Chapter 19 - If She’s Worth It
1112 Words
**Massimo’s POV**
I drive home on autopilot, replaying the entire day. The restaurant. The beach. That moment in the car when everything felt… right. Too right.
The way she looked at me, those blue-green eyes, wide and open. Vulnerable. I just wanted her to stay. With me.
My penthouse is dark when I walk in. Silent. Too big.
I pour myself a scotch, drop into the armchair, but my head won’t stop. Her voice. Her words.
Never being good enough. Having to earn love.
What did they do to you, Emma?
That thought hits hard. Someone broke her. Slowly. Made her believe she doesn’t deserve anything good.
Cristo santo. Why would anyone do that?
And now I’m paying the price for someone else’s damage.
I should be angry. Frustrated. Ready to move on, find someone easy, predictable.
But no.
All I feel is this quiet, dangerous need to protect her.
Or maybe destroy anyone who ever made her feel small.
I pace the room, trying to shake her face from my mind, before just taking my phone and calling Dante.
“Massimo? It’s almost midnight. This better be-”
“I need you here. In Miami. Subito.”
Silence. Then:
“What’s wrong? Did something happen with the hotel?”
“No. It’s… personal.”
That gets him. “Personal? You don’t do personal.”
“Yeah, apparently I do now. Cazzo.”
A beat. Then his voice drops, half amusement, half disbelief.
“This is about the event coordinator, isn’t it? Emma something?”
“Miller.”
“Right. So what happened?”
I tell him. The beach, the restaurant, the car ride, what she said about her family.
When I finish, he’s quiet for a long second.
“Massimo… from what you’re describing, this woman’s terrified. Not of you. Of wanting you.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Doesn’t it? You said her family made her feel unworthy of love. And now here you are, rich, powerful, out of her league in her head, showing interest. Of course she’s scared shitless.”
I rub a hand over my face. “So what the hell am I supposed to do?”
“Be patient. Show her you’re not going anywhere.”
“Patience isn’t my thing, lo sai.”
“Then learn. If she’s worth it.”
That one lands.
Is she worth it?
I think of her smile when she talks about her designs. The way she laughs when Simba jumps on her. How she tries to refuse everything I give her, like she’s afraid she owes me for kindness.
“She is,” I say quietly.
“Then give her time. But Massimo?”
“What?”
“Don’t make this another Valeria situation. Don’t run because you’re scared to get hurt.”
He hangs up before I can reply. Just saying he will be here tomorrow. Typical Dante.
I sit there a long time, the ice melting in my glass.
He’s right. I know he is.
But patience has never been my strength.
⸻
The next day is torture. I tell myself to stay away from her. Focus on work. Contracts, calls, schedules. Business as usual.
But then I glance through that damn glass wall and, fine. I’m f****d.
She’s there, hair tied up, biting her lip as she types. Focused.
That lip. Madonna santa.
I look away, try to think of anything else.
By the time Dante arrives in Miami that afternoon, I’m already on edge.
“You look like s**t,” he says, walking into my office like he owns the place.
“Good to see you too.”
“When’s the last time you slept?”
I ignore that.
He glances toward the window. “Where is she?”
I nod in her direction. “Over there.”
He steps closer, studies her from a distance.
“She’s beautiful,” he says finally.
Something tightens in my chest.
“That’s not the point.”
“Isn’t it?” He smirks. “Beautiful, talented, good heart. No wonder you’re losing it.”
“I’m not-”
“Yeah, you are. And it’s about damn time.”
Before I can argue, he’s already out the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To meet your Emma.”
“She’s not my-”
But he’s gone.
Through the glass, I watch him approach her desk. She startles, then smiles politely as he introduces himself.
Of course he’s charming. Dante could charm a nun into sin.
He perches on her desk, starts talking. She laughs, really laughs and something twists in my chest. Sharp.
She throws her head back, eyes crinkling, the kind of laugh I haven’t heard from her before.
I should be jealous. Any man would be.
But what I feel isn’t jealousy. Not exactly.
It’s… relief. Relief that she can still smile like that. That she’s not just the fragile version I’ve seen.
Dante’s good with people. He pulls warmth out of them like it’s nothing.
For twenty minutes, I just watch my best friend, my employee, the women I want. Two people I shouldn’t care about this much.
When he finally comes back, he looks too damn pleased.
“Well?” I ask.
“She’s lovely,” he says simply. “And completely terrified of you.”
“I know that.”
“Do you know why?”
I don’t answer.
“Because she thinks you’re too good for her. Not in the gold-digger way. She actually believes she’s not worthy of you.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Is it? You’re Massimo De Luca. You own half the cities, and let’s not talk about outside of Miami and the state. You date models. She’s a coordinator with family issues and a dog. Her family’s comfortably wealthy, just not on your level, so she doesn’t care about your money.”
“I don’t give a damn about that.”
“I know you don’t. But she doesn’t know that. In her head, you’re temporary. She’s waiting for the moment you get bored and walk away.”
That one stings.
Because I’ve done exactly that before.
“So what do I do?”
“Show her she matters.”
“How?”
Dante grins. “You’re the strategist, amico. Figure it out.”
Easier said than done.
I stay at my desk, staring through the glass.
Emma’s still there, headphones in, lost in her work, completely unaware of the war she’s started in my head.
Show her she matters. Right. I have no f*****g idea how to do that. But for her, I’m damn well going to try.
- Writer
