Chapter 189

Chapter 189
ISABELLA

Mateo De Santis was seated in a wide, imposing chair; behind him hung a huge portrait—his likeness rendered in oil, every smoothed wrinkle and proud line exaggerated into monumentality. The room smelled faintly of old leather and citrus polish, the kind of heavy, comfortable scent that belongs to fortunes and long, unhurried afternoons. Dark leather sofas lined the walls, and books in matching bindings filled the shelves, giving the space the hush of old money.
He stood up to welcome us. Charlotte moved around the desk with the ease of someone who was already acquainted with him, kissed both his cheeks, and greeted him like family. “Hello, Mr. De Santis,” she said, warmly smiling as he returned her kisses.
“My dear,” he answered with a small, indulgent smile, taking both her hands. She melted away from him and came to stand at my side. They looked familiar with each other, intimate in that effortless way people who have shared meetings, offers, secrets are with each other, or perhaps business partners. It occurred to me that Charlotte might be the sort of person he loved like a daughter or something much darker.
“I was pleasantly surprised when the secretary informed me of your presence,” he said, the formal politeness of a man who rarely had to feign it. “What brings you here? Are you ready to accept my offer?”
“No,” Charlotte said.
He gestured for us to sit. “Ladies, please, have a seat.”
Charlotte sat. I took the chair opposite his desk, the leather cool against my skin. He watched us both with a careful curiosity, then his attention shifted to me. His eyes were a very deep grey—so clear they made me shiver—and in them was a searching quality, like someone who had spent years learning how to read the smallest tell in people and to do it correctly. He was a good-looking man, the kind whose age only deepened his presence. Faint wrinkles gathered beneath his eyes, yet they did nothing to dull his handsomeness; they only hinted at a life of control and calculation. His black hair was slicked neatly back, his face clean-shaven, his jawline still sharp despite the years. There was something commanding about him—an effortless dominance wrapped in elegance. The kind of man Charlotte usually gravitated toward: power, charm, control.
“I’ve come for something entirely different.” Charlotte clarified.
“Oh, whatever might that be?” he asked lightly. Then, inclining his head toward me, he added, “But before we begin, won’t you introduce me to the lovely woman you came with?”
“My best friend, Isabella,” Charlotte said. “She’s the reason I am here.” She gave my arm a quick pinch as if to remind me of the part I had to play. I had almost forgotten, but soon I knew I would have to get used to things like this if I was to survive and be who I dreamt of being.
I held my breath, then stood and stretched out my hand. He took it, a polite smile on his face, but his eyes were still searching.
“My pleasure to meet you, sir,” I said.
“The pleasure is mine,” he replied. His gaze held mine, measured and almost hungry to uncover what lay beneath me. I swallowed and sat. The space between us felt charged—with my anxiety and his power.
“I take it you want something from me,” he said then, the words not unkind but a sharp let’s not beat around the bush. “What do you want, my child?”
Charlotte looked at me in a way that screamed you’ve got this, yet made my nerves bloom like sudden cold. I knew my voice would tremble if I let it; I forced steadiness instead.
“I am engaged to Levi Ferrari,” I said.
Mateo’s face shifted—surprise first then recognition. “Ah. I knew this face was familiar. I have seen all the news about it. Congratulations.” He folded his hands on the desk. “And what could I possibly offer a soon-to-be member of the Ferrari family?”
“Protection,” I answered, desperately. The words somehow filling the room. “Mr. Antonio Ferrari does not approve of me being with his son. He set me up in Italy, ruined my life, and now he is threatening my family. I fear he will follow through on those threats if I do not give up Levi. I do not want to give him up. I love Levi and I do not want to be his doormat anymore. I want him to pay for what he’s done to me—now and in the past. I want to be the woman he learns to fear. I want to be two steps ahead of him. I want to watch him fall, and to laugh over his ruins, and I want you to help me with that.” I took a long breath. “Can you?”
He listened the way a judge listens, without interruption but with a weight that made every word count. When I finished, a small smile curved his mouth. It was not the indulgent smile he had given Charlotte; this one held interest and calculation.
“My child,” he said. “You have indeed come to the right place. Of course I would help you.” He paused, letting the certainty settle into the room. “But first you must do something for me.”
I straightened instantly. “Anything. Whatever it is.”