Page 48 of Baby Surprise for my Brother's Best Friend

The ride over to the Prestige building is silent at first. Tense.

Sophie sits beside me in the back of the company car, legs crossed, gaze glued to her phone like she’s studying for war.

She looks like a fucking masterpiece in that black dress. Legs for days, curves that defy reason, and a cleavage that makes her tits bounce with every bump in the road.

It’s a crime how good she looks, like temptation tailored in satin and secrets. The silky black fabric clinging to every curve like it was designed to ruin me.

I don’t know how the hell she expects me to focus when she looks like a sin I want to commit in ten different ways.

Blood rushes down between my legs.

Down, boy.

I watch her for a moment, then smirk. “You know, this feels like one of those mafia documentaries. The fixer and the fuckup off to charm the press.”

She doesn’t even blink. “If anyone’s getting whacked today, it’s your public image.”

I laugh, can’t help it.

It’s the first sound in the car that doesn’t feel like a loaded weapon.

I lean in slightly, lowering my voice just enough that she is the only one who can hear me. “You keep wearing dresses like that, and I’ll forget we’re on camera. Might give the press a different kind of show. One with a lot less talking and a hell of a lot more moaning.”

Her eyes flick up. Sharp. Unamused. But there’s a flush creeping up her throat she can’t hide fast enough.

“Control yourself, Marchetti.”

I grin. “Trying. Really. But you’re not making it easy,dolcezza.”

She finally looks at me fully, exasperation and warning dancing in her expression. “Just don’t make me regret trusting you.”

“I won’t. Not this time.” And that is my vow to her, whether she knows it or not.

She doesn’t respond. But she doesn’t look away either.

***

The studio smells like nerves and artificial lemon polish.

I settle into the chair under lights hot enough to fry a fucking egg, the cameras like eyes that never blink.

Across from me, Sophie stands poised in heels and hellfire. Sleek black dress. Clipboard clutched like a shield. Her face is composed, but her eyes…her eyes flash like storm warnings.

She’s all business, and I know that mask well. I've worn it. Hell, I’ve perfected it.

But I’ve seen her cracks. The ones no one else gets close enough to notice. The ones that show when she thinks I’m asleep or not watching.

My heart beats harder than I want to admit.

This isn’t a press appearance. It’s an ambush. Not by her, but by the version of me I have to kill if I want to survive this. If I want to protect her. To earn her.

The red light clicks on.

Showtime.

Sophie’s voice slices through the hum of the studio like a scalpel, precise, calm, lethal.

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for joining me this morning. We’re joined today by Alessio Marchetti, brother to the heir to the Marchetti wine empire, Valentino. And son of Enzo Marchetti. As you already heard, Alessio is currently at the center of an international merger and potentially, a media firestorm.”

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