Laila's POV
I hate Michael Rizzuto with every fiber of my being. Ever since he barged into my personal life a week ago, my papà has been breathing down my neck incessantly. I've lost his trust, and now I'm trapped in a life resembling that of a princess locked in her castle. To make matters worse, Papà is pulling me out of all the Cosa Nostra's affairs for now, which deeply bothers me because he had always promised that I would be his successor.
It's all Michael's fault, but I'm oddly grateful that he hasn't revealed the truth to my father—the fact that I danced with a man at the bar and accepted a ride home from him. I can only imagine how much worse things would be if Papà knew.
Michael has visited our firm twice already this week, and each time, he has shot me icy glares, as he always does. I'm growing weary of his relentless efforts to show me how much he despises me. I hate him too, but I choose to conserve my energy. It would be better if he did the same.
I'm constantly struggling to control my temper and refrain from yelling at him to get a life or, at the very least, appoint a delegate so that I don't have to encounter him so frequently. However, my hopes for that are slim. I spoke to Katerina, the receptionist, and she informed me that bosses are usually micromanaging their assets, and that when Vito was a free man, he'd swung by the office almost everyday. Michael doesn't have the same managing style however: Katerina didn't expect to see him as often, but she said it wasn't very surprising. Yet, strangely, sometimes I feel like he's seriously just trying to annoy me.
I make my way back to the firm, clutching a sandwich and a salad bowl from the café down the street. As always, I am greeted by the people at the reception floor, who acknowledge me due to my status as the CEO's daughter. I press the reserved elevator button and step inside. When I turn around, my eyes lock with none other than Michael Rizzuto, dressed in his signature black suit and white dress shirt, walking towards the elevator accompanied by Renato.
"Hold it!" Renato calls out to me.
Ignoring his plea, I frantically press the close button like a woman possessed. I observe with satisfaction as the doors begin to shut, offering me a momentary victory in this ongoing battle. Michael and I exchange defiant glances, locked in a silent standoff. The doors are almost sealed shut, and just as I'm about to relish my small triumph, my heart sinks as a hand forcefully pushes the doors back open. It's a good Samaritan, likely someone who noticed the boss's presence and decided to lend a helping hand. Just great, my luck knows no bounds.
Michael's intense gaze remains fixed on my petite frame, growing even darker as he steps into the elevator.
"Didn't you see me wave, ragazza?!" Renato asks, his frustration evident.
"No," I respond, pressing my lips together tightly as I lean against the side of the elevator. I have no desire to stand beside Michael or have him positioned behind me, in case he decides to seize my throat and choke me with his bare hands. Absolutely not.
To my surprise, Michael mirrors my actions and leans against the opposite wall, placing us face to face. Meanwhile, Renato leans against the third wall, engrossed in his cellphone.
Michael continues to gaze at me with his intense eyes, clearly trying to intimidate me, but I refuse to waver. I hold his gaze, knowing that it bothers him. However, for some inexplicable reason, I also sense that he won't harm me.
Despite Papà's insistence that Michael is worse than Vito, I have a feeling his judgment is flawed. The more I interact with Michael, the less intimidating he becomes. Perhaps I'm simply blinded by his undeniable handsomeness, because let's face it; this man may be an asshole, but he's hot. I have no complaint about this.
Suddenly, he takes several steps towards me, and my breathing quickens. Maybe he is actually going to hurt me after all. He towers over me, getting closer and closer until we are mere millimeters apart. I clutch my little lunch tighter in my hands, feeling it rise and fall with the rhythm of my chest where it's pressed.
We maintain unwavering eye contact, and a warm sensation envelops me, creating palpable tension. Michael lifts his arms and leans in further, sending an electric jolt through my body. If it weren't for my hand with the lunch acting as a barrier, his chest would be pressed against mine. He reaches for the elevator button and clicks the twentieth floor button before stepping back. It dawns on me that I forgot to press it earlier.
He still gazes at me, but this time, I sense something different from hatred. I'm not quite sure what it is. His eyes trail down my body, revealing desire as they trace my curves. My heart thumps in my chest. The elevator stops at the fifteenth floor, and even though it's not my floor, I decide to get off, leaving him and Renato behind.
I swiftly walk away, exhaling loudly. What the hell was that? His body barely touched mine, yet his scent lingers all over me, and there is still that throbbing sensation between my legs, that only exaggerated further when I saw his eyes trailing down my curves.
