Chapter Twenty-One

How long should it really take to pick someone up from the airport? Matteo stared down at his phone, irritation simmering beneath the surface as he waited for a reply from Leo. The plane had touched down over an hour ago, yet there was still no word confirming whether she had arrived safely—or at all.

“Mr. Accardi,” a voice called from the doorway. Alexander stood there, clipboard in hand. “Mr. Brooks is waiting for you in the conference room.”

Matteo exhaled deeply and quickly sent another text to Leo before rising to follow Alexander. As he entered the conference room, he muttered a half-hearted apology to the men already seated around the table.

“That’s quite alright, Mr. Accardi,” Paul Brooks replied with a nod to his assistant. “We’ve had plenty to discuss while you were… otherwise engaged. How have things been on your end?”

Matteo shrugged, unable to resist a dry, sarcastic edge. “Oh, you know—the usual. Dead mother, dead brother, and a woman who refuses to admit she’s in love with me.”

The room erupted with laughter, breaking the tension.

“We’ve all been there,” Paul mused, shaking his head. “My high school sweetheart was exactly the same—vivacious, beautiful, stubborn. She crushed me when she turned down my proposal.”

“Which explains why you moved to Texas,” Bernard, Matteo’s head foreman, guessed with a smirk.

Paul made finger guns. “Exactly. You can’t stay down for long in Texas—with the bull rides, stunning sunsets, and women in tight jeans who actually know how to ride.”

Matteo sighed, glancing down at his phone again, wishing this meeting would just be over. “How’s the track coming along?” he asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from sentimental reminiscing.

Paul chuckled. “Looks like she’s got you wrapped around her finger,” he said with a bright smile. Matteo met his gaze with a blank expression until Paul shifted in his seat and pulled a file closer. “We’re a bit behind schedule. That zoning issue really set us back. Best case scenario, we’re up and running by the end of next month.”

“The end of next month?” Matteo’s brow furrowed. “Our race is in three weeks.”

Paul tilted his head. “If you want it ready by then, we’ll need to grease the wheels a bit.”

“How much?” Matteo asked, rubbing his face tiredly.

Paul exchanged a glance with the man beside him. “One million.”

Bernard blinked, incredulous. “What? We’ve already paid the city four times that amount just to—”

“Fine,” Matteo cut in sharply, much to Paul’s satisfaction.

He motioned for Alexander to step forward. Matteo scribbled a note instructing him to contact his police connection in Austin and arrange the one million dollar bribe. He handed the message over and waited for the nod of understanding.

“I want to be clear,” Matteo continued, voice firm. “With this extra funding, I expect the track to be ready for the race on the fourteenth, as planned. Any delays won’t just reflect poorly on your company—they’ll be a personal problem for you, Mr. Brooks. Am I clear?”

Paul laughed softly, exchanging glances with the other men around the table, who all wore expressions warning him not to cross Matteo. Paul was new, having moved from New York to Texas for college and unaware of Matteo’s true influence in the city and beyond. He would learn soon enough, but for now, he needed to understand that Matteo was not a man to be trifled with or to miss deadlines.

“Absolutely, Mr. Accardi. I’ll do everything I can to—”

Matteo stood abruptly. “I didn’t say ‘do your best.’ I said I want the track finished and open by the fourteenth.”

“Right,” Paul stammered. “Sorry, I understand. It will be done. I’ll get my team on it immediately.”

Matteo gave a curt nod. “Good. I appreciate your diligence. I hope this relationship remains mutually beneficial.”

Just then, his phone buzzed on the table. He fumbled for it, accidentally dropping it to the floor. He growled softly as he bent down to retrieve it, eyes scanning the message flashing on the screen.

Leo: Got her. Dropped her. All good.

Leo was notorious for talking too much, but Matteo couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. It took all his effort to pull the corners of his mouth down into a scowl before he straightened and looked around the room.

“I’ll see you gentlemen in three weeks for the final walkthrough before the race,” he said, voice cold. “I expect everything to meet my standards.”

With that final warning, Matteo turned and left the room.

“Uh, Mr. Accardi?” Paul called after him.

Matteo closed his eyes, took a slow breath, and clenched his fists before turning back.

“A few of your men mentioned a club you have in town,” Paul said hesitantly. “Somewhere we could go to… let off steam?”

Matteo nodded once, casting a glance toward Frankie, who had sat silently throughout the meeting. “Give them the details.”

Several men exchanged fist bumps, and Paul thanked Matteo before standing to shake his hand.

“Fourteenth,” Matteo reminded him.

Paul gave an enthusiastic nod.

Outside the conference room, Alexander awaited, ready to assist. He relayed his conversation with Donavon: everything would be settled once the million-dollar payment hit the correct bank account the following morning. Matteo barely registered the details, his mind elsewhere.

“I’m leaving early,” Matteo announced abruptly, cutting Alexander off mid-sentence.

“Again?” Alexander asked, disbelief flashing across his face before he masked it with professionalism. “Of course, Sir. I’ll cancel your remaining meetings and have a summary of today’s activities on your desk first thing.”

“Good. Make sure HR is prepared for Miss Sinclair’s first day.”

“Miss Sinclair?”

Matteo stopped in his tracks, causing Alexander to stumble slightly. He fixed his assistant with a sharp look—Alexander, who never missed a detail until now.

“Miss Sinclair. The new accountant.”

“Oh! Right, of course. I’ll ensure everything is ready for her start…” Alexander glanced down at his ever-present notebook.

“Thursday.”

“Good man,” Matteo said, giving Alexander a slight pat on the shoulder. “I’m leaving.”

“Have a good afternoon, Sir.”

Matteo walked away from the conference room and passed by his office. He noticed the people working beside him, heads bowed over their tasks, absorbed in their work. He paused at the empty office once occupied by Giovanni, then glanced toward his own, just a few doors down.

“Alexander?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“I want her in this office.”

“This one? I thought—” Alexander began but cut off at the sharp look Matteo gave him. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

Matteo nodded and headed toward the stairwell. For the first time in years, he descended to the garage beneath the building and found his car. He drove himself home, an apartment just a short distance from his office. Parking a block away, he walked toward the nineteenth-century walk-up building.

Standing outside, he looked up at the fifth floor—the top level. Matteo drew in a deep breath before entering the lobby. He greeted the security guard, Hector, with a slight wave. The old man’s face twisted in confusion, as if unsure why Matteo was greeting him this way. Had he never waved before? What was his usual routine when arriving home? Hector suddenly couldn’t recall.

Matteo climbed the five flights of stairs to his floor.

There were three doors on this level. One, naturally, was his own apartment, occupying the largest portion of the floor—about seventy-five percent of the space. The second door led to the rooftop garden he maintained. Access required a key, held only by himself and Mrs. Henderson from 201, who watered his plants when he was away.

The third door—the one Matteo now stood before—belonged to Genevieve Sinclair. He hesitated, hand raised to knock, then paused, debating whether to pretend he didn’t know she had just moved in.

He lingered there a moment longer, the weight of the day and the unspoken tension between them pressing down on him. Then, slowly, he lowered his fist.