The Billionaire's Acquisition

Chapter 5

Sofia’s POV

I hit him… Oh my God!. I.. I ki-...i kissed him. These thoughts wouldn’t leave my head as I turned and ran. I ran until I was safe in my room with the door shut. The slam of my bedroom door echoed through the silent house like a gunshot. I turned the old-fashioned bolt lock with a shaking hand, the solid thunk a feeble barrier against the storm raging inside me. I slumped against the heavy wood, my chest heaving, the ghost of his touch burning on my lips.

What just happened?

The thought screamed in my mind, on a loop. One moment, we had been shouting, drowning in our mutual hatred, and the next… his mouth had been on mine. It was not just a kiss as I can still feel the brutal, searing claim that had stolen the air from my lungs and the strength from my knees. And the most terrifying part? For one blinding, shameful minute, I … I had kissed him back.

My eyes burned as a hot tear traced a path through the dust on my cheek. I feel trapped. From somewhere in the house, I could hear the faint sound of a door closing. It made me flinch. His door.

I slid to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. I could still feel the imprint of his hand on the back of my neck. I could taste the faint, expensive hint of scotch and the chilling, absolute control he wielded as easily as he breathed. And my body, my traitorous body, had responded. How could I loathe a man with every fiber of my soul yet feel my blood ignite at his touch? It was insane. It was a weakness he would exploit without a second thought.

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Elias’s POV

I stared at the ceiling, the pristine white plaster a blank canvas for the memory I couldn’t erase. The faint, lingering scent of her—sawdust and vanilla and pure, unadulterated fury—still clung to me like an intoxicating poison.

I have replayed the moment a hundred times. The shocking softness of her lips against mine. The fire in her defiance that had met my own. The way her body had arched and melted into mine for a single, electrifying heartbeat before she had pulled away and the sharp crack of her palm had shattered the moment.

I slammed a fist into the mattress beside me. Why does she infuriate me so much? Why can’t she see reason? Why did I kiss her? She is a business arrangement, a means to a lucrative end. But…

That… kiss was a complication and therefore, unacceptable. The consultation would proceed as planned in the morning. I would remind her, and myself, of the true nature of our arrangement.

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The sun was a reluctant blush on the horizon when Sofia slipped out of the villa. She couldn’t breathe in there, not with him under the same roof. The memory of the kiss followed her like a shameful secret.

Elias Vittorio walked into the kitchen precisely at 7:00 AM. The housekeeper, Fiorella, was already there, polishing already-clean glasses.

“Where is Sofia?” he asked, his voice even more brusque than usual.

“La Signora left early, Signore,” Fiorella said, not meeting his eyes. “She did not want breakfast.”

A flicker of irritation, sharp and hot, went through him. Of course, she was running. He finished his coffee, the bitter brew mirroring his mood. On his way to the studio, he passed a bakery. He stopped, and made a decision. He emerged with a warm, almond-filled cornetto and a strong espresso. She would need food to get through the day after all. He could not have her fainting from hunger on his watch. It would be… dramatic.

He pushed open the studio door, expecting to find her alone.

Ella was already there, a notebook in hand, speaking to Sofia in low, comforting tones. She looked up as he entered, her expression one of concern and surprise.

“Signor Vittorio,” Ella said, offering a small, respectful nod. “I came early to help Sofia sort through the records and the items. We were just prioritizing the client list.” She placed a reassuring hand on Sofia’s arm.

Sofia wouldn’t look at him. Her entire body was rigid with tension.

Elias placed the paper bag and the coffee on the least-damaged corner of her workbench. “Eat,” he commanded.

She finally glanced at him, her eyes flashing. “I’m not hungry. And that… kiss… changes nothing.”

“I am aware,” he replied coldly. “I can’t have you fainting.” He took a seat, pulling out his tablet. “The consultation begins now. We start with the financial records. Ella, you will take notes.”

Ella nodded, her pen poised. “Of course, Signor Vittorio.”

The next two hours were a brutal dissection. Elias was merciless, a surgeon with a scalpel made of spreadsheets and profit arguments. He questioned every cost, every decision, branding sentimentality a “terminal liability.”

Sofia fought him on every point, her passion a stark contrast to his ice.

When he criticized a local supplier as “nostalgic and overpriced,” Ella gently intervened. “With respect, Signor Vittorio, that supplier’s oak has been used by the Rossis for three generations. Its quality is unmatched. Changing would damage the brand’s authenticity far more than it would save a few euros.” She offered Sofia a small, supportive smile.

