(Sloane POV)
The room was silent now, all attention focused on me as I filled the whiteboard with data, charts, strategic frameworks,everything I'd planned to present, but raw, immediate, unpolished.
"Integration with Operations offers several opportunities," I continued. "Dante's European acquisition experience can enhance our international messaging strategy. Our media relationships can support his transition and establish him as a thought leader in corporate strategy. We can develop coordinated communication protocols for future acquisitions, ensuring seamless integration between operational execution and public narrative."
I talked for forty minutes straight. No slides, no notes, just pure knowledge and strategic vision pouring out of me like I'd been holding it back for years and someone had finally opened the valve.
When I finished, I set down the marker and faced the executives.
"Questions?"
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Giovanni began to clap.
Slow, deliberate, the sound echoing in the conference room. "Now that," he said, "is a presentation. No technology required,just competence and confidence."
Other executives joined the applause, though I noticed Marcus's enthusiasm was performative, Sarah's hands barely moved, and Elena watched me with an expression I couldn't read.
"Impressive recovery, Ms. Rivera," Giovanni continued. "Though the sabotage of your presentation is concerning. Dante, I want a full report on that internal IP address by end of day."
"Already working on it," Dante said. His eyes found mine, and what I saw there made my breath catch. Pride. Admiration. And something fiercer, more possessive-like watching me command the room had affected him on a visceral level.
"Meeting adjourned," Giovanni announced. "Dante, Sloane-my office in ten minutes.
The rest of you, we'll reconvene this afternoon for Finance review."
People filed out, some offering congratulations, others silent. Marcus paused at the door.
"Quite a performance," he said. "Almost like you knew the technology would fail and prepared an alternative approach."
The implication was clear: I'd staged the sabotage myself for dramatic effect.
"I prepared thoroughly because I respect this company and everyone's time," I said evenly. "If you're suggesting otherwise, please make it explicit so I can respond accordingly."
His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Just an observation. Though I have to wonder-how does a Communications Director afford an apartment in the same building as the Moretti family? Those units rent for what, fifteen thousand a month?"
I felt Dante tense beside me, but I kept my expression neutral. "I have a studio on a lower floor that rents for considerably less.
The building has a range of units at different price points."
"Still quite a coincidence. Same building as your new boss. Some might find that... strategic."
"Some might find your insinuations about a colleague's living arrangements inappropriate and bordering on harassment," Dante said coldly. "Is there a professional concern you'd like to raise, Marcus? Or are you simply making conversation?"
Marcus's jaw tightened. "No concern. Just curious about coincidences."
"Curiosity noted," Dante said dismissively. "We're expected in my father's office."
Marcus left, and I sagged against the conference table, adrenaline draining.
"You were magnificent," Dante said quietly.
"I was terrified."
"You were brilliant." He stepped closer, and I didn't have the energy to retreat.
"The way you commanded that room, pulled strategy out of thin air, made them see your value-" He stopped himself. "I wanted to applaud. I wanted to kiss you. Settling for the former required significant restraint."
"Dante-"
"I know. Professional boundaries." But his eyes traveled over my face like he was memorizing me. "Doesn't change what I feel."
"What do you feel?" I shouldn't have asked, but I needed to know.
"Proud. Protective. Furiously angry at whoever tried to sabotage you." His hand lifted, hovering near my face before dropping. "And hungry in a way that has nothing to do with breakfast."
Heat flooded through me, unwanted and undeniable. This was dangerous territory,we were alone in a conference room with glass walls where anyone could see, minutes away from meeting with his father, navigating professional dynamics that couldn't afford complications.
"We should go," I said, but didn't move.
"We should," he agreed, also not moving.
The moment stretched, tension building like a storm about to break. I could feel my pulse in my throat, could see Dante's hands fisting like he was physically restraining himself.
Then his phone buzzed, shattering the spell.
He checked it, and his expression darkened. "Security report. The IP address that attacked your presentation belongs to Elena Ricci's workstation."
My blood went cold. "Giovanni's assistant?"
"She's been with him for twenty years. Manages his schedule, his correspondence, has access to everything." Dante's jaw tightened. "And apparently has decided you're a problem that needs to be eliminated."
"Why would she care about me?"
"I have theories." He pocketed his phone. "But first, we need to talk to my father. And Sloane? When we're in there, let me handle Elena. Don't give her ammunition."
"What kind of ammunition?"
