Page 40 of Unworthy Ties
Perhaps if I found the person, or people, Gianni was talking about, it would lead me closer to tracking down their missing shipments. One minor issue was that I was here with Gabriella, and she had no idea I was investigating for Maximo.
“Do you want to get a drink?” she asked.
“Let’s,” I replied, hoping the distraction would clear my mind. I led her toward the marble bar, where an array of glistening bottles caught the light, their labels promising exquisite flavors.
She was talking about Fiorella, and while I normally hung on to every word she said, right now, I found myself caught in the tension of the evening, my thoughts drifting between the threat lurking in the shadows and the soft melody of her voice.
My eyes flitted away from her and landed on a tall figure leaning against the bar, his demeanor relaxed yet watchful. He radiated an air of lethal calm that set my instincts on high alert, drawing my attention away from Gabriella’s laughter.
His gaze met mine and he quickly looked away as if our silent exchange was a dance choreographed by fate. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this stranger than met the eye.
Before I could excuse myself from Gabriella and I’s conversation, the man had already slid from his casual position against the bar, moving through the throng of guests with an effortless grace. The crowd seemed to part for him, as if they could sense the gravity he brought with him.
Fuck. Well, I got a good enough look at him—it should be enough to find him. And if not, I could always ask Maximo for the security tapes.
I let out a breath and turned back to Gabriella, plastering on a smile I didn’t feel. Whoever he was, he wasn’t getting far. Not from me.
Chapter 20
Gabriella
Sometimes I wondered how Rocco did it. He read me in ways that no one else could, deciphering my silences and half-smiles like a scholar translating some ancient text. He remembered the most minute details about me: how I took my coffee on Sundays versus weekdays, which shoulder tensed first when I was anxious, the exact shade of copper my hair turned in late-afternoon light.
But it still came as a surprise to me when Rocco said he wanted to watch me work as if it were the most thrilling performance. I could hardly believe it, the way his bright eyes sparkled with genuine interest, as if he was about to witness a symphony unfold.
He had driven us to the waterfront at the crack of dawn, the sun barely a whisper on the horizon, painting the sky in delicate shades of lavender and gold. All the fishing boats were still; the only noise was the occasional squawk of a seagull.
“It’s beautiful,” I sighed.
“Hm, I think you’re more beautiful,” he responded, a rare playful undertone in his voice.
“I didn’t know you could be cheesy,” I laughed, lightly tapping him on the arm. “I thought it was Mr. Serious one hundred percent of the time.”
His laughter rippled through the quiet morning air, a sound that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. “Only for you.”
I felt my cheeks warm at his words, and I turned away to hide the rapid beat of my heart. The morning air was crisp, and the scent of salt kissed my skin, but it was Rocco’s gaze that enveloped me like a warm embrace. I busied myself by unzipping my camera bag and pulling out my Canon.
I adjusted the lens, my fingers steadying against the cool metal. The anticipation of capturing the world through my lens surged within me, but my thoughts remained tethered to Rocco. I glanced at him, catching him in a moment of quiet admiration. He leaned against the railing, the first light of dawn casting shadows across his face. There was something enchanting about the way the morning light danced in his dark hair, the way it highlighted the strong lines of his jaw. I could hardly breathe as I captured the scene, the click of the camera shutter echoing softly in the stillness.
“Hey, I’m not supposed to be your subject,” he teased.
“Why not?” I shot back, lowering the camera to meet his gaze. “You’re the most captivating thing here.”
“And here I thought I had a monopoly on cheesy lines.”
“Maybe we can share the title,” I replied, a smile tugging at my lips.
I moved the camera to the bay, the morning mist swirling like a delicate veil over the water. I snapped a photo, the lens capturing the gentle ripples and the soft blush of the awakening sky.
Rocco shifted beside me, his presence a steady anchor amid the swirling possibilities of the dawn. “What do you see when you look through that lens?” he asked, his voice low and curious.
I pondered for a moment, allowing the question to tumble around in my mind like the waves lapping against the dock. “I see stories waiting to be told,” I finally replied, my voice barely above a whisper. “Every frame holds a piece of life—emotions, moments locked in time, fleeting glances that can change everything.”
Rocco nodded, his expression thoughtful as he absorbed my words. “And what story do you see when you look at me?”
A moment of silence hung between us, charged with an unspoken understanding. I hesitated, searching for the right words, my heart racing at the thought of revealing the depth of my feelings.
“I see layers,” I said softly. “Like a photograph you have to develop slowly. On the surface, you’re sharp edges and shadows… the kind of man who doesn’t let the world get too close. But underneath, there’s light.”
