The Don and His Mafia Princess

CHAPTER 7

The next day, with a heart heavy with unspoken words and a resolve as unyielding as the California cliffs, I board our private jet to the Golden State. I am determined not to give that man—the one who never wanted me—the satisfaction of seeing me falter. Despite the turmoil churning within me, I am resolute to stand tall. I arrive at the Costanzo Hotel, a bastion of luxury, where I ensure everything is going according to plan before heading to the Costanzo family office in California.

It is a little late in the evening. I am going now because there was a lot. I had to check at the hotel site. After a brief drive, I pay the taxi driver and step into the building.

The office building looms above, its glass facade reflecting the night sky. I push through the revolving doors into a lobby that's quiet at this late hour, save for the soft click of my shoes on the polished stone floor. As I approach, the receptionist looks up from her desk, her face brightening with recognition. I inform her of my appointment, and she nods, directing me to take a seat while she notifies him of my arrival.

"He's expecting you. Right this way, ma'am," she says, coming over to me and leading me towards the elevator. I thank her for her assistance, follow her, and once we arrive, she opens the door without knocking and gestures for me to step in.

I enter, and my heart skips a beat—it is Stefano. I don’t know if I am happy; he is the one in town, considering our history together. His office exudes an aura of power and sophistication, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. Stefano is seated behind his desk, the surface cluttered with papers and files, a testament to his busy schedule. Despite the chaos, he remains composed, his gaze focused and intense. His sleeves are casually rolled up, revealing the intricate tattoos adorning his arms, a juxtaposition to his formal attire. His suit jacket lies abandoned on the back of his chair. He was the epitome of focused intensity, and I couldn't help but be drawn to it.

"Hello, Stefano," I greet, my voice steady as I approach his desk.

"Sit," he commands, his eyes never leaving his work. Does he know it’s me? I hadn't informed the secretary that I was the one visiting, just that a representative from the company was here.

"How are you doing?" I venture, an attempt at casual conversation, before delving into the business at hand.

"When will your brother get here?" he asks abruptly, glancing at his watch, dismissing my attempt at pleasantries. His indifference stings, yet it is a dance I am accustomed to.

"He is not coming. Why are you looking for him?" I ask, my voice laced with a hint of confusion and curiosity.

"I presumed you both were attending the meeting and also in town to oversee the renovations," Stefano replies, his tone matter-of-fact yet carrying an undercurrent of something more.

"And why is that? You don’t believe I can handle it on my own?" I can't help but let a touch of offense color my words. It's a challenge, a spark in the dark waiting to ignite.

He pauses, the rustling of papers ceasing as he finally lifts his gaze to meet mine. The Moment stretches between us, charged with an electric tension. His beautiful green eyes, usually so guarded, now bore into mine with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. "I do not believe so, Andrea," he says, emphasizing my name in a way that feels like a caress despite the coolness of his words. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was offended by my assumption about him.

"Then why ask for my brother?" I press, unable to let the matter drop, yet part of me thrills at this dance of words between us.

"I asked for him because he has been in the business longer than you have, and I am familiar with his ways of making deals. I assumed you were here to learn how the business works, and you just arrived before him. It has nothing to do with whether you can do it alone or not," he explains, his voice softening slightly as if trying to bridge the gap that has formed between us.

"Oh," is all I can manage, a small word filled with the weight of my misconceptions. The air between us shifts, becoming less charged and more open.

"Yes," he affirms, a simple acknowledgment that seems to say so much more.

"I'm sorry I assumed that," I admit, my gaze dropping to the floor, a flush of embarrassment warming my cheeks.

"It's fine. Please, let's get down to business," Stefano says, his voice now carrying a note of warmth, inviting me back to the reason we are both here.

"Sure, let's begin. I am here to take in any complaints or additions you would like to make to the renovation of the hotel," I say, finding my footing again as I take a seat in front of him.

"Unfortunately, there are quite a few complaints and additions I would like to make,"

"I am all ears, but do understand, if the additions are above the budget, we will have to increase the price,"

"That won’t be a problem," he dismisses the concern with a wave of his hand as if money is no object.

"Alright, what are your complaints?" I ask, steeling myself for his critique.

"My first complaint is I do not want you working on this project."

I freeze, his words hitting me like a sudden gust of wind. "I... I'm sorry, what?" I stammer, struggling to grasp the unexpected revelation. While I had braced myself for challenges with this project, I never anticipated Stefano's animosity toward me. But then again, I shouldn't be surprised; the man despises me.

"I don't want you working on this project," he repeats casually, as if he's simply expressing a preference for not liking broccoli.

"Why is that?" I ask, my arms crossing over my chest in a protective gesture while a mix of anger and hurt simmers beneath the surface. Stefano's eyes briefly flicker to my arms before locking with mine again, a spark of something unreadable in his gaze.

"Because I just...don’t," he falters, and it's clear that his usual composure is rattled.

"Just because you don’t?" I challenge my eyebrow arching, a silent demand for a better explanation.

He nods, leaning back into his chair.

"You can’t be serious," I press, disbelief lacing my words.

"Do I look like I’m playing?" he retorts, his expression hardening slightly.

"No, but I’m not going anywhere, Stefano, and maybe if you had a reasonable reason, I would have considered it," I stand my ground, refusing to be dismissed so easily.

"Is that so?" he asks, his eyes locking with mine, the air between us charged with an unspoken challenge.

"Yes," I reply, holding his gaze, the intensity between us building like a storm on the horizon.

A smirk slowly spreads across his face. "No problem,” he says, rising from his seat and making his way toward the door. "We can continue our meeting tomorrow. It’s already late now, so goodbye.”

I stand, grab my purse, and walk toward the exit, "See you tomorrow," I say, stepping past him, but he catches my hand, halting my escape. His face comes dangerously close to mine, his breath a whisper against my ear. The scent of his cologne envelops me, a familiar fragrance that sends my senses into a tailspin.

"Remember, I told you I didn’t want you here by the time the week is over," he murmurs, his voice low and tinged with a challenge that sends a shiver down my spine.

He releases my hand, and I don't hesitate to leave, the tension between us thick enough to cut with a knife. As I step out of his office, I can't help but fan myself, wondering why my body is reacting so fiercely to our confrontation.