"The kind that comes from showing how much you affect me." His voice dropped. "Because right now, the only thing keeping me from backing you against that conference table and showing you exactly what I feel is the certainty that it would destroy any credibility you've earned."
I stared at him, shocked by the blunt admission.
"So I'm going to walk out of this room first," he continued. "You're going to wait thirty seconds, collect yourself, and follow. In my father's office, we're going to be consummate professionals. And tonight-" He stopped himself.
"Tonight what?"
"Tonight I'm going to find out who's targeting you and make them regret every decision that led them to that choice." The promise in his voice was dark and absolute. "No one gets to hurt you, Sloane. Not anymore."
Then he walked out, leaving me breathless and confused and more unsettled than any sabotaged presentation could have achieved.
Giovanni Moretti's office occupied the entire northwest corner of the thirtieth floor. It was old money meets modern power:Italian marble floors, contemporary art that probably cost more than my annual salary, and windows that showcased Central Park like a personal backyard.
Giovanni sat behind a desk the size of a small car, Elena Ricci standing slightly behind him like a guardian angel. Or a very well-dressed cobra.
"Sit," Giovanni commanded when Dante and I entered.
We took the chairs opposite his desk. I kept my spine straight, hands folded in my lap, projecting confidence I didn't entirely feel.
"That presentation was impressive, Ms. Rivera," Giovanni began. "Especially the recovery. Most people would have fallen apart."
"I don't fall apart easily, sir."
"Clearly." He leaned back, fingers steepled. "Which raises the question-who wants you to? Dante, what did security find?"
"The attack originated from Ms. Ricci's workstation," Dante said evenly. "Though that doesn't necessarily mean she executed it. Her computer could have been compromised."
Elena stiffened. "I would never sabotage a company presentation. The suggestion is insulting."
"Then you won't mind if IT examines your computer," Dante said.
"I absolutely mind. That computer contains confidential information about Mr. Moretti's schedule, private correspondence, sensitive business matters-"
"Which makes it an even more concerning security risk if it was compromised," Dante interrupted. "Unless you have something to hide?"
Elena's eyes flashed. "I have served this family for twenty years with absolute loyalty. I don't appreciate being treated like a suspect by someone who's been back for two days."
"Enough." Giovanni's voice cut through the tension. "Elena, cooperate with IT. Dante, handle the investigation discreetly. And both of you-stop circling each other like this is a turf war."
He turned his attention to me. "Ms. Rivera, I want to be clear: these attacks on your work are unacceptable. You've proven your value to this company repeatedly. Consider this executive protection:anyone who continues targeting you will answer to me personally."
The declaration should have been reassuring. Instead, it felt like being marked, claimed, pulled deeper into Moretti family politics I didn't fully understand.
"Thank you, sir," I managed. "I appreciate the support."
"Don't thank me yet," Giovanni said. "Because I'm about to make your life more complicated. Dante's cross-functional task force-I want Communications embedded in it. You'll work directly with him on operational integration, report to him on all projects, attend his strategy meetings."
My stomach dropped. Working directly with Dante, constant proximity, no professional distance.
"That will facilitate excellent collaboration," I heard myself say. Professional Sloane, always performing.
"It will also put you in the line of fire," Giovanni said bluntly. "Dante's reforms are going to upset people. Entrenched interests don't appreciate change. By aligning yourself with him, you're making enemies."
"I'm comfortable with that, sir."
Giovanni smiled, sharp and approving. "Good. Because in this company, you're either predator or prey. I prefer predators on my team."
He dismissed us with a wave, and Dante and I walked out together. Elena remained behind, her expression glacial as she watched us leave.
"She hates me," I murmured once we were in the hallway.
"She's protective of the family," Dante said. "Sees you as a distraction or a threat. Possibly both."
"Which am I?"
He looked at me, and the honesty in his expression stole my breath. "Both. Definitely both."
We reached the elevator, and I pressed the button for my floor. "I need to salvage what's left of my morning. Actual work, since the presentation is over."
"Have lunch with me."
"Dante-"
"Purely professional," he said quickly. "We need to discuss task force integration, establish communication protocols, coordinate our calendars. It's a legitimate business meeting."
"That you're asking me to in an elevator rather than through proper channels."
"I'm asking you because I want to." The elevator arrived, empty. We stepped in, and he continued, "And because if I send a formal meeting request through Catherine, it goes on official calendars where people analyze every minute we spend together. This way, it's just lunch. Two colleagues grabbing food."
"At an expensive restaurant where we'll be seen together."
