Page 12 of Of Grief And Gratitude

Romeo scoffed from his seat, but I ignored him and focused on the head of the Neretti family, who looked annoyed at his offspring.

“Depending on the type of reputation repair required, I’ll make an action plan that can include anything from diet and exercise changes to a social media overhaul and other public events that will mold the public’s perception of the client.”

Ettore leaned forward, a flicker of interest in those cold brown eyes. “Tell me more.”

“Well, if somebody needs a family-friendly image, I would curtail activities at night—clubbing and bars, parties—that kind of thing. Then I would feed the media images of the client engaging in more acceptable behaviors—perhaps mass, charities, helping little old women across the street.”

“You can’t be serious,” Romeo said with a roll of his eyes.

The sound of his voice triggered my need to verbally spar with him. I looked at him pointedly and arched a brow. “I assure you, I’m perfectly serious. It’s worked with more public figures than yourself.”

Dante cleared his throat to cover a huff of a laugh and schooled his features. “How long does this usually take?”

“Anywhere from weeks to months, depending on the damage done and our end goal,” I explained. “I don’t have a tech team here, but I assume you’ve got somebody capable of scrubbing anything untoward from the internet.”

“If they don’t, we do,” Shane offered.

Dante shot him a look of mild offense. “Of course, we have computer people. We’re fairly progressive. Anything your company did, we can replicate. Just let us know what you need.”

“Great,” I interjected. I didn’t need them snipping at each other in some metaphorical dick-measuring competition. Though, looking at Dante—no, nope. No mafia men. “When do you want me to start?”

“Now,” Ettore said without hesitation. “I can move you both in here so you can work together until things are sorted.”

“No.” Seamus and Romeo shook their heads as they objected in unison, saving me from having to speak up. No way in hell would I live under the same roof as Ettore Neretti. Seamus continued, “Riona has a life and I’ll not have her taken from it. She and the boy can work out a schedule.”

Ettore tapped his fingers on his desk. He probably wasn’t used to people disagreeing with him. “Then she’ll meet with Romeo this week. They can email or text—whatever it is people their age do.”

I nodded, and Ettore turned toward his son, his expression turning dark. “This is not negotiable. It’s an order from your Don. You will comply with this.”

Tension filled the air, and it seemed everybody in the room held their breath until Romeo finally relented and answered, “Sì, Padre.”

Ettore responded low enough in Italian that I couldn’t make out the words, and Romeo rose from his seat, making a beeline for the espresso machine on the sideboard. His shoulders were tense, and I could make out the toned back muscles moving under his suit as he prepared a tiny cup of espresso.

It wasn’t until a large, warm palm rested on my forearm that the sound in the room became louder and I turned to see Dante looking at me, a glint of humor in his eyes. “Got away from us there for a moment, huh?”

“Uh, yeah, sorry.” I licked my lips and shifted in my seat, embarrassed to be caught staring at his little brother.

Dante squeezed my arm briefly, then removed his hand as he leaned closer. I could smell his cologne—sage and a hint of lemon—and there was something about it that said he was safe. “Business can get a little boring. Why don’t you help yourself to a coffee?”

Who was I kidding? Those dark chocolate eyes and perfect smile belonged to the first in line for the Neretti throne. A man who couldn’t be that different from his ruthless father.

“Coffee sounds good.” I practically sprung to my feet, hoping my makeup hid the blush heating my cheeks.

Romeo turned as I approached, and his hand tipped, splashing drops of espresso onto my white top. My jaw dropped as I watched the brownish stain seep across the fabric.

“Oops,” he said insincerely. When the others looked, he reached for a napkin and started dabbing it halfheartedly against my stomach.

My muscles clenched at his touch, and I snatched the napkin from his hand. “I guess we’ll be working on agility. Too much lifting, not enough yoga.”

I thought I heard Seamus chuckle, but Ettore’s deep voice drowned it out. “Why don’t you go to the kitchen and take care of that? Our housekeeper will no doubt have some sort of trick to fix you up.”

“Thank you,” I said as graciously as possible. I shot Romeo a glare before exiting the room and coming face-to-face with a shorter, wide Neretti guard.

“Can I help you, miss?” he asked, blocking my path.

I motioned to the stains on my shirt. “Mr. Neretti told me to go to the kitchen and find the housekeeper to help with this.”

“Ah. Martina. This way.” He turned, and I followed him through the house into a beautiful kitchen worthy of a professional food show. White and marble, with state-of-the-art appliances. The scent of Italian spices filled the air, and I breathed deeply. My escort left without a word, and a woman in front of the stove greeted me.

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