Chapter 1 - THREE WOMEN BEGGED FOR THE MAFIA BOSS'S ATTENTION, BUT WHEN I WALKED AWAY IN MY BURGUNDY DRESS, HE ORDERED HIS BODYGUARD TO FIND OUT WHO I WAS—AND WHAT HE DISCOVERED CHANGED EVERYTHING
Three women were practically competing for the attention of Chicago's most feared mafia boss, but instead of joining them, I stood up and walked away.
What I didn't know was that Lorenzo Duca stopped listening to every woman around him the second he realized I wasn't going to turn back.
That afternoon, the private beach outside Chicago was crowded, but it went strangely quiet the moment Lorenzo arrived.
Two bodyguards followed several steps behind him, and even the resort staff seemed to straighten their backs when they saw him.
Everyone knew who Lorenzo Duca was.
Thirty-eight, devastatingly handsome, extremely wealthy, and powerful enough that most intelligent people knew better than to ask where all that money came from.
The newspapers called him a businessman.
But around Chicago, people used a much simpler word.
Mafia.
I noticed him immediately.
Of course I did.
A man like that didn't enter a place unnoticed.
But noticing someone and throwing yourself at them were two completely different things.
Within minutes, three women near us began drifting toward him.
One introduced herself for no obvious reason.
Another laughed far too loudly at something he barely said.
The third found an excuse to sit close enough that her knee nearly touched his chair.
I watched from several feet away, already exhausted by the performance.
My burgundy dress moved lightly in the lake breeze.
I tucked a strand of dark hair behind my ear, and one of my friends nudged me.
"Amelia," she whispered, "he looked over here."
"So?"
She blinked at me.
Another friend leaned closer.
"You should go talk to him."
I stared at her.
"Why?"
"Because he's Lorenzo Duca."
That answer told me everything.
I had spent too many years watching beautiful women turn into contestants the moment a powerful man walked into a room.
Voices softened.
Backs straightened.
Laughter grew louder.
And every gesture seemed designed to win.
I wanted no part of it.
So I stood.
Not dramatically.
Not angrily.
I simply decided I would rather walk barefoot along the shoreline than sit there watching three grown women compete for a man who looked completely accustomed to being worshipped.
Then I walked away.
What I didn't know was that Lorenzo had already noticed me.
Later, I would learn that the burgundy dress caught his attention first, then my face, and then something he found far more unusual.
I wasn't trying to impress him.
When he arrived, nearly every woman around him changed somehow.
I didn't.
And when those women moved toward him, I moved in the opposite direction.
Behind me, one of his bodyguards stepped forward.
"Boss."
Lorenzo raised one hand.
"No."
His voice was calm, but his eyes never left me.
Ten feet became twenty.
I kept walking.
One of the women beside him tried to win back his attention.
"Lorenzo?"
He didn't even look at her.
Then, for the first time that afternoon, the man who was used to women waiting outside restaurants just to catch a glimpse of him asked his bodyguard a question.
"Who is she?"
The guard hesitated.
"I don't know yet."
"Find out."
I knew none of this as I walked beside the water.
I didn't know his champagne sat untouched.
I didn't know the women around him had suddenly become invisible.
And I definitely didn't know that when I paused at the edge of the shoreline, Lorenzo Duca thought I was finally going to turn around.
I didn't.
I looked across the water and kept walking.
Behind me, the coldest man in Chicago almost smiled.
Because for the first time in years, a woman had seen his money, his bodyguards, his reputation, and three other women fighting for his attention.
And had decided none of it was worth competing for.
***
I was twenty-nine years old, and I had learned the hard way that attention was not the same as affection.
Three years earlier, I had been engaged to a man named Nathan Brooks.
Nathan was charming.
Successful.
Ambitious.
And completely convinced that every woman should consider herself fortunate to be chosen by him.
For two years, I believed we were building a future.
Then I discovered he had been sleeping with his business partner's daughter.
