Page 117 of Unholy Union
The boardroom erupts the moment I say the word.
Nay.
Chairs scrape back against polished floors and voices rise into stunned overlapping crescendos. I rise from my seat only vaguely listening to their speculation about the future of Corsini Construction.
My eyes are locked on my father.
He doesn't even look at me. He simply stands and strides toward the door, his posture impossibly straight and his expression unreadable. For a split second, I see the shadow of the man he once was—the commanding force who used to walk into a room and owned it before he even opened his mouth.
I push past the others to make it to him.
But Mr. Bonaduce steps into my path with bad coffee breath and the worst timing.
“Mrs. Valente,” he says, voice sharp with admonishment. “I wasreassured—explicitly, I might add—that you understood the weight of your vote. That you were aligned with the interests seeking to remove your father as CEO. Now my entire standing in this company has been jeopardized. Do you understand that?”
I stare at him, the heat rising to my face.
He continues, eyes narrowing behind his smudged lenses. “You owe me an explanation. Your husband and I?—”
“I owe you nothing,” I snap. “And for the record, Mr. Bonaduce, my name isCorsini.”
I quickly move around him before he can stop me a second time. He’s left sputtering in my wake, looking indignant anddisgruntled. I throw open the boardroom doors and search the hallway, but Papi is nowhere in sight.
My pulse starts to race.
Where did he go?
I make my way to the top floor where his office is, skipping the stairs two at a time when the elevator takes too long. His secretary startles as I rush past her desk, breathless.
“Where is he?” I ask, bracing my hand on the counter.
She looks flustered. “He just left. Said he’d be out the rest of the day. I… I assumed he had a meeting.”
That was a generic answer he gave to cover for his real whereabouts.
The timing’s too precise. He left without a word, without so much as alookin my direction.
My mind spins. Has he decided to strike back against the Valentes, now that the takeover’s out in the open and he knows exactly who’s responsible?
If he’s going to make a move against the Valentes, he needs to be smart!
He needs to be strategic, not act out of emotion…
I whirl around and press the elevator call button, chewing the inside of my cheek as I descend. The digital numbers tick down, every second feeling like a moment closer to the possibility Papi might’ve already done something impulsive.
The elevator jerks to a halt on the twelfth floor. With a softding, the doors roll open.
Cato and Lazaro are waiting to board. Lazaro, as usual, looks like a guard dog with a scowl on his scarred face and his thick arms folded across his chest. Cato wears his mask of fury differently, hiding behind the cool aloofness he’s mastered so well, his hands in his pockets, his jaw tight.
But his stormy dark eyes give him away.
They lock onto mine and he cocks a brow.
“Going somewhere, principessa?”
I don’t even get the wordnofully out before they both step in.
The doors slide shut behind them with a smooth, final crank, sealing us inside the metal box together. They flank me, one on either side, the air growing impossibly tight, like it's been sucked from the cramped space.
