Chapter 2 - THE ARCHITECT’S RECKONING
Sarah did not back away.
Her heart was thumping wildly against her ribcage, and her hands wanted to tremble, but she locked her knees and stood her ground on the smooth marble. She had spent ten years carving out a space for herself in an industry dominated by arrogant men who mistook her quiet nature and soft curves for weakness. She had dealt with corrupt building inspectors, condescending site managers, and hostile clients. She was not about to be intimidated on a floor she had designed.
“I didn't bring anyone here, Dominic,” Sarah said, her voice low, crisp, and perfectly carrying through the ambient air. “Mr. Valente is an invited donor and an equity holder in the venue. You brought yourself here. And you brought your own cruelty.”
“Don’t play smart with me, you arrogant little bitch!” Dominic roared, his face turning an unsightly shade of crimson. He took another step toward her, raising a heavy, ring-adorned hand as if to grab her shoulder or shove her back. “You’ve been playing both sides! You knew who he was! You engineered this whole damn setup to humiliate me!”
Before Dominic’s hand could touch Sarah’s dress, a shadow fell over them.
Enzo Valente moved with a quiet, predatory swiftness that defied his size. In a fraction of a second, he was standing directly between Dominic and Sarah. He didn't raise a fist. He didn't even drop his relaxed posture. He simply stepped into Dominic’s personal space, forcing the larger man to freeze mid-stride.
Enzo was taller than Dominic by two inches, broader in the shoulders, and completely devoid of the panic currently consuming the Castellano heir.
“Step back,” Enzo said.
The tone wasn't loud. It wasn't angry. It was an absolute command, delivered with the casual authority of a man who owned the air Dominic was breathing.
Dominic swallowed hard, his raised hand hovering uselessly in the air before slowly falling to his side. “Enzo... look, let’s be reasonable here. It was a joke. A lighthearted joke! A toast gone wrong! We’ve got a two-billion-dollar deal on the line tomorrow morning—”
“There is no deal tomorrow morning,” Enzo replied smoothly, pulling a crisp linen handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe a stray droplet of wine from his wrist. “There is no Vale North commitment. There is no Valente Maritime guarantee. In forty-eight hours, Castellano Enterprises will be under formal debt audit by three separate banking syndicates.”
Dominic’s breathing turned shallow and ragged. “You can’t do that! My father—”
“Your father called me twenty seconds ago,” Enzo interrupted, his ice-gray eyes shifting toward his phone, which sat quietly in his palm. “He apologized for your existence and asked if sacrificing your seat on the board would save the company.”
A collective gasp echoed across the surrounding tables.
Dominic looked as though he had been struck by lightning. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. The foundation chairman grabbed Dominic’s arm, whispering frantically, “Dominic, shut up! Get out of here before he destroys the legacy arm too! Come on!”
Practically dragging the dazed heir, the chairman pulled Dominic away through the parting crowd. The sea of tuxedos and evening gowns closed behind them like water around a sinking stone.
The ballroom was left in a tense, breathless silence.
Sarah stood staring at the back of Enzo’s navy suit, her eyes catching the dark, sticky red stain running down his back and shoulders. He slowly turned around to face her. Up close, his features were strikingly sharp—a strong jawline covered in dark stubble, high cheekbones, and eyes so light a grey they looked almost silver under the crystal chandeliers.
“Miss Kuri,” Enzo said softly. His voice had lost its harsh, commanding edge, returning to the calm, low baritone she had grown accustomed to over the past three weeks. “I owe you an apology.”
Sarah blinked, startled by the shift. “An apology? For what?”
“For ruining your floor,” Enzo said, gesturing down with his chin at the shattered crystal wineglass lying between them. “And for allowing a low-class scene to disrupt a room you worked so hard to perfect.”
Sarah looked at the glass, then up at his wine-soaked jacket. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, a small, breathless laugh escaping her lips despite the insane situation. “Mr. Valente... you have thousands of dollars of premier French wine soaking into your bespoke suit, your portfolio just pulled two billion dollars out of the city’s economy, and you’re worried about my marble floor?”
A faint, almost imperceptible twitch appeared at the corner of Enzo’s firm lips. “The suit can be dry-cleaned. The portfolio will recover. But good architecture is rare. I respect craftsmanship.”
He stepped carefully around the broken glass, stopping just two feet away from her. The faint scent of expensive cedarwood cologne mixed with the rich, fruity aroma of Château Margaux drifted toward her.
“Are you alright?” Enzo asked, searching her face with an intensity that made her skin tingle. “He was moving toward you.”
“I’m fine,” Sarah insisted, straightening her posture, though her heart was still hammering. “Dominic Castellano is all noise. He’s used to pushing people around because nobody ever pushes back. But... what you just did...” She trailed off, looking at him with genuine curiosity and a hint of apprehension. “Who are you really, Enzo?”
Enzo looked around the room. The guests were pretending to converse, but every single eye was glued to the two of them.
“This is not the place for that conversation,” Enzo said quietly. He reached out, his long fingers lightly brushing against the sleeve of her green dress—a gesture so subtle and gentle it sent a quiet spark straight down her spine. “My car is waiting outside. Let me buy you a late dinner, Miss Kuri. Away from the vultures.”
Sarah looked at the broken glass, then at her ruined gala, and finally into the steady silver eyes of the most dangerous man in the city.
“Only if you promise to change your shirt first,” she said softly.
May you like
For the first time since she had met him, Enzo Valente actually smiled—a genuine, warm smile that transformed his intimidating face into something breathtakingly handsome.
“Deal,” he whispered.