When I confronted him, he didn't apologize.
He told me I had become boring.
Too focused on work.
Too independent.
Too unwilling to make him the center of my world.
I returned his ring that evening.
Then spent six months rebuilding the life I had almost surrendered.
***
I worked as an interior architect specializing in historic restoration.
I loved old buildings.
Their details.
Their imperfections.
The stories hidden inside walls.
My current project involved restoring a century-old theater in downtown Chicago.
It was demanding.
Expensive.
And complicated.
But I loved every minute.
***
My friends had dragged me to the private beach resort because they believed I needed a break.
They were probably right.
I had spent the previous three weeks reviewing architectural drawings, arguing with contractors, and surviving on coffee.
A quiet afternoon beside Lake Michigan sounded wonderful.
Until Lorenzo Duca arrived.
***
I was walking near the water when I heard footsteps behind me.
"Excuse me."
I turned.
A tall man in a dark suit stood several feet away.
He had short brown hair and the alert expression of someone who noticed everything.
"Yes?"
He nodded politely.
"My name is Caleb Mercer."
I glanced at his suit.
"Let me guess. Security?"
A faint smile appeared.
"Something like that."
I folded my arms.
"What can I do for you?"
He hesitated.
"Mr. Duca would like to speak with you."
I stared.
"Why?"
Caleb looked surprised.
"Excuse me?"
"Why does he want to speak with me?"
He paused.
"I'm not sure."
I looked toward the resort.
Lorenzo sat beneath a white umbrella, surrounded by people who seemed desperate for his approval.
I turned back.
"Then I don't see a reason."
Caleb blinked.
"Miss—"
"Amelia."
He nodded.
"Miss Amelia."
I smiled faintly.
"Just Amelia."
He hesitated.
"Mr. Duca isn't accustomed to being refused."
I laughed softly.
"Then this should be an interesting afternoon for him."
***
Caleb stared at me.
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
"I'll tell him."
"Please do."
I turned back toward the water.
***
Ten minutes later, I heard another voice.
"Amelia."
I turned.
Lorenzo Duca stood several feet away.
Up close, he was even more striking.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Dark hair.
Sharp features.
And eyes that seemed to miss nothing.
He wore a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms.
A silver watch rested against his wrist.
Everything about him suggested wealth.
But it was his stillness that made him intimidating.
He looked like a man who never moved without purpose.
***
"Mr. Duca," I said.
He smiled faintly.
"So you know who I am."
"Everyone does."
He nodded.
"And yet you refused to speak with me."
I raised an eyebrow.
"I refused to be summoned."
Something flickered in his eyes.
"There's a difference?"
"A significant one."
He studied me.
Then smiled.
"Fair enough."
***
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Lorenzo looked toward the lake.
"Beautiful afternoon."
I glanced at the water.
"Yes."
He nodded.
"Do you come here often?"
I smiled.
"Is that your best opening line?"
He laughed.
It was a genuine laugh.
Warm.
Unexpected.
And surprisingly attractive.
"No."
I folded my arms.
"Good."
He looked amused.
"Would you prefer something better?"
"Preferably something honest."
***
Lorenzo studied me.
Then said:
"I noticed you walked away when I arrived."
I nodded.
"Yes."
"Why?"
I shrugged.
"I wanted to walk."
He smiled faintly.
"That's all?"
I looked at him.
"Should there be more?"
He hesitated.
Then shook his head.
"No."
***
We began walking along the shoreline.
Not because he ordered it.
Because he asked.
And because, despite my better judgment, I was curious.
***
"What do you do?" he asked.
"I'm an interior architect."
His expression changed.
"Really?"
I nodded.
"Historic restoration."
He looked interested.
"Which buildings?"
"Currently, the Ashcroft Theater."
Lorenzo stopped.
I turned.
"What?"
He stared.
"The Ashcroft?"
I frowned.
"Yes."
He looked away.
