Chapter Sixteen

Genevieve barely managed to escape from one of Matteo’s associates, Marco, who had been distracted by an urgent phone call. It wasn’t Marco’s pride, his impulsiveness, or even the sudden change in his tone when he unexpectedly invited her to dinner that unsettled her. No, it was the look Matteo had given her—the kind of look women learn to dread after being burned by it once. Those heavy-lidded, narrowed eyes belonged to a man who wanted to draw you in only to break you apart.

Without wasting a second, Gen hurried back to her office, instructed Jasmine firmly not to let anyone inside, and shut the door behind her. She pressed her back against the cool wood, struggling to steady her breath. Her lungs ached for air as panic bubbled inside her. He had found her. Of course, he had. Jada’s warning echoed in her mind, urging her to get away—fast.

She darted to her desk and scanned her schedule. Her heart sank when she saw the appointment with Misty Cohen scheduled in just thirty minutes. Misty was notorious for being punctual, and there was no way Gen could simply cancel on her.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she muttered under her breath, the frustration and fear swirling inside her.

“Sounds familiar,” a voice said from the doorway.

Gen’s entire body froze. A strange mix of fear and desire surged through her, making her spine straighten involuntarily. She spun around to find Matteo standing there, watching her with that same intense gaze. Jasmine stood just behind him, giving Gen a thumbs-up and then glancing up and down at Matteo with a knowing look.

Matteo stepped inside, closing the door firmly with his foot, never breaking eye contact as if daring her to bolt. Maybe she wanted to.

Her fingers clenched the edge of her desk tightly, leaving faint marks on the wood. The photos she’d seen of him didn’t do his eyes justice. The hazel-green-brown of them shifted with the light, mesmerizing and dangerous. Matteo gave her a look she recognized all too well—the kind that made women swoon and tremble. It was a look that promised to consume you, but in a different, intoxicating way. She was caught in his spell, helpless.

Then he moved. Startled, Gen began to sidestep around her desk, trying to put distance between them.

“Mr. Accardi, what are you doing here?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“There were discrepancies in my bank accounts,” Matteo said smoothly.

As he advanced, Gen continued to edge backwards, her heart pounding. When he reached the desk, he smirked, only to find her on the other side of it. He shrugged off his suit jacket, the motion setting her breath racing.

“You know what I mean. How did you find me?” she demanded.

His smile deepened as he loosened his tie. What was he playing at? Then he took a step closer again. “Come now, what kind of ‘big, bad, powerful mafia boss’ would I be if I couldn’t track you down?”

Gen’s retreat halted for a moment. “That was you in the stairwell?”

“Taking the stairs is good exercise,” he replied, removing his cufflinks with deliberate ease. She took a few more steps back. He placed the cufflinks on her desk and rolled up his sleeves. “It’s a shame you finally figured out who I am. I’d enjoyed having a beautiful woman look at me without fear in her eyes.”

Her back hit the office door. “I’m not afraid of you. I knew who you were the second night I came to you,” she confessed, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest.

That admission stopped him in his tracks. His eyes widened briefly before settling into a fierce determination. In three long strides, he closed the distance until his body pressed against hers, his nose grazing her shoulder. A shiver ran down her spine despite her best efforts to suppress it.

“You knew who I was and still thought you could run from me,” he whispered close to her ear.

“Mr. Accardi—”

“Matteo,” he corrected softly against her jaw. “You ran off with my hoodie. Ladrumesska.”

“Mr. Accardi, I think it’s best if we keep this professional,” she argued, fighting the temptation to melt into the warmth of his lips brushing against her collarbone.

He pressed in more firmly, his voice low and teasing. “Is that really what you want, de ocked?” His fingers traced a slow path up her back.

“Yes,” she squeaked, her voice barely audible as his touch ignited a fire beneath her skin.

He sighed, his breath warm against her neck. “Time,” he murmured.

Suddenly, his body shifted away, breaking the tension. He took a staggering step back, his face morphing into a more human expression, the raw intensity giving way to something softer. He folded his hands in his lap, his eyes drifting upward as if searching for answers.

“You want to be a poor boy?” he said quietly, his voice laden with meaning. “I’ve had a Mondialiton summit allies who will pose as partners concerning our accounting needs,” Matteo continued, his tone serious.

Gen hesitated, biting her lip to steady her nerves. She cleared her throat and walked with purpose down the hallway, trying to regain control. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said no,” he repeated firmly.

She narrowed her eyes, sultry and defiant beneath her lashes. “Who shakes fat fungal? Lisle Lisall is capable of taking on your account. She is young, unattached, and willing to move to how tuck at under to be a sui intă alti palli,” she argued, her voice trembling with frustration.

Matteo scoffed. “My business is worth nearly a billion dollars, and you send the care of sand money to a woman freshly—”

“Day, Genevieve,” she drawled, cutting him off. “If she is up to your satisfaction, our veteran worker Marie has handled multiple accounts in the higher range and—”

“No,” Matteo interrupted sharply.

Gen huffed and sank back into her chair, crossing her arms. “Those women are our two best options, Mr. Accardi. With all due respect, you don’t know my employees, and I am more than capable of assigning the appropriate team member to your case.”

Matteo studied her for a moment before pushing away from his chair and walking toward the window. He stood silently for a beat, then turned back, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Lauren is a fresh graduate from Harvard. She also has a father with a gambling addiction. Not exactly the most appropriate hire for a company that owns multiple casinos, race tracks, and nightclubs, now is it?”

Gen opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. “Marie is seventy years old. She doesn’t come into work before 11 a.m., doesn’t work weekends, and no longer has a driver’s license. While her experience may be exceptional, I need someone with more time to dedicate to their work.”

He walked back to her desk, spreading his hands across the surface and leaning in, forcing Gen to lean back further in her chair. “You, on the other hand…”

“Me? I, no—”

“You, on the other hand, sank every last cent of your money into this business, forcing yourself to live in a house with four other roommates. You have a decade of experience in this field. You’re the one who found the discrepancies and diagnosed them. You want me to be professional? This is a multi-million dollar deal, Miss Sinclair. One that could make or break my business, just as it could yours. Any professional would be a fool to turn away this opportunity—not just for the money, but for the connections it would bring. You can’t afford to say no. You know it. I know it. Even your associate, who already signed over your services to me, knows it.”

Gen sprang from her chair, stepping into his space. “You son of a bitch!” she snarled, anger flaring in her eyes.

He smirked, his gaze drifting to her lips before pulling his own between his teeth. With a shrug, he said, “You do have the option to turn me down. You haven’t signed a contract yet. But I’d bet my entire inheritance that you’ll come to your senses once you consider what my company can do for yours.”

He leaned back and pulled a rolled document from his back pocket, setting it on the desk. His eyes locked onto hers once more. “Read it. Consider it. Talk with your partner. When you’ve made your decision, you can find me at the InterContinental. You have until tomorrow morning, before I leave for New York.”

Matteo’s mask slipped away, and his eyes roamed over her face as if memorizing every detail. When they finally settled back on her, they were softer, more open.

“What you said… in the stairwell,” Matteo began, leaning in closer. “You were right about feeling safe with me, and the fact that I needed it just as much as you did.” He shook his head slowly. “But we both know our story is worth far more than one weekend. You’re not just worth chasing after—you’re worth catching. And now, I have you right where I want you.”

He flashed one of his dimpled smiles and turned sharply on his heel, leaving her breathless and tangled in the complicated web he’d woven around her.