Page 68 of The Cost of Silence

The elevator doorsbarely open before I hear my PA’s voice.

“Good morning, Mr. Mancini! You’re early.” Ezra’s already moving toward me, tablet in hand, coffee in the other, bow tie perfectly straight, hair perfectly coiffed. He’s the only man I’ve ever met who can sass and multitask with military precision.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I mutter.

Ezra’s eyes flick over me, too observant for his own good. “Mmmm. Yes. You’re giving ‘I had a night’ energy.”

I glare.

He beams.

We reach my office, and he starts rattling off updates. I listen, mostly.

Then he pauses mid-sentence, tapping his tablet with a manicured finger. “Oh! I almost forgot. The delivery from the other day, the clothing for Miss Romano?” His eyebrows lift, sharp as knives. “Did she like them?”

I should say nothing. I should brush it off. But my mouth betrays me. “She’s wearing them, so I assume so,” I say, too casually.

Ezra stops walking, stops breathing, then a Cheshire cat grin crawls over his face. “Ohhhh.” His grin is obscene. “She slept over.”

“She lives there,” I remind him.

“No, shesleptover. She slept in your bed.” I open my mouth. Close it. Ezra gasps dramatically. “She did. Oh my God, she di…”

“Ezra.” My voice cuts like a blade.

He doesn’t even flinch. “Congratulations, boss. You caught feelings. I knew this day would come. I just assumed it’d be for a Rottweiler.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Do you have something useful to say? Anything at all?”

“Yes,” he says primly. “Your nine-thirty is rescheduled to eleven. And Rossi texted, he delivered coffee, breakfast, and a stern warning not to wander off.”

Good.

Ezra softens, just slightly. “She matters to you.”

I don’t respond.

He doesn’t need me to.

Because the truth is written all over me, and I’m not doing a damn thing to hide it.

Not anymore.

I’m trying and failing to read through my emails when my door bangs open.

Matteo strolls in like he owns the place, wearing sunglasses indoors and carrying iced coffee like it’s holy water. “My PA quit,” he announces.

“Fourth one this year,” I say without looking up. “I wonder why.”

He drops into the chair across from me, stretching out like a cat. “I think you know why.”

“Because you can’t stop fucking the staff?”

He sips his coffee. “I can’t help it if I’m irresistible.”

“You can, actually,” I say. “By keeping your dick in your pants during business hours.”

“That sounds boring.”