For a moment, his expression darkened.
Then he asked:
"Who hired you?"
I hesitated.
"Why?"
He looked back.
"Because my company owns a significant interest in that property."
My stomach dropped.
***
I stared at him.
"You're joking."
Lorenzo shook his head.
"No."
I looked toward the resort.
Then back at him.
"Of course."
He frowned.
"What?"
I laughed bitterly.
"Of course the man everyone is fighting over turns out to be connected to the most difficult project of my career."
He smiled.
"That bad?"
I looked at him.
"Your development team changes the budget every week."
His smile faded.
I continued.
"They've delayed approvals, questioned historic preservation requirements, and suggested replacing original plasterwork with decorative panels."
Lorenzo's expression hardened.
"Who suggested that?"
I stared.
"Your project director."
He looked toward Caleb.
Caleb approached.
"Boss?"
Lorenzo spoke quietly.
"Find out who's overseeing the Ashcroft restoration."
Caleb nodded.
***
I folded my arms.
"Please don't fire someone because I complained."
Lorenzo looked at me.
"I wasn't planning to."
I raised an eyebrow.
He smiled faintly.
"I was planning to ask questions."
***
We continued walking.
For the first time, our conversation felt natural.
We talked about architecture.
Chicago.
Old neighborhoods.
The way beautiful buildings could be destroyed by careless renovations.
Lorenzo knew more about design than I expected.
He told me his grandmother had loved the Ashcroft Theater.
She used to take him there when he was a child.
I smiled.
"That's why you invested?"
He nodded.
"Partly."
I looked at him.
"What's the other part?"
His expression changed.
"Business."
I laughed.
"Of course."
***
An hour passed.
Then another.
By the time we returned to the resort, my friends were staring.
Lorenzo noticed.
He smiled.
"Your friends look concerned."
I laughed.
"They're probably planning our wedding."
He raised an eyebrow.
"That seems premature."
I smiled.
"Very."
***
Before leaving, Lorenzo asked:
"May I have your number?"
I hesitated.
He waited.
No pressure.
No demand.
Just a question.
I studied him.
"Why?"
He smiled.
"Because I'd like to see you again."
I looked at him.
"And if I say no?"
His expression softened.
"Then I'll respect that."
For a moment, I stared.
Then I smiled.
"Good answer."
***
I gave him my number.
Not because he was wealthy.
Not because he was powerful.
But because, for two hours, he had treated me like a person rather than a prize.
***
That evening, I returned to my apartment.
I showered.
Made dinner.
And opened my laptop.
An email waited from the Ashcroft project manager.
URGENT: RESTORATION CONTRACT REVIEW.
I frowned.
I opened it.
The message was short.
Amelia,
We've been informed that Duca Holdings is reviewing all current design contracts. Please be prepared for a meeting Monday morning.
I stared.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered cautiously.
"Hello?"
A familiar voice replied.
"Amelia."
Lorenzo.
I closed my eyes.
"Mr. Duca."
He laughed softly.
"I thought we were past that."
I smiled faintly.
"What can I do for you?"
His voice became serious.
"I wanted to warn you."
My stomach tightened.
"About what?"
"The Ashcroft project."
I stared.
"What happened?"
Silence.
Then Lorenzo said:
"Someone has been moving money through the restoration budget."
My heart pounded.
"What?"
He continued.
"And your name appears on several approvals."
I stood.
"That's impossible."
His voice hardened.
"I know."
I swallowed.
"How?"
He hesitated.
"Because the signatures don't match."
My stomach dropped.
Lorenzo continued.
"Amelia, I need you to tell me something."
I stared at the wall.
"What?"
"Have you ever authorized payments to a company called Bellmont Heritage Consulting?"
My blood ran cold.
Because I recognized the name.
Bellmont Heritage Consulting.
The company belonged to Nathan Brooks.
May you like
My ex-fiancé.
END OF CHAPTER 1
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