"At my desk with takeout from wherever you want," he countered. "Private, professional, completely appropriate."
I should have said no. Should have established clear boundaries, maintained distance, protected myself from whatever complicated dynamic was developing between us.
"One o'clock," I heard myself say. "And I'm picking the food."
His smile was genuine, transforming his face from intimidating to devastating. "Deal."
The elevator reached my floor. As I stepped out, he caught my wrist-gentle, brief, just enough contact to make my pulse spike.
"You were extraordinary today," he said quietly. "I need you to know that."
Then he released me, and the elevator doors closed, leaving me staring at my reflection in polished metal and wondering how I'd lost control of this situation so completely.
I made it back to my office and immediately called Jessa.
"I need legal advice," I said when she answered.
"Personal or professional?"
"Both. Possibly neither. I don't know anymore." I collapsed into my desk chair.
"Someone sabotaged my presentation this morning. The attack came from Giovanni's assistant's computer. Dante traced it in real-time and basically declared war on whoever is targeting me. And now I'm assigned to work directly with him on a task force, which means constant proximity and blurred professional lines."
Jessa was quiet for a moment. "Sloane, this is escalating fast."
"I know."
"I mean the sabotage, but also your situation with Dante. He's inserting himself as your protector, positioning you under his direct authority, creating legitimate reasons for constant interaction. That's classic predatory behavior."
"Or he's genuinely trying to help."
"They're not mutually exclusive." I heard papers rustling,Jessa organizing her thoughts. "Let's address this systematically. First, the sabotage: you need to document everything. Every incident, every suspect, every piece of evidence. Build a case that protects you if this escalates to formal investigation."
"Already doing that."
"Good. Second, your working relationship with Dante: you need clear boundaries in writing. Email him a professional summary of your understanding of the task force arrangement-reporting structure, communication protocols, meeting frequency. Make it official so there's no ambiguity."
"That makes sense."
"Third, and most important-" Jessa paused. "Be honest with yourself about what you want here. Because from where I'm sitting, you're not just navigating a professional crisis. You're navigating unresolved feelings for someone who hurt you, who's now in a position of power over you, and who's being strategically vulnerable in ways that make you question everything."
"I don't have feelings for him," I protested weakly.
"You agreed to have lunch in his office."
"It's a business meeting."
"Sloane." Jessa's voice gentled. "I'm your friend, not your therapist or your judge. But I need you to be careful. Whatever Dante's intentions, the power dynamic is fucked. You're his subordinate now. Anything that develops between you is professionally dangerous and emotionally complicated. And if he's genuine about his feelings, he should recognize that and back off until you're on equal footing."
She was right. Absolutely, logically right.
"What if I don't want him to back off?" I whispered.
Silence. Then: "Then you need to decide if what you're feeling is real or if it's trauma response. If it's wanting him or wanting to rewrite the past. And you need to be prepared for the consequences either way."
We talked for a few more minutes before Jessa had to go to court. I sat in my office afterward, staring at my computer, trying to focus on work.
Instead, I found myself pulling up old emails, searching for Dante's name.
There,a company-wide announcement from eight months ago about his impending return. A few updates about his European successes. Nothing personal, nothing that explained why he'd come back now or what he really wanted.
My phone buzzed. Text from an unknown number:
You looked beautiful when you were angry in that boardroom. Almost as beautiful as you looked at sixteen, crying on your front steps after I'd made sure the whole school knew about your pathetic Valentine. Some things don't change. -A friend
My hands shook. This wasn't just sabotage anymore. This was personal. Someone knew about the Valentine incident, about my worst humiliation. Someone was watching me closely enough to reference this morning's presentation.
I screenshotted the message, forwarded it to Maya and Jessa, then made a decision.
I called Dante.
He answered on the first ring. "Sloane? What's wrong?"
"How did you know something was wrong?"
"You're calling instead of texting. You never call unless it's serious." I heard movement, a door closing. "Talk to me."
I read him the message, my voice steady despite the fear crawling under my skin.
The silence that followed was murderous.
"Where are you right now?" Dante's voice had gone cold, controlled,the tone of someone restraining violence.
"My office."
"Lock your door. Don't open it for anyone except me. I'm coming to you."
"Dante, I'm fine-"
"You're being stalked by someone who knows intimate details about your past and is escalating from professional sabotage to personal threats. You are absolutely not fine." I heard him moving, probably already heading toward the elevator. "Lock. Your. Door."
He disconnected.
