Page 4 of Broken Pieces
What started as a mom-and-pop gallery has become an up-and-coming sensation in the Windy City. Because if there’s something I’m good at, it’s business. My tacticsare ruthless; a carefully orchestrated dance of ambition, strategy, and precision. I have built an empire from the ground up, defying every obstacle in my path, and I'm not sorry for it.
In the world of business, I have one uncompromising rule—be the best. It sounds cliché, that much I know, but that’s how I’ve been able to get to where I am today. I have a reputation for outbidding, outmaneuvering, and outsmarting anyone who dares to challenge me in the art world. My adversaries see me as ruthless, and I don't dispute it. The art world is a cutthroat arena, and I am a master of the game.
As I stroll through the gallery on my way to the second-floor office, I can't resist glancing around. The gallery is a masterpiece in itself, a place where the finest art finds a home. The walls display works that hold stories, passions, and history, while the ambient soft lighting accentuates their allure.
After Isabella gives me the itinerary for the day, she exits out of my office, leaving me alone. I walk to my chair, but before sitting down, I gaze over the city as this overwhelming sense of emptiness takes hold of me. I've got everything I could ask for—money, cars, houses—but that void inside me just won't go away. I’ve fought my way to success, and it makes me feel absolutely nothing. So I keep chasing that high, keep climbing the stairs like there’s no tomorrow, in hopes of burying the numbness that followsme everywhere I go. A voice always lingering inside my head—my father’s.
You’re a worthless, weak boy. Feelings don’t matter.
You need to be a man, Damian.
I can’t believe you’re my son.
What a disgrace.
Scrubbing my face, I shake my head and sit, opting to work instead of wallowing about a man who doesn’t deserve a second thought.
While I’ve heard great things about Aria Petrov, it isn’t guaranteed that she's going to be a good fit. I throw myself into work, drafting questions and planning for the meeting, until I'm interrupted by a knock on the door.
Isabella enters. “She’s here.”
I glance at my watch. Time sure flies by when I drown myself in work to avoid any other sort of thoughts.
Nodding, I instruct, “Let her in.”
As Isabella goes to escort our guest, I’m firing off an email to my marketing team in Italy. Managing multiple businesses means there’s not one second to spare. There’s money to be made and I need to grab the opportunity—always. Art is my passion project, and ironically makes more than enough revenue, but one of my biggest businesses are my hotels. I have a few throughout famous cities like New York, Rome, and Paris. They take most of my time, but only because I’m such a control freak.
Soft steps and the click of the door pull me out of my computer, and in that moment, I make the one mistake I wish I could undo—I look up. As Aria Petrov walks into the room, it feels as if she just sucked the air out of it. She dons a black long-sleeve turtleneck, complemented by white mid-rise pants that gracefully emphasize her curves. Her ginger, straight shiny hair frames her beautiful hazel eyes, and a smile graces her pouty lips, painted in an inviting shade of red.
Her beauty is simply otherworldly.
Aria approaches my desk, extending her hand for a shake. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Romano.”
I fixate on her eyes—a mix of brown and green, with a subtle hint of gold. It's as if they're pulling me in, inviting me to lose myself within them. It takes a moment to register her words, but when I do, I stand up and shake her hand firmly but quickly pull back at the strange charged feeling. If Aria felt the same, she doesn't show it.
Isabella, who knows me all too well, observes the silent exchange with an all-knowing smirk before inquiring, “Anything I can get for you, Ms. Petrov?”
Aria politely declines Isabella’s offer, her genuine smile warming the room, and Isabella exits, leaving us alone.
I cough, trying to hide my sudden nerves.
Why the fuck am I suddenly so nervous?
Because there’s a beautiful woman in front of you that for once has left you speechless.
Fuck.
Man, Sophia wasn’t underestimating how handsome this man is. His emerald eyes are the first thing that draws me in, holding me captive with such a mysterious, intense gaze that pierces my soul. His skin is this deep olive color, and he has this seductive smile that makes him look like a Greek god. It's ridiculous. His dark, shiny hair is styled back, not one strand out of place, and the navy blue suit fits perfectly in all the right places, embracing his broad shoulders and thick thighs. He’s really tall too, six-foot-five, if I had to guess. Even with my four-inch heels, he towers over me. I understand when people say there’s something different about him. He emanates so much power and confidence as if he could destroy you by simply snapping his fingers.
He gestures toward one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Please, take a seat.”
As I do, I cross my legs and drop my purse on the chair next to me. I was feeling pretty confident while putting my makeup on this morning, plastering the same old red lipstick that brings me courage when I’m uncertain about something. Now that I’m here, in front of this man that I’ve heard so many things about, my resolve is crumbling quicker than I expected.
He sits back down and leans back in the chair, locking his intense gaze on me, causing goosebumps all over my arms as I internally pat myself on the back for putting a long sleeve on.
The last thing I want to show is weakness.
“I've heard great things about you, Ms. Petrov. It's not often that someone impresses me. You've achieved remarkable things as a curator. I mean, a twenty-five year old senior curator from one of the top galleries of the city, that’s not something you ever see in this line of business.”
