Page 7 of Baby Surprise for my Brother's Best Friend

I offer a charming grin and take one of the two last empty chairs.

“Nice of you to join us,” my father says coolly, his accent sharp enough to slice glass. “You make time for family business in between your… hobbies?”

I lean back in my chair. “I came as fast as I could. Which, as some people might say, is sort of my thing.”

Nobody laughs.

Tough crowd.

Valentino clears his throat, and it’s the sound of patience on its last leg. “We need to know exactly what happened.”

I lift my hands. “Okay, so yes. I slept with a woman. Gorgeous. Amazing dancer. Probably could’ve made me confess state secrets if she tried. I met her at a private club, we hit it off, had a night. I didn’t ask for her father’s résumé.”

Denver, quiet until now, leans forward. “You didn’t recognize the Bratva’s princess?”

“Do I look like someone who studies mafia family trees? It was a one-night thing. So, I hooked up with the boss's daughter. You’re acting like I started a war.”

My father slams his fists on the table. The kind of dramatic slam you save for betrayals and big reveals.

“You might have. You had sex with the daughter of Mikhail Orlov. Do you understand what that means? To make matters worse, shareholders will panic, and bank accounts will freeze when regulatory agencies come sniffing around.”

I raise a brow. “So, that’s a no on the stock options?”

I know I’m being an ass, but I can’t stop myself.

“You never think.” My father tosses a thick file onto the table. “This is what happens when you live like rules don’t apply to you.”

I glance at the folder. Photos, timelines, names. Damage control in a manila cover.

“The merger is fragile,” Valentino says. “Investors get wind of a Bratva tie, they’ll pull out faster than you did with Orlov’s daughter.”

My father steps forward, his voice steady but cold. “Effective immediately, you’re cut off. No accounts. No penthouse. No family funds. Six months. You prove you’re not a liability or you come back to Tuscany. For good.”

My mouth opens, then shuts.

I want to crack a joke, to deflect. But something in my father’s eyes stops me.

This isn’t posturing. This is exile.

I push back my chair slowly, standing with the same swagger I always wear. My armor.

“Guess it’s time to learn how the other half lives.”

But my heart pounds like it’s already packing its bags for Italy.

I keep my shoulders squared as I stride out of the boardroom, but every step feels heavier than the last.

I’ve never been cut off before. Never been without a parachute. No credit cards. No penthouse. No safety net.

The words echo in my head like a bad song on repeat.

“Six months?” I mutter as the elevator doors close. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

I pull out my phone to text my assistant. Except, right. She was paid through the family account.

“Shit.”

Down in the lobby, the receptionist from earlier looks up at me with wide, curious eyes.

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