Page 207 of Money Reigns
How tactless.
But what else do you expect from barbarians like them?
The glass lobby hums with quiet efficiency, polished marble floors, sleek chrome edges, people in suits pretending they don’t feel the weight of the Amato name pressing down on their necks. My shoes hit sharp against the tile as I cut straight to the private elevator.
By the time I reach his floor, the shadow of a guard steps into my path.
“Beaumont,” he says with a smirk.
“Goon,” I bite back, brushing past him toward Amato’s office.
His hand snaps out, fingers locking around my arm. My jaw ticks, fury biting up my throat. “Don’t touch me.”
He releases instantly, smile sharpening as he extends a hand instead. Up close, I see the bulge at his hip under the jacket. Gun. Obvious. Deliberate. He wants me to notice it. Wants me to think twice.
“I’llplay nice. Name’s Romeo Romero. And the boss doesn’t like unexpected visitors—especiallywhen his wife is here.”
He rounds me, smirk lingering, his stance casual but his eyes anything but. “Since I’m one of her guards, I have to ask… what business do you have here?”
“Seriously?” My laugh is humorless, teeth bared. “Does it look like I’m carrying an arsenal? I need to make a deal. An exchange. It’s none of your fucking business, and I don’t plan on being here longer than I have to. So shoot me, or get the fuck out of my way.”
I shoulder past him.
Click.
The unmistakable cock of a gun.
“I choose option one,” Romeo says lightly.
Staff gasp, ducking behind desks, heels skittering against the floor. Papers scatter. Someone yelps.
Goddamn it.
“Romeo,” a voice cuts through the chaos, calm, even, but striking like a blade. “Put it away.”
I turn.
Santo Amato stands in the doorway of is office, all dark suit and darker eyes, the kind of monster who doesn’t need teeth bared to remind you he’ll eat you alive.
I step toward him. “I need to make a deal.”
He stares me down for a beat, silent, weighing. Then: “Fine. Come in.”
I walk away from Romero, jaw tight, and step into the office—
And stop.
A woman’s here.
Small. Delicate. Skirt with tights, highest heels I’ve ever seen on someone so short. Lush blonde hair, eyes too big for her face. Striking, sure, but not in the way everyone else probably thinks.No, this is the kind of girl yousellto a man like Amato.Fragile. Breakable.
Before I can make sense of it, Amato strides past, grabs her by the wrist, and pulls her into his lap like she’s a doll he just bought off the shelf. My gut twists.Definitelyan arranged marriage.
She smiles at me, kind, like she doesn’t realize she’s sitting on the lap of a devil in a Brioni suit.
He gestures to the chair opposite. I sit, stiff, uncomfortable.
The office isn’t what I expected. Not wood and steel, not mobster chic. Shelves of books line the walls. Art;real art,hangs with deliberate placement. And in the corner, a smaller desk, fitted with its own chair. Like it was set up forher.