I need to clear my head, so I decide to step outside for a while. I head back to the elevator and press the button, eagerly awaiting its arrival. The fresh air will surely help me calm down.
Once in the lobby, I exit the building and as I walk outside, I can't shake the lingering thought that Michael Rizzuto may have developed a physical interest in me. Perhaps I should use this to my advantage? The more I ponder on it, the more I feel compelled to leverage my attractive appearance to demonstrate my intelligence and competence.
Determined to reclaim my position in my father's business, I hasten back to the office and make my way up to the twentieth floor. I approach the conference room and catch a glimpse through the glass window, noticing that Michael is still inside, engaged in a conversation with Renato and Papà. Anxious to regain my spot, I start pacing back and forth, eagerly awaiting their conclusion. However, their discussion seems to be taking longer than expected. Realizing this, I decide to wait in my own office, leaving the door wide open to keep an eye on their progress.
A few moments later, I spot Michael walking past my office. My heart races as I swiftly rise from my chair and make my way to the door. Summoning every ounce of courage, I call out his name, "Michael."
He halts in his tracks, his gaze meeting mine. "Can I talk to you, please? It won't take long," I ask, hoping he'll oblige.
With a quizzical squint, he seems to question my sanity. Maybe I've truly lost my mind. Judging by his expression, I brace myself for a dismissive response, but to my surprise, he walks into my office, leaving me utterly bewildered.
"Okay, great!" I exclaim, taken aback by his unexpected acquiescence.
As I attempt to close the door behind him, he pushes it back, commanding, "Leave the door open."
Slightly perplexed, I furrow my brow and shrug before taking my seat behind the desk. He remains standing, his impatience palpable in his gaze.
"You'll be pleased to know that I've been doing everything right lately. In fact, I haven't been going out much at all, just here and home," I inform him, hoping to impress.
"I don't give a fuck," he retorts, clearly annoyed.
Biting my tongue, I resist the urge to remind him that he seemed to give several fucks last Saturday. But I must stay focused on my goal.
"Michael, you should understand that I could be a valuable asset to your thriving business. I graduated at the top of my class for a reason. I possess a photographic memory, meticulously remembering all the laws and their loopholes. A fresh perspective on your affairs can only bring positive outcomes for you. You could even increase your profits. Trust me, having me on your team would be in your best interest," I assert, emphasizing the potential benefits.
Michael raises his eyebrows, an air of arrogance surrounding him as he crosses his arms. "You seriously thought that your little speech would earn my trust?" he remarks, his tone dripping with skepticism.
Exhaling with exasperation, I reply, "It's not a speech; it's the truth. Just facts. You can even ask my papà."
"Isn't he the one who single-handedly removed you from all of my cases?" he counters, challenging my plea.
"But if you would just put in a good word—"
"Forget it. I'm not your friend, get that in your damn head. And don't ever waste my fucking time with this again," he growls, his frustration evident.
I roll my eyes, unable to contain my annoyance.
"What was that?" he questions, his voice laced with menace. "You're disrespecting me."
Aware that I'm treading on dangerous ground, uncertain of the depths of this man's volatility, I cautiously reply, "I could never disrespect you. I'm not crazy enough to have a death wish."
"Smart girl," he concedes.
A flicker of hope ignites within me. "Ah, you see! You said it yourself!" I exclaim, pointing at him. "I'm a smart girl!"
He shakes his head and I sense that I'm breaking through his tough exterior because he visibly struggles to maintain his hardened expression.
"We have the potential to help each other and form a powerful partnership," I persist.
"No way in hell," he retorts sharply. "In fact, I haven't seen you at the club or any other gatherings. How's that marriage thing going?"
Frustration engulfs me, and I cross my arms while slouching down in my chair. "You know what? Fine, forget it. There's no point. With you and Papà breathing down my neck, my fate is sealed. I don't even know why I'm bothering anymore. I'll just let myself fade into oblivion. It'll make you real happy. Thanks for nothing. Goodbye."
My head drops onto the desk with a resounding thud, the impact resonating through the room. When I lift my head moments later, I find Michael still standing there, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
I furrow my brow and squint at him. "What's so funny?" I inquire, feeling offended by his reaction.
"You, Laila," he responds, rolling my name off his tongue as if he possesses some ownership over me.
To my astonishment, he grabs my half-eaten sandwich from my desk and takes a bite, leaving me in a state of shock. His gaze sparkles with mischief before he turns around and exits my office.