I’d always been in control of my reactions, at least publicly. My grandfather had driven any impulsive displays of emotion out of me since I was a child.
In the words of Enzo Russo, emotion was weakness, and there was no room for weakness in the cutthroat corporate world.
But Vivian. Fuck.
There’d been a moment yesterday when I thought I might lose her. The prospect had unlocked a level of fear I hadn’t experienced since I was five, when I’d watched my parents walk away, thinking I’d never see them again.
That they’d vanish into the ether, leaving me with my terrifyingly stern-faced grandfather and a mansion too large to fill.
I’d been right.
I’d eventually lose Vivian too, someway, somehow, but I’d deal with that day when it came.
A strange tightness gripped my chest.
I didn’t know how things would play out after the truth came out, but after last night—after tasting how sweet she was and feeling how perfectly we fit—I knew I wasn’t ready to let her go just yet.
“Is this what I think it is?” Vivian’s voice dragged me out of my thoughts.
She stared at the retro diner sign above our heads, her expression equal parts intrigued and mystified.
“Moondust Diner.” I shook off my uncharacteristic melancholy and held open the door. “Welcome to the home of the best milkshakes in New York, and my twelve-year-old self’s favorite place in the city.”
I hadn’t visited the diner in years, but the minute I stepped inside the well-worn interior, I was transported back to my pre-teen days. The cracked linoleum tiles, the orange pleather seats, the old jukebox in the corner…it was like the place had been preserved in a time capsule.
A twinge of nostalgia hit me as the hostess guided us to an empty booth.
“Best is a lofty title,” Vivian teased. “You’re setting my expectations sky high.”
“They’ll be met.” Unless the diner changed its recipe, which it had no reason to do. “Trust me.”
“I admit, this isn’t what I expected from our first date.” Vivian’s lips curved into a small smile. “It’s casual. Low key. I’m pleasantly surprised.”
“Hmm.” I flipped through the menu out of habit more than anything else. I already knew what I was going to order. “Should I not mention the private helicopter tour I booked for later, then?”
Her laugh faded when I raised an eyebrow.
“Dante. You didn’t.”
“You’re engaged to a Russo. It’s how we do things. The diner is…” I paused, searching for the right sentiment. “A walk down memory lane.
That’s all.”
I was supposed to play tennis with Dominic today, but when Vivian tried to leave that morning, all I’d wanted was for her to stay. A date at the diner had been the first thing that popped into my head.
The helicopter idea came later, and that only took one call to set up.
“I like it. It’s charming.” Vivian gave me a mischievous smile. “Please tell me you took advantage of the jukebox when you were younger. I would kill for a photo of twelve-year-old you drinking a milkshake and dancing.”
“Sorry, sweetheart, but that’s not gonna happen. I’m not a jukebox kinda guy. Not even when I was prepubescent.”
“I’m not surprised, but you could’ve let a girl dream a little longer,” she said with a sigh.
Our server arrived. I stuck with my trusty black-and-white shake while Vivian wavered between the strawberry and peanut butter and chocolate.
I sat back, oddly charmed by the little furrow in her brow as she pored over the menu.
Yesterday, I’d been in D.C., meeting with Christian and discussing how to take down Francis Lau. Now here I was, taking his daughter for pancakes and milkshakes like we were suburban teenagers on a first date.
Life had a fucked up sense of humor.
Vivian finally decided on the strawberry, and I waited until our server left before I spoke again.
“What’s the work crisis you mentioned earlier?”
This time, Vivian’s sigh was heavier. “The original venue for the Legacy Ball got flooded.” She gave me a quick rundown of what happened, her shoulders growing increasingly tense the longer she spoke.
It was a shitty situation. Venues of that size and caliber booked out months, if not years, in advance. Finding one at this late date was like trying to find a lake in the desert.
“Did you try the museums?” I asked. Places like the Met and the Whitney regularly hosted charity galas and balls.
“Yes. Their calendars are full.”
“I could make a call. Free up a spot.”
“No.” Vivian shook her head. “I don’t want to put anyone else in the same spot I’m in by making the museum cancel on them.”
Typical Vivian. I wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or exasperated.
“The New York Public Library?” I suggested.
Apparently, all the usual suspect hotels were also out.
I rubbed a thumb over my bottom lip, thinking. “You could host it at Valhalla.”
Vivian’s eyebrows winged up. “They don’t allow outside events.”
“No, but the Legacy Ball is extremely prestigious. Most, if not all, members will be there. They’d consider it if I asked them.”
The managing committee would throw a fucking tantrum about it, but I could convince them.
Maybe.
“I can’t ask you to do that,” she said warily. She wasn’t a member of the club, but she lived in our world. She knew payment for things like these came in the form of favors, not money.
And sometimes, the favors cost more than anything money could buy.
“It’s not a big deal.” I could handle the management committee and anything they threw at me.
“It’s a huge deal.”
“Vivian,” I said. “I’ll handle it.”
The committee required a unanimous vote to approve all decisions. I was a yes. Kai would likely say yes. That left six more people to convince.
I had my work cut out for me, but I’d always appreciated a good challenge.
Vivian scraped her teeth across her bottom lip. “Fine, but I’m looking into alternatives, anyway. Valhalla will be the last resort.”
“Don’t let anyone else from the club hear you say that, or you really will be blacklisted. Even I won’t be able to save you from ninety-nine bruised egos.”
“Noted.” Her laugh settled somewhere deep in my chest before it faded.
“Thank you,” she said, her face softening. “For offering to help.”
I cleared my throat, my face oddly warm. “You’re welcome.”
