006. Old Flings?

“Do you want me to get rid of him, boss?”

Ava was lost in her thoughts when a deep, familiar voice broke through. She turned to see Rafael Torres standing there, his dark suit making him look even more imposing in the dim light of the dining room. 

He filled the doorway with his broad shoulders, and his expression was as neutral as always. The scar on his jaw reminded everyone of the trouble that came with crossing him.

Ava sighed, pressing her fingers to her temple. "Rafael, no. I don’t need you ‘getting rid’ of anyone."

Rafael stepped closer, his boots clicking softly against the wooden floor. He stopped just a few feet away, crossing his arms. "I don’t like him. He’s a cop. A detective."

"You don’t like anyone," Ava replied dryly, moving to pour herself another glass of wine.

Rafael didn’t smile. He never did. "This one’s different."

Ava sipped her wine, turning to face him fully. "Alex Ramos isn’t a threat. He’s nosy, sure, but Pearl likes him, and he hasn’t crossed any lines. Yet."

Rafael’s dark eyes narrowed. "That’s the problem. Detectives don’t stick their noses into things without a reason. He’s sniffing around for something, Ava."

"Pearl and Mom invited him. He’s not sniffing around for anything," Ava said in a clipped voice.

Rafael didn’t budge. "And what if he figures out who you are? What you’ve done? What we’ve done?"

Ava set her glass down a little harder than she intended. "He won’t. Because there’s nothing to figure out. As far as he’s concerned, I’m just a surgeon."

Rafael shook his head. "That’s the thing, boss. You think you’re safe because you’ve kept your hands clean for years, but people like him? They’re bloodhounds. And when they catch a scent, they don’t stop."

Ava clenched her jaw, leaning against the table. "You’re being paranoid."

"Maybe. But I’d rather be paranoid than dead," Rafael countered. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Let me deal with him before he becomes a problem."

Ava met his gaze. "I said no, Rafael. That’s final."

The atmosphere between them was charged, almost overwhelming. After a moment of silence, Rafael let out a frustrated breath and stepped back, but not without a parting word.

"Just remember, Ava—detectives dig until they find something. And when they do, they won’t care who gets buried with it. Good night, boss."

With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Ava alone in the silence.

She sank into a chair, her head in her hands. She hated that Rafael had a point. She hated even more that Alex Ramos was starting to worm his way into her thoughts.

—

Alex Ramos walked confidently through the luxurious lobby of the Grand Fortuna Hotel, briefly acknowledging the staff who hurried to hold doors open and make way for him. He knew the penthouse was at the very top; of course, his father, Matteo Moretti, never did anything halfway.

The elevator ride was silent, but Alex’s mind wasn’t. 

He dreaded these meetings. His father had a knack for pushing his buttons just right, reminding Alex of the heavy expectations tied to his so-called "legacy." 

When the elevator chimed softly, the doors slid open to reveal the expansive penthouse. 

Luxurious was the only word that fit—the perfect mix of contemporary style and classic elegance. The city skyline sparkled through the tall windows, but Alex couldn’t care less.

He was halfway across the expansive foyer when a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Well, well. Look who decided to show up.”

Alex turned slowly, his face hardening as he took in the sight of Isabella De Luca lounging in one of Matteo’s oversized armchairs. 

Draped in an extravagant white fur coat that pooled around her, she looked every inch the spoiled heiress. Her long legs crossed, and her dress—if it could even be called that—clung to her in a way that left little to the imagination.

“Isabella,” Alex said flatly. “What are you doing here?”

She smirked, standing gracefully and closing the distance between them with an exaggerated sway of her hips. “Your father invited me. He said you’d be thrilled.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Try again.”

She let out a soft laugh, brushing a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “Alright, fine. He said you’d probably scowl and brood like you always do. But personally,” she murmured, stepping closer, “I don’t mind. That brooding thing you do? It’s kind of sexy.”

Alex stepped back, his patience already running thin. “I’m not in the mood, Isabella.”

“You never are,” she replied with a mock pout, tilting her head to study him. “You know, it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other. Don’t you miss me even a little?”

“No,” Alex said bluntly.

She arched a perfectly groomed brow. “Oh, come on. We had fun once, didn’t we? You, me, those late nights in Monaco...” Her hand brushed against his arm in an attempt to get under his skin.

Alex’s jaw clenched as he shrugged her off. “That was a long time ago. And it meant nothing.”

Her smile faltered for just a moment before she recovered, leaning in as though sharing a secret. “Don’t lie to me, Alex. We both know you felt something. But if you didn’t…” 

She let the words hang in the air before stepping back and gesturing toward the penthouse’s hallway. “Why don’t you go talk to Daddy? I’m sure he’ll explain everything.”

Alex’s stomach tightened at her words, but he didn’t let it show. 

Instead, he walked past her without another glance, heading for Matteo’s office. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.

—

Matteo didn’t look up as Alex entered the room. Sitting at his desk, he seemed completely in control—calm and collected, showing little concern for the people he treated like pieces on a chessboard.

“You’re late,” Matteo said in a clipped tone as he signed a document.

Alex shut the door behind him, his patience already wearing thin. “You want to tell me why Isabella is out there, or are we just going to skip to the part where I walk out?”

Matteo finally looked up, his sharp eyes locking onto Alex’s. “Sit down.”

“I’ll stand.”

“Suit yourself,” Matteo said with a shrug, leaning back in his chair. “Let me save you some time. You’re marrying Isabella De Luca.”

Alex’s head jerked slightly, the words hitting him like a slap. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Matteo said smoothly, steepling his fingers. “The engagement will be announced in two weeks.”

Alex laughed, but there was no humour in it. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious.” Matteo leaned forward slightly. “This marriage is critical to our family’s future. The De Lucas control a significant portion of the political influence we need, and their resources will bolster our standing. This is non-negotiable, Alex.”

“Non-negotiable?” Alex repeated, his voice rising. “You’re telling me I have to marry someone I don’t even like because it’s good for business?”

“Exactly,” Matteo said coolly. “You’re finally starting to understand.”

Alex took a step closer to the desk, his fists clenched. “I’m not a pawn in your little game, Dad. I’m not doing this.”

Matteo’s expression didn’t change. “You don’t have a choice.”

“The hell I don’t,” Alex shot back. “I won’t be forced into this.”

Matteo stood, and despite his age, he still looked intimidating. “You think this is about you?” he barked. “This is about the Moretti’s legacy. About ensuring we stay on top. You walk away from this, and it’s war. Do you understand? War.”

Alex froze, the weight of the word crashing down on him. Matteo never bluffed, and Alex knew it.

Matteo’s voice lowered, his tone icy. “You want out of this arrangement? Fine. But unless you can come up with a better solution—one that ensures we keep the De Lucas’ loyalty—you’ll do as you’re told.”

Alex didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he turned and stormed out of the office. 

He didn’t have a plan yet, but he wasn’t going to let his dad dictate his life.

—

Isabella was waiting for him in the foyer, her smirk firmly back in place as she leaned against the wall. “Done already?” she teased.

Alex didn’t stop. “Stay out of my way, Isabella.”

“Oh, come on,” she called after him, her voice laced with mock sweetness. “We could be great together, you know. Just think about it.”

He didn’t respond, slamming the penthouse door shut behind him.

As the elevator descended, Alex’s mind raced. He couldn’t marry Isabella, and his father wouldn’t let him refuse without a fight. But what options does he have?