Ishani stood there, frozen, as Dante Valenti’s words echoed in her head.
“Meet me on the balcony.”
Oh, sure. No pressure. Just a casual chat with her terrifying, mafia-adjacent boss under the stars. What could go wrong?
She crouched down to gather the broken glass, muttering under her breath, “First week on the job and I’m already playing Cinderella—minus the fairy godmother and the cute prince.”
“Careful,” Luca’s voice came from behind her, smooth as ever. “Wouldn’t want to slice those delicate fingers. Though, knowing Dante, he’d probably just deduct it from your paycheck.”
Ishani shot him a glare. “Wow. You’re such a ray of sunshine. It’s a miracle Dante isn’t a happier man with you around.”
Luca chuckled, leaning against the wall. “Sweetheart, you haven’t even scratched the surface of his charm.”
“Charm?” She snorted. “Is that what you call his ability to kill people with a glance?”
Luca grinned wider. “And yet, you’re still here.”
“Against my better judgment,” she muttered. With one final sweep, she dumped the glass shards into a tray and dusted off her hands. “Okay. Time to walk into the lion’s den. If I don’t make it back, tell my mom I fought bravely.”
Luca gave her a mock salute. “You got it, soldier.”
The Balcony Situation
The cool Parisian night brushed against her skin as she stepped onto the grand balcony. The city stretched below—dazzling lights, the faint hum of music from the streets, and a sky so clear it felt like a movie set.
And there he was.
Dante Valenti leaned against the railing, hands in his pockets, his expression carved from stone. The faint glow from the city lights cast sharp shadows across his face—jaw clenched, brows furrowed.
For a guy who probably had multiple offshore accounts and a casual interest in intimidation, he sure did brood beautifully.
“Uh, you wanted to see me?” Ishani’s voice cracked slightly, and she immediately regretted it. Smooth, Ishani. Very professional.
Dante didn’t turn. “You talk too much.”
She blinked. “Okay, rude. But fair.”
He shifted his gaze to her, eyes unreadable. “You handled yourself well tonight. Clumsy, but competent.”
“Aw, is that your version of a compliment? I’m touched.”
His lips twitched—almost like a smirk, but not quite. “Don’t get used to it.”
Ishani exhaled slowly, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “Look, if you called me out here to give me the silent treatment, I could’ve stayed inside and avoided frostbite.”
“I called you here,” Dante said quietly, stepping closer, “because I need you to keep your eyes open.”
Her heart stuttered. Okay, what?
“For… what exactly?”
“Anything unusual. Suspicious people. Conversations that don’t match the guest list,” he explained, his tone smooth but firm.
Ishani tilted her head. “So… I’m your event manager-slash-undercover spy now? Should I get a trench coat and a magnifying glass?”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Just do your job. And stay out of trouble.”
“Define ‘trouble,’” she quipped. “Because my idea of trouble involves binge-watching C-dramas, not corporate espionage.”
Dante’s lips quirked again—this time, she swore it was a ghost of a smile.
Before she could analyze it, the balcony doors swung open.
Enzo—Dante’s ever-efficient personal assistant—stepped out, his face a mask of urgency. “Signore Valenti, Mr. Moretti wants to speak with you. It’s… pressing.”
Dante’s expression hardened in an instant. Without another glance at her, he strode past, leaving Ishani alone with her thoughts and a lingering sense that she had just stepped into something way bigger than an event-planning gig.
The Aftermath
Back inside, Ishani busied herself coordinating with the caterers and pretending she wasn’t definitely going to overthink that whole balcony moment later.
Luca reappeared at her side, because of course he did. “So, how did the balcony date go?”
“It wasn’t a date,” she hissed, shooting him a glare. “And I’m not his type, thank you very much.”
“Sure,” Luca drawled. “But if he starts bringing you coffee in the morning, I expect an invite to the wedding.”
Ishani groaned. “I work for a mafia-adjacent sociopath. This is not a rom-com.”
“For now.” He winked, before strolling off like he hadn’t just dropped a mental bomb.
And deep down, she had the sneaking suspicion that Luca wasn’t wrong.
TBC.
(If Ishani ever figures out Dante’s whole Mafia thing, you know she’s gonna say, “So, basically, you’re a real-life Godfather?” And I can’t wait.)
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