Later, as Elias dissected a second-quarter revenue dip, Ella was ready again. “That quarter is always quiet. The studio focuses on restoring historic pieces for the autumn festivals. The revenue from those high-value commissions isn’t logged until Q3. It’s not a loss; it’s a strategic investment in their most prestigious work.”

Sofia felt a wave of gratitude so strong it nearly brought fresh tears. Thank God for Ella. After losing Anna, she had been sent a guardian angel who understood both the art and the numbers.

Elias’s gaze flickered between them. “An investment requires capital. A deficit is still a deficit. I want to see every one of these ‘prestigious’ contracts on my desk by tomorrow. With verifiable projections.”

The meeting ground on, the air thick with unspoken history and Ella’s cleverly placed defenses. Finally, Elias stood, the movement abrupt. “We’re done for today, you can go now.” he said, dismissing Ella.

Ella gathered her things. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sofia. Try to get some rest.” She left with a final, sympathetic glance, leaving the two of them alone in the ruined studio.

The silence she left behind was heavier than the shouting. Sofia busied herself with straightening ledgers, desperate to avoid looking at him.

“This passion of yours is a cancer,” his voice cut through the quiet, cold and final. “It invited this.” He gestured to the vandalized studio around them. “It will be the death of this place if left unchecked. My methods are the only cure, whether you like it or not.”

Sofia whirled around, the ledger clutched to her chest like a shield. “Your cure is worse than the disease! You would strip its soul and call it progress. A legacy doesn’t need curing; you honor it!”

“Honor doesn’t pay creditors,” he said, his voice dropping, and for a terrifying second, she saw the ghost of the man who had kissed her—not the cold business man, but the ruthless conqueror. “And it doesn’t stop vandals.”

He turned and walked out, leaving her standing amidst the ruins of her life, more alone than ever.

Sofia stayed until the last sliver of sunlight vanished, losing herself in the mindless task of the ledgers. It was better than returning to the villa. To him. Finally, with no more excuses, she switched off the lights and stepped out into the cool evening air, locking the door behind her.

She was halfway down the cobblestone path when the sleek, black town car pulled up beside her, its window sliding down with a silent hum. Elias’s impassive face looked out at her.

“Get in,” he said. It wasn’t an invitation.

“I’d rather walk,” she replied, not breaking her stride.

“It’s getting dark. It’s not safe.” His tone brooked no argument. It was the same voice he’d used when ordering the security team—cold, factual, and utterly inflexible.

“I’m not one of your things to be secured and transported, Elias,” she shot back, though a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold went through her. The memory of the vandalism was too fresh.

“A fact I am painfully aware of,” he said, his voice dripping with icy sarcasm. “Now, get in the car. This isn’t a debate.”

Furious, but seeing no alternative that would not result in a humiliating public argument, she yanked the door open and slid into the leather interior, putting as much distance between them as the spacious back seat allowed.

The ride was suffocating. Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy with everything that had been said and done. She stared rigidly out her window at the passing olive groves. He stared straight ahead, his profile a mask of carved stone. The memory of their kiss hung in the air between them, a ghost neither would acknowledge.

The car crunched to a halt in the villa’s driveway. Sofia’s hand was on the door handle before the engine even cut, desperate to escape the claustrophobic tension.

“Wait,” Elias commanded.

She froze, glaring at him. “What now?”

He didn’t look at her. His gaze was fixed on the villa’s grand entrance. “There’s something on the step.”

Sofia followed his line of sight. There, sitting squarely on the top step, was a small, unwrapped cardboard box. Her name was written on the side in a sharp, unfamiliar scrawl.

Her blood ran cold.

Elias was already out of the car, his movements swift and purposeful. He reached the step before she could even unbuckle her seatbelt. By the time she scrambled out of the car, he was standing over the box, not touching it, his body tense with alert suspicion.

“Don’t touch it,” she said, her voice a panicked whisper.

“It’s a box, Sofia, not a bomb,” he replied, but his tone was grim. He nudged it with the toe of his polished shoe, turning it slightly. Nothing happened.

Heart hammering against her ribs, a terrible curiosity overriding her fear, she pushed past him and snatched the box from the step. It was light. Too light.

“What are you doing?” Elias’s voice was sharp.

“It has my name on it,” she said, her voice trembling.

With fumbling fingers, she pried open the lid, and gasped.