“Gianni Cavalho,” he said mildly.“Right on time.You have a penchant for impeccable timing.”
The jab landed where it was meant to.He was referring to my habit of killing his bids before they ever gathered momentum.And almost certainly to the fact that I’d happened to be in exactly the wrong place at exactly the right time when his fiancée crossed my path.
Well.Crossed paths with my car.
“You know me,” I replied.“I don’t like wasting time.Especially not my own.”
He chuckled.Actually chuckled.“Straight to business, then.That’s why we get along.”
I leaned back, measured, and let the chair creak beneath my weight.“You put bullets through my front door,” I said.“I assume that was your way of starting a conversation.”
I didn’t soften it.There was no point.If we were going to dance, we might as well step on each other’s toes early.
Archie’s smile didn’t falter, but something sharpened behind his eyes.
“You have something that belongs to me.”
“If you’re referring to your so-called runaway bride,” I said evenly, “I beg to differ.She belongs to no one.That’s rather the point of the termrunaway.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding.“And here I thought we were past semantics.”
I folded my hands on the table.“George Gregory owed you money.He’s dead—which, last I checked, was your handiwork.Dead men don’t settle debts, Archie.You know that better than anyone.”
Archie laughed again, quieter this time.Colder.“That’s not how debt works.”
“Then explain it to me,” I said.“Slowly.I’m feeling particularly stupid tonight.”
He leaned forward, forearms still spread, eyes intent.“Gregory owed me years of bad debt.Interest compounds.Death doesn’t erase that.It transfers.”
“To his daughter?”
“To his legacy,” Archie corrected.“Mikayla was the collateral he offered when he ran out of cash and credibility.”
I felt irritation stir, hot and unwelcome, but I kept my voice level.“Well then,” I said, “I think we find ourselves in a bit of a pickle.”
He shrugged.“Give me the girl back and be on your way.Then you can have your pickle.And eat it, too.”
I studied him for a long beat, letting the silence stretch until it started to itch.
“You’ll get the girl back,” I said, “when you withdraw from Provence.”
I finally had his attention.
His eyes narrowed—not so much surprise as focus.
“So that’s what this is,” he said.“You think you can leverage her to push me out of the bidding.”
“I think you understand exactly what this is,” I replied.“What’s your answer?”
He leaned back then, slow and unhurried, stretching out like a man settling in rather than one being cornered.It was a tell.Archie leaned back when instinct told him to lunge and experience told him not to.
I didn’t rush him.Because the truth was simple, and he knew it as well as I did.For the first time in a very long time, Archie Popovich didn’t control the board.And he hated it.
I leaned forward.“Are you really ready to go to war with the Cavalho family?”
For one brief moment—just one—I saw calculation override ego.Then Archie exhaled slowly.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said.“For a woman who isn’t yours.”