a person, and he didn't know what to do with that.

Adrian leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Five years ago, your father cost my family two warehouses and one life, that's what I know."

Emily's stomach dropped. "I didn't know about a life."

"Of course you didn't."

"That's not fair."

"Neither was what he did."

They stared at each other across the table while the air felt too thin.

Emily broke first. "Look, I get it, you hate my last name and I hated it too, that's why I left, but if you think I had anything to do with whatever happened five years ago, you're wrong."

"How do I know that?"

"Because I have nothing to gain from lying to you," Emily said. "If I wanted money or protection, I would've gone back to my father three years ago."

Adrian didn't answer, he just watched her like he was trying to see past the words.

When the meeting ended, Emily stood. "Are we done?"

Adrian looked at her. "That's all?"

She frowned. "What?"

"You aren't going to ask why my family hates yours?"

Emily paused at the door. "I figured if you wanted me to know, you'd tell me."

Another surprise, because most people begged for information but Emily simply waited.

Adrian stood. "You're unusual."

Emily smiled slightly. "I've been told that before."

She walked toward the door and stopped with her hand on the handle. "Adrian?"

He looked at her. "Yes?"

"Next time you want to talk to someone, try asking."

For the first time, he almost smiled. Almost. "I'll consider it."

Emily left and Adrian remained standing in the empty room where the air still smelled like her perfume, something light and nothing like the women he was used to.

A person should not have been able to walk into his life for one night and change the way he thought, but Emily Pascarelli had, and the most dangerous part wasn't that she was connected to his enemy, it was that he was beginning to wonder if she was nothing like them.

His phone rang. Ethan.

Adrian answered. "What is it?"

A pause, then Ethan's voice changed. "Adrian."

Something in his tone made Adrian straighten. "What happened?"

"We found something."

Adrian's hand tightened around the phone. "About what happened five years ago?"

"No."

A pause.

"About Emily Pascarelli."

The room went silent.

For the first time that night, Adrian felt something close to fear because he could handle an enemy, he could handle betrayal, but he didn't know how to handle the possibility that the woman who had challenged him was connected to the one thing that destroyed his Return.