Page 21 of Ivory Obsession
“Go on.” My voice was even, but inside, my thoughts raced, already calculating moves and countermoves.
“Last week, they got their hands on a tech start-up. Clean money’s their new game, but we both know it’s just a front.” Marco’s voice had an edge, the kind that came when our territory was under threat.
“Let’s see what they do next. We’ll play it smart,” I said, my gaze drifting beyond the flickering candle on our table to the rain.
“Smart, huh?” Marco leaned in, his voice low. “You’re miles away, brother. What’s got you distracted?” His smirk was slight, knowing.
I hesitated, swirling my glass of red wine, watching the ruby liquid cling to the sides like blood on a blade. “It’s a woman—Jade.”
“Jade Bentley? The doctor?” Marco’s question came with a slightly cocked eyebrow.
“Neuroscientist,” I corrected him, a small flash of pride lighting up within me at her title. My fingers curled around the stem of the glass tighter. “She’s different, Marco. There’s something about her…” I trailed off, the image of her dark hair and that determined gaze flashing in my mind.
Marco’s eyebrow arched higher, his interest piqued by my rare display of fascination. She was fucking something and goddamn it if I wasn’t completely caught up in trying to unravel her.
“Is she now?” Marco murmured, leaning back, the candlelight flickering across his face, throwing half of it into shadow. His grin had faded; replaced with contemplation as he studied me, probably trying to figure out if this was just another fling or something more complicated. Something real.
“Let’s eat. We can talk strategy later,” I said, closing the subject like a book I wasn’t ready to reopen. Not yet. But as we ordered, and the conversation shifted to territories and rivals, Jade’s image lingered, stubborn and enticing, promising a challenge like none I’d ever faced before.
The clink of silverware against porcelain filled the silence that stretched between us as we picked at the remaining morsels on our plates. Marco leaned back in his chair, the dim light from the overhead chandelier casting a soft glow on his smirking face.
“A scientist, huh?” He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Never pegged you for falling for the academic type. But I guess if anyone could get you, it’d be someone who challenges you.”
“You know I like smart women.”
“Yeah, but I thought you meant smart like…‘Knows how to shoot a gun without messing up her manicure,’ not smart like, ‘Can create a new life form in the lab,’” Marco retorted with a raised brow.
I grinned, swirling the last of my wine in the glass. The rich, dark liquid mirrored my thoughts - complex, deep, and slightly intoxicating. “Well maybe I’m growing up.”
“Does she know how much you like her?”
I shook my head. “She knows how much I like fucking her.”
“Oh?” Marco’s interest clearly piqued, his smirk widening. “Details, Dante.”
“Nice try,” I warned, eyeing him with a smirk of my own. “I’m not going into details.”
He drew back, feigning outrage. “What? Rude. C’mon.”
“No,” I said. “She’s great. That’s all you need to know.”
“Always so protective,” Marco mocked, a playful glint in his eyes. His usual cockiness was back, the moment of seriousness having passed. “You’re acting like she’s your wife or something.”
“Watch it,” I cautioned him sharply. His laughter filled the restaurant, muffled by the chatter of the other patrons and the clinking of plates.
“You know I’m just kidding around, Dante. But it is interesting seeing you like this. Obsessed over a woman.”
“I’m not obsessed. I am serious about her, Marco,” I confessed, and the gravity in my voice made him sit up straighter. “But I’m not sure how Father would react.”
In the quiet of the restaurant, with the night pressing against the windows and the autumn air turning crisp outside, I felt the weight of our family name bearing down on me, threatening to snuff out this thing with Jade before it even had a chance to ignite fully.
Marco’s demeanor stiffened at the mention of our father. “He won’t be easy on this, Dante. You know how he views distractions.” I could see the concern etched in the furrows of his brow, a testament to the loyalty he felt towards the empire we were born into.
I nodded, my mind already sifting through the labyrinth of Enzo Moretti’s stringent views on family and business. “Yeah, I know,” I admitted, pushing around a piece of bread on my plate. “But Jade’s different.”
“Great. She Italian?”
“I don’t think so.”