Our server returned with our orders, and I watched, muscles tense, as Vivian took her first sip.
“Wow.” Surprise flared in her eyes. “You were right. This is amazing.”
I relaxed. “I’m always right.”
My shake matched her sentiments. I’d worried it wouldn’t live up to my childhood memories, but it was every bit as good as I remembered.
Our conversation soon shifted from work and food to an eclectic mix of topics—music, movies, travel—before it tapered into a comfortable silence.
It was hard to believe Vivian and I had been at each other’s throats so often. If I set aside my intense dislike for her family, being with her was like breathing.
Easy. Effortless. Essential.
“You know it’s not about the money for me,” Vivian said after we finished our drinks and readied to leave.
I raised a questioning brow.
“This. Our engagement.” She gestured between us. “I know what you must think of my family, and you’re not entirely wrong. Money and status mean a lot to them. Me marrying a Russo is…well, it’s the ultimate achievement, in their eyes. But I’m not my family.”
She twisted her ring around her finger. “Don’t get me wrong. I like nice clothes and fancy vacations as much as the next person, but marrying a billionaire was never my end goal in life. I like you because of you, not because of your money. Even if you piss me off sometimes,” she added wryly.
The warmth in my veins died a quick death at the mention of her family, but it rekindled with her admission.
I like you because of you , not because of your money.
A fist squeezed my chest.
“I know,” I said quietly.
That was the most incredible part. I really did believe her.
Once upon a time, she’d been a Lau.
Now, she was Vivian. Separate, distinct, and capable of making me question everything I thought I wanted.
Self-preservation told me to keep her at arm’s length. We were heading toward an inevitable collision, and our new boundaries wouldn’t mean shit once the truth about her father came to light.
But I’d tried distance, and all it’d done was make me want her more.
Her laughs, her smiles, the sparkle in her eyes when she teased me and the fire in her replies when I pissed her off. I wanted all of it even when I knew I shouldn’t.
My head and heart waged civil war against each other and, for the first time in my life, my heart was winning.
For the next week, Vivian and I settled into our new dynamic. She moved into my room, I made it home for dinner every night, and we tested the waters the way swimmers would after a storm, with equal parts hope and caution.
The transition wasn’t as difficult as I’d expected. I hadn’t had the time or inclination to date properly in years, but being with Vivian was as easy and natural as returning home after a long journey.
There was just one more pit stop I needed to make.
I leaned against my car and watched Heath exit his Upper West Side rental with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and white gauze swathing his nose. He looked worse for wear, but if I’d had my way, he would’ve suffered more than a simple broken nose.
You don’t want to marry Dante. We both know that. You’re only with him because of your parents.
Fury simmered in my veins. I didn’t move, but Heath must’ve felt the heat of my glare.
He looked up, and his stride broke when he saw me.
I smiled past the anger snapping at my chest, though it was more a baring of my teeth than a true smile. If I dwelled too much on what he’d said or how he’d cornered Vivian, I’d ruin a perfectly nice Friday afternoon with murder.
“How’s the nose? Healing, I hope.” My greeting might as well be a knife unsheathed, cold and sharp enough to cut.
Heath glared at me, but he had the good sense to stay several feet away.
According to my team, he was in town for business meetings and scheduled to fly back to California that night.
“I can still sue for your assault,” he said, his body language nowhere near as brave as his words.
His knuckles were white around the strap of his duffel bag, and his feet shifted continuously like he was preparing to flee.
“Yes, you can.” I pushed off the car. I rarely drove myself in the city since parking was a bitch, but I wanted to keep today’s meeting between me and the asshole in front of me. “But you won’t.”
Heath stiffened when I walked toward him, my pace slow and leisurely.
I stopped close enough to see the quarter-sized pupils darkening his eyes.
“Do you want to know why?” I asked softly.
His throat worked with a swallow.
“Because you’re a smart man, Heath. What you did in my penthouse was dumb, but you had enough brains to scale your company to where it is today. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to it before the big IPO, would you?”
Heath’s knuckles tightened further. “Are you threatening me?”
“No. I’m advising you.” I clapped a deceptively friendly hand on his shoulder. “Threatening you would be warning you to stay the fuck away
from Vivian if you value your life.” My voice remained soft. Vicious. “I told you last week, and I’ll tell you again. She’s my fiancée. If you step foot near her again, if you so much as breathe in her direction…”
Pain lanced across his face when I squeezed his shoulder.
“I will burn you, your house, and your entire fucking company to the ground. Understand?”
Beads of sweat formed along his hairline despite the wintry chill. The street was quiet, and I could practically hear the fear and resentment thickening his labored breaths.
“Yes,” he gritted out.
“Good.” I released him and stepped back. “See, that’s what I would say if I were threatening you. But we won’t get to that point, will we? Because you’ll stay in California, have your nice IPO, and lose Vivian’s number the way a smart man would.”
His jaw tightened.
“Now…” I checked my watch. “I would stay and chat longer, but I have a date with my fiancée. Dinner and a sunset sail. Her favorite.”
I walked off, leaving a fuming, speechless Heath on the sidewalk.
I waited until I reached Fifth Avenue before I called Christian. He was the little shit responsible for the Heath mess, and it was time he cleaned it up.
Just wait until my IPO, okay? Postpone the wedding.
My simmering anger reached a full boil. I’d kept a lid on it earlier for Vivian’s sake since I didn’t want to ruin our new relationship by hospitalizing her ex, but if I let Heath walk away with nothing more than a broken nose, I wasn’t Dante fucking Russo.
“The IPO we were talking about,” I said when Christian picked up. I didn’t bother with a greeting. “Kill it.”
