Semua Bab The Mafia's Nanny : Bab 141 - Bab 150

141Matteo’s POVThe car ride to our next stop was the quietest it had been since we left the city. Usually, Gianna would have her tablet open, firing off quick questions or reminders about the day’s meetings, and I’d be making sarcastic comments just to see how far I could push her before she sighed in frustration.Today, though, she was quiet. Too quiet. She sat rigid in her seat, her focus glued to the tablet in her lap, even though she hadn’t scrolled through it in at least ten minutes.I tried not to take it personally, but I wasn’t an idiot. The icy wall she’d thrown up after that night in the hotel room was impossible to ignore. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. Her face was calm, composed, like nothing could touch her.If only I could get her to look at me the way she had that night. Just once.“So,” I said, breaking the silence, “do you think the clients today will be as charming as yesterday’s?”She didn’t look up. “Unlikely,” she said flatly.I waited for more,

143Matteo’s POVThe room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, save for the sound of Mr. Cavanaugh drumming his fingers against the polished conference table. His sour expression matched the tension in the air. The deal was slipping through our fingers, and Gianna was doing her best to salvage it, but even she seemed to be hitting a wall.“This wasn’t what we agreed upon,” Cavanaugh said, his tone clipped. “These terms are a joke, Miss Lorenzo.”Gianna, seated across from him, maintained her composure. “Mr. Cavanaugh, I assure you, the terms haven’t changed. We simply clarified the delivery schedule to ensure you’re not left waiting on product—”“That’s irrelevant,” he snapped, cutting her off. “What’s relevant is that your team didn’t communicate these ‘clarifications’ until now. It feels… slippery.”I glanced at Gianna, whose jaw tightened slightly, like a small crack in her otherwise impenetrable armor.“Mr. Cavanaugh,” I said, leaning forward slightly, “if I may?”Gianna shot m

145Gianna’s POVThe restaurant was nice—too nice for my liking, with its dim lighting, soft jazz, and napkins folded like little works of art. It was the kind of place where the wine list was longer than the menu, and the waitstaff looked like they could model in their spare time.But Mr Clifford loved it, so here we were, basking in the glow of a successful deal. Everyone was in high spirits, glasses clinking, conversation flowing. I sipped my wine sparingly, keeping my smile polite and my guard firmly in place.Matteo, of course, looked completely at ease. He always did in situations like this—charming Mr Clifford, cracking jokes that landed effortlessly. It was infuriating, how natural it all seemed for him.“Enjoying yourself?” His voice pulled me out of my thoughts.I turned to find him watching me, his expression unreadable.“Of course,” I replied, plastering on a smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”“You just seem a little… tense.”“I’m not tense,” I said quickly, which only made me so

147Gianna’s POVThe moment I set foot into the conference room, I knew something was wrong.The atmosphere was tense—not the kind of tension I’d expected from a routine meeting, but the kind that prickled the back of your neck. The clients, seated in a neat row at the long table, were whispering amongst themselves, their faces tight with irritation. Matteo was already there, leaning casually against the table, his face a mask of calm confidence.I strode over to him, keeping my expression neutral. “What’s going on?” I murmured.Matteo glanced at me, his mouth quirking into an almost-smile. “Our presentation is in the wrong language.”I blinked. “What?”He handed me a printout, and sure enough, the neatly arranged slides—our meticulously crafted pitch—were in Spanish. The clients were Dutch.I sucked in a sharp breath. “How did this happen?”“No idea,” Matteo said, shrugging. “But freaking out won’t help. You’ve got a plan B, right?”I opened my mouth to snap back but stopped myself.

149Gianna’s POVIf I hadn’t been hyper aware of Matteo since two nights ago, I wouldn’t have noticed the smallest things he was doing for me. He wasn’t hovering or overt, which made it harder to pinpoint it, but it was there and it was driving me crazy.Like the coffee on the conference table. I eyed it. And then eyed Matteo who was sitting near the window. We had a meeting this morning and I was too much in a rush to get my coffee as usual. But there was one on the table, still steaming in a cup that wasn’t from the hotels subpar café. I eyed it once again and eyed Matteo who was sitting near the window, flipping through his phone like he had t done a single thing out of the ordinary.“Is this yours?” I asked, holding up the cup.He looked up, feigning mild confusion. “It’s yours. I figured you’d need something better than whatever they serve downstairs.”I blinked. “How do you even know how I take my coffee?” That was a pointless question by the way. Because he had been getting me