Page 42 of To Hell

“That’s all,” Flavio dismisses me with his hand and I’m about to turn and leave when Carmine throws an arm over my shoulder and squeezes gently on the side of my body with burn marks.

“You are forgetting your manners. Pay your respect to the boss,” he says it in a way that makes it appear I’m just being a silly twenty-year-old boy and not like he knows I’m brooding over this arrangement.

I clear my throat, thinking with fury of my father, the bastard that I will rip open with my bare hands when the time comes, then turn chivalrously to Flavio.

He holds out his hand with the signet ring on his pinky. He doesn’t hold it up so I have to bow fully if I’m to kiss it. I take his hand and bow to kiss the ring.

He is the boss and I respect that. I will always respect that.

I will play my part in this game.

He has done nothing but give me a shot at life and I will make the most of it.

“Sir, we've gathered the information you requested about Valerie Moore's sales,” Xander corners me as soon as I step out of my office, almost bumping into me.

It takes me a minute to lock in and narrow my mind back to consciousness so that I can see he is handing me a folder.

“What did you find?” My voice is spongy and bristling as I take it and pull out a laminated file.

“Something interesting,” he answers a little too late because I’m already scanning through the content on the file.

There is not much written on it, so it’s easy to focus on the figures, which are the most important part.

"Four hundred and ninety-eight thousand pieces sold?” And like that, calm washes through me, “Valerie is only two thousand short of the goal.”

“Yes, Boss,” Xander dips his chin.

“Where is she?”

“Under the staircase,” he knows who as his job is to keep an eye on her when I’m busy.

“That will be all, thank you,” I dismiss him, and he tips his head with his usual salute before leaving.

I place one hand on my waist as I jostle at the implications and consider what might happen if anything should go wrong because of my interference.

I know that if Valerie's collection reaches the sales target, it could provide Zoe with the financial backing she needs for her debut.

However, I also know I must proceed carefully. My involvement must remain discreet to avoid suspicion. I already know I will buy the remaining pieces. I just need the right time to dive in. To dive in unnoticed.

That is a problem to think about later. For now, I should go find her and share the good news with her. I barrel down the hallway.

And there she is, in a copper maxi skirt and cream sweater, using the sunlight from that angle to work on the fabrics spread on the floor.

Everything is everywhere: cutouts, pins, chalk, measuring tape, scissors, and the rest of what she needs. Her sketchbook is flipped open to one of the designs, and the book with my measurements is on the other side.

She has a measuring tape around her neck and chalk in one hand as she flops between my measurement and the material on the floor.

She is in her zone, focused to the point of not seeing my shadow hovering beside her. She is humming, too, something from one of her classical music playlists. I should get her headphones to help make her work fluid.

“Zoe.”

She freezes as she is about to cut a line drawn on the fabric and stares up at me. She blinks, a little startled, but then she goes back to a simple, void expression as if she is mad at me about something.

“Master Ettore,” She chews the insides of her mouth, “You need something?”

I nod, and huff, obviously not feeling welcome, and for good reason. I did hurt her feelings. Again. After having fucked her silly. But at least I let her go to Valerie; it should be worth something in her book.

“Are you mad at me?”

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