Page 112 of Broken Deal

Isabella groans, rubbing her forehead. “I’m really not in the mood for this.”

Aria tries again. “But?—”

“Drop it,” Isabella cuts her off sharply.

I frown, unwilling to let it go. “We deserve to know?—”

Isabella interrupts me. “This is between me and Matteo. Leave it alone, guys. Please.” Her voice quivers.

Isabella never—and I mean never—shows any vulnerability, so when her green eyes find mine with a silent plea, I nod in understanding.

I sigh, taking a long sip of coffee. “You know, I keep telling you guys we should start brunch with mimosas, but no one listens…”

Aria nods, thinning her lips. “I’m starting to see the wisdom in that.”

“How’s the article going?” Isabella asks, looking at me.

So we’re completely changing the topic.

I nod. “It’s finished. I’m turning it in on Monday when we fly back. I was going to do it this morning, but I left the computer at work.”

“You? Leaving work at…work?” Aria gapes at me. “Who are you and what did you do with my best friend?”

I shrug nonchalantly. “It was time to take a break for once.”

They don’t know the extent of it all. They don’t know I’ve been doing Max’s job for the past few years. Will I ever tell them? Not sure. I don’t want to give Max any more thought. What he did was unfair, as we all know now, so why keep giving it any thought?

My phone pings with a text.

Lucy (Coworker)

Nice article. Ruthless. I loved it!

I frown, confused.

Me

What are you talking about?

Lucy (Coworker)

Uhm, the article exposing Lorenzo Mancini?

My stomach drops, the nausea hitting me all at once. The girls keep chatting, but I feel like I’m underwater right now, the voices being drowned by the beat of my own heart. With shaky hands, I searchVogue Elite’swebsite.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter, my voice trembling as tears fill my eyes. I scroll through the article, each sentence making me feel sicker.

Aria grabs my phone, her eyes scanning the screen. “Did you write this?”

My hands tremble as I shake my head, and my chest tightens, a suffocating pressure that makes me wonder if this is what a panic attack feels like. I’ve always managed to keep my emotions in check, to stay steady and detached. But now, as my palms grow clammy and my pulse pounds erratically in my ears, drowning out everything else, there’s no mistaking the anxiety gripping me like a vise.

I open my mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a breathless sob. Tears start to run down my cheek, but I’m paralyzed. Breathing is becoming harder by the second, my eyes becoming more and more blurry with tears. Without a word and not caring how people are probably looking at me, I stand abruptly, grab my purse, and run out of there as soon as possible with only one thing in mind.

I need to find Lorenzo.

Since the girls decided to have brunch, we figured, why not do the same? I know, it’s completely out of character for us. We’re not exactly the brunch type. I’m running a bit late because I’ve spent all morning on the phone with Diego, trying to decide whether we need to push the restaurant opening back another month. Thankfully, it looks like we’re on track, which honestly feels like a miracle at this point.

As I walk into the restaurant, I spot the guys sitting at a table. Their conversation seems serious—low voices, tense shoulders. They notice me approaching and immediately straighten in their seats, frowns etched into their faces.

---