Until He Sees Me - Broken Yet His

Chapter 7 - The Crack in His Armor

Massimo’s POV

I hung up and just… merda. I sit there staring at my phone like it’s going to give me answers.

Her voice was shaking. Emma Miller’s voice actually trembled when she said my name, and that sound, cazzo it cut through me like a blade I never saw coming. It matters when it shouldn’t matter at all.

I push back from my desk, walk to these floor-to-ceiling windows. New York sprawled out below me like a kingdom I built with my bare hands. Usually, this view reminds me who I am, what I control. Tonight? Niente. Nothing. Just her face burned into my brain like a brand.

Those eyes. Blue-green and wet when I trapped her in that alley like some kind of stronzo. Fear mixed with defiance, and I can’t get it out of my head no matter what I do. She’s just another employee. Un’altra donna. Another woman.

Che cazzata. What bullshit.

Valeria never looked at me like that. Valeria played games, smiled while she planned to gut me. Emma Miller? She’s transparent as glass. Honest in every breath, every gesture.

And that honesty is making me lose my f*****g mind. I rip my tie off, throw it on the chair. Since when do I care what some little coordinator thinks of me? Since when do I second-guess decisions I make? But when she stood up to me in front of all those people, defending her work with that quiet fire… Madonna mia. I felt something I haven’t in years. Respect. Desire, if I’m being honest.

Then I destroyed her. Like the bastard I am.

I watched her crumble. Saw the exact moment my words hit and broke something inside her. And instead of stopping, I kept going. Because that’s who I am. I push until people break, until they show me their true colors.

Except Emma wasn’t playing games. She was defending good work. Exceptional work. The best f*****g launch I’ve ever had.

So why is she refusing Florida? Why throw away everything?

Morrison’s stuttering voice keeps echoing. His nervous delivery of her rejection. Nobody refuses Massimo De Luca. Not offers like this. Not career-making opportunities.

Unless she’s testing me somehow. But those terrified eyes, that broken voice… No. Emma Miller doesn’t know how to manipulate. She’s not Valeria. And that’s what’s keeping me awake at night, pacing like a caged animal.

Dawn comes, and I’m already at my desk, drowning in work, pretending it’ll shut up the noise in my head.

The door opens without permission. Only one person has enough balls to do that.

“You look like merda,” Dante announces, dropping into the chair as he owns my office.

“Buongiorno to you too, stronzo.”

“Seriously, what’s wrong? You look like you fought with demons, and they won every round.”

I lean back, study him. Dante’s known me since university. One of maybe two people I trust completely. The only one who’ll call me out without ending up fired or worse.

“The hotel launch.”

“Ah. The Emma Miller situation everyone’s whispering about?”

My jaw tightens. “How do you” He doesn’t let me finish.

“Massimo, you humiliated an employee in front of fifty investors. You think that stays quiet in this city?”

There’s judgment in his tone that makes my teeth grind.

“She disrespected me. In front of important people.”

“She defended her work. Not the same thing, fratello.”

“It is to me.”

“No,” Dante leans forward, serious now. “It really isn’t.” He watches my face for a moment. “Tell me what actually happened. All of it.”

So I tell him. The blackout. Her solution. My rage when she contradicted me publicly. The alley. Every brutal word I used to tear her down until she completely shattered. Dante’s expression gets darker with every detail.

“Madonna santa, Massimo.” His voice is quiet. Deadly. “You followed her outside just to destroy her?”

“I established dominance.”

“You crushed a woman who just saved your ass.” The disgust in his voice makes something twist in my chest.

“Since when do you defend them?”

“Since you started acting like your father.”

That lands like a punch to the gut. My father. The man who crushed spirits for sport.

Dante stands, walks to the window. “I get what Valeria did to you. I understand the walls you built. But this girl? She didn’t deserve your wrath.”

“She challenged me. Publicly.”

“She saved your event. Brilliantly.” I stay silent because he’s right, and admitting it feels like swallowing glass.

“And now she’s refusing Florida.” He shakes his head. “Can’t say I blame her.”

“I don’t understand. This opportunity could change her life. Why walk away?”

Dante looks at me like I’m an i***t.

“Sei serio? You devastate her one night, then expect gratitude the next?”

“I offered her recognition. The biggest project of the year.”

“After humiliating her in front of New York’s elite,” he pauses, stare cutting right through me.

“Did you apologize?” The