The Ambush Meeting

Chapter 3

 The Ambush Meeting

 Fiorenza Elettra De Santis POV

​The rain had turned the streets of Milan into black glass by the time the car pulled up outside Il Salotto, a  private club hidden  behind an  unmarked  limestone façade near the Galleria. There were no signboards, no paparazzi, only a heavy iron gate and a single guard who checked my name against a handwritten velvet guest list.

​I got  out of the car, pulling my wool coat tighter around my shoulders. My heart was beating closely, and I could feel it in my chest  . I had refused the black sedan Valeriano had sent to my atelier a tiny act of  resistance  perhaps, but one I needed to keep my knees from buckling. Instead, I had driven myself, bringing only the leather folder  containing the partially burned ledger and the notes Gianna had managed to pull from our server archives.

​I was meeting a man named Signor Rossi, he is the  chief  rebuilding  officer appointed by the central bank. Or at least, that was the name on the urgent summons delivered to my office twenty minutes after Valeriano hung up the phone.

​A waiter in a  sharp  white jacket led me down a carpeted hallway where the light was soft, amber, and suffocatingly quiet.

He stopped in front of a heavy wooden door at the very end of the corridor, bowing slightly before turning the brass handle and stepping aside.

​"Signorina De Santis," he murmured

​I took a deep breath, adjusted my jacket, and stepped inside.

​The door clicked shut behind me, the lock engaging with a soft small sound showing the door was completely locked, made me suddenly feel nervous.

​The room was large,  surrounded by floor to tall  wine shelves and a crackling fireplace, but my attention went straight to a set of two people.

​The man sitting there was not a bank negotiator.

​Valeriano Cosimo Moretti sat back in a velvet armchair, a crystal glass of amber liquid resting loosely in his hand. 

He wasn't wearing his suit jacket. His sharp white shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, showing a small , dark tattoo  creeping up the side of his neck. His hair was neatly styled , but there was nothing soft about him. In the dim light, he looked more intimidating and looked as though they had been carved from stone by an artist  who only understood violence.

​He didn't stand when I entered. He simply lifted his silver grey eyes to mine, watching me with a quiet,  deadly  patience that made the air in the room instantly grow heavy.

​"You're five minutes late, Fiorenza," he said. 

His voice was low, rich, and  rubbed  against my nerves like velvet over steel.

​"I had to double check my route," I replied,

forcing my feet to move until I reached the opposite side of the table, I didn't sit. I placed both palms flat on the white  fabric  tablecloth, leaning in just enough to meet his gaze directly. 

"It seems your invitation was delivered under a false name."

​"Signor Rossi doesn't exist," Valeriano said 

simply, taking a slow sip from his glass. "If I had used my own name, you would have brought a team of useless attorneys who would have spent three hours citing laws that no longer apply to you. I prefer efficiency."

​"Efficiency?" A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Is that what you call cornering a woman whose family business you just crippled?"

​"I didn't cripple it," he corrected smoothly, setting his glass down with a soft tink. "Your father did that years ago. I merely bought the debt before someone far less patient than me decided to collect it in blood."

​The word felt like a threat between us.

​"My father is a businessman," I snapped,

 my green brown  eyes  met his silver ones without a trace of fear.

 locking onto his silver ones without a flicker of hesitation. "He made mistakes, but he was not a criminal. 

And he certainly didn't sign over forty percent of our archival patents to a syndicate front"

​For the first time since I walked into the room,  Valeriano's expression changed. His silver eyes narrowed slightly, a dangerous spark flashing in their cold depths. 

He slowly stood up,at six foot three,his tall and intimidating  terrifying grace that made my lungs freeze.

​He didn't step back. He walked  around the table,coming closer until he was standing less than a foot away.

​The warmth coming from him got me off guard, and mixed  with the scent of cedarwood, rain, and expensive tobacco. My power screamed at me to take a step back, to put space between my body and the towering threat of a man who held my entire life in his hands. 

But I refused to move. I held my ground, lifting my chin and meeting his eyes.

​Valeriano looked down at me, his eyes dropping briefly to the pulse trembling  wild and visible at the  bare  of my throat, right above the crescent scar on my collarbone. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

​"You have the boldness , I will give you that," he whispered, 

He moved closer to me . The toes of his leather shoes almost brushed mine. "Most people in this city can't even look me in the eye when I take their money. You stand here and call me a criminal to my face."

​"Because that’s what you are," I breathed, my chest rising and falling against the tight fabric of my blouse. The physical proximity was overwhelming; I could feel the heat of his breath, could see the tiny silver flecks in his dark grey irises, could feel the heavy, suffocating gravity he pulled around himself.

 "You bought my family’s loans through offshore accounts. You erased the ledgers. You drove my father into hiding."

​"Your father escaped  because he is a coward," Valeriano said, 

his voice dropped into a  cold pitch that sent a rush of fear and something far more complex rushing  through my veins. 

"He abandoned you to pay his bill. And the debt, Signorina De Santis, is absolute."

​He reached into his inner pocket,took  out one sheet of one sheet, and laid it on the table right beside my hand.

​"Every asset," Valeriano said,

 his rough  thumb gazing  against the back of my knuckles as he straightened the paper. The brief, unexpected touch sent a sudden shock of electricity through  my arm, making my breath catch  in my throat.

He noticed his silver eyes sharpened  with a sudden, dark intensity before returning to my face. 

"The fashion studio. The family villa in Como. The runway collections. The company  name itself. As of five o'clock today, I own them all. You have zero balance in your personal accounts. You own nothing."

​I stared at the document, the legal terms becoming difficult to read. My heart was pounding  so hard I was certain he could hear it.

​"Why?" I managed to ask, my voice becoming softer, changed into a deep pain, I couldn't hide. 

"If you wanted the money, you could have taken the property months ago.

 Why build this complicated setup?

What do you actually want from me?"

​Valeriano didn't answer immediately. He reached out, his long, rough  fingers hanging  just an inch from my face before he lightly held the side of my jaw.

 The differences between his harsh, dangerous  reputation and the gentle, deliberate heat of his touch was dizzying.

My skin tingled  everywhere his skin met mine, a sharp, terrifying awareness locking us together in the quiet room.

​"I don't need your money, Fiorenza," he whispered, his thumb tracing the sharp line of my cheekbone with a slow, painful precision that made my head spin.

 "I want your father to watch what happens when I destroy  the only thing he left behind."

​Before I could understand  the cruel revenge behind his words, the quiet of the private dining room was shattered.

​The large  wooden door burst open with a violent crash. 

Three men in dark raincoats entered into the doorway, their hands pulled from their jackets, revealing the dull black glint of silenced guns aimed straight at Valeriano’s back.