Chapter 47

Genevieve sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze fixed on her fingers, which were tangled together in a nervous twist. She glanced up at the clock on the wall—it was 7 PM. She had called Paul an hour earlier but ended up canceling the meeting. Exhausted, she sank back onto the bed, still wearing the same clothes she had on at the racetrack. After Matteo left, Len had quietly entered the room and taken a seat beside her. He unfolded the New York Times and began reading, patiently waiting for her to process the storm of emotions swirling inside her. Neither of them spoke as she eventually stood, smoothing the fabric of her dress with a shaky hand. Their silence continued as she peered down toward the track, watching Matteo carefully drape a blanket of roses over his victorious horse. Even during the elevator ride back to the hotel, the quiet between them remained unbroken.

It wasn’t until she reached her door and Len was about to leave that she cleared her throat, breaking the stillness. He glanced back at her, his brow furrowed in that familiar, almost fish-like way. She leaned casually against the doorframe, gathering courage.

“Did you know?” she asked softly. “That he felt that way?”

Len’s eyes dropped to the floor for a moment before locking back onto hers. “Didn’t you?”

As she lay back down on the bed, the truth settled heavily in her chest: of course, she had known. From the very first night, when Matteo had opened his door to her with that radiant smile that revealed his dimple, she’d sensed it. She remembered the time he appeared unexpectedly at her office in Boston, and the way he had barged into her apartment without hesitation. It wasn’t just a fleeting attraction or a passing fancy that drove him; any man could have relief anywhere, with anyone. Even if he weren’t a mafia don, his charm was enough to make any woman fall at his feet. But he wanted her. And if she allowed herself a moment of honesty, she realized she wanted him just as much.

Pushing herself up from the bed, Genevieve moved to her nightstand and opened the drawer. Her fingers brushed over the card he had slipped into her pocket earlier. Before doubt could creep in, she grabbed the key and slipped out of her room.

Earlier, she had heard music seeping through the walls—proof that he had returned and hadn’t bothered to check if she was still there. Maybe he didn’t want to see her getting ready for another man.