Page 76 of Broken Honor

She’s still staring at me, eyes wide, mouth parted in shock.

I stand up and straighten my sleeves. “Good girl.”

Then I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and walk out.

The second the door shuts behind me, I drag a hand down my face and curse under my breath.

What the fuck was that?

She barely touched me, and I’m already hard like some teenager who’s never seen a woman undress. I glance down and hiss a quiet “stronzo,” annoyed at myself for letting a girl who looks like she still sings in a church choir get under my skin.

I storm down the hall and into my study, slamming the door shut behind me. The click of the lock is louder than necessary, but I need the isolation. I need distance from whatever just happened in that room.

She felt… different.

Not like the women I’ve fucked. Not like the ones who try to please, flatter, manipulate. She wasn’t trying to seduce me. She wasn’t trying at all. And somehow that made it worse. That innocence. That softness. That goddamn breathless way she braced for me like I was a wave about to crush her.

I drop into my chair, jaw grinding, and reach for the phone on my desk.

Time to focus. Work. Diamonds. The things that matter.

I dial one of the men I tasked with searching the warehouses. He picks up on the second ring.

“Any updates?”

His voice cracks over the line. “Nothing concrete, boss. Still combing through properties. A few leads we’re running down.”

“Run faster,” I snap. “You think we’ve got years?”

“Understood.”

I hang up, tossing the phone down hard enough to rattle the glass on my desk.

Every day that passes without those diamonds puts me at more of a disadvantage. I can’t rebuild without capital, and capital doesn't flow from thin air. It flows from leverage. From secrets. From stolen fucking diamonds.

As if summoned by the thought, my phone lights up again. Bugatti.

“What is it?” I ask as I answer.

His voice is sharp, eager. “We might have something. Before Desmond died, he made several calls to Lapo Rinadini.”

My spine stiffens. Lapo.

“That slippery bastard?”

“Yeah. One of your father’s old associates, but the Don never trusted him enough to keep him close.”

I nod to myself, already remembering the man's shifty eyes and tighter-than-needed smiles. Lapo always acted like the world owed him something.

“He’s a rat,” I mutter. “Never could keep his mouth shut.”

“Exactly. My guys found records. Bank transfers. Small ones. Clean enough to hide in plain sight, but they’ve got Desmond’s name on them. And Lapo’s.”

“You think he knows about the stash?”

Bugatti hesitates, then says, “I’d bet on it.”

My fingers tap the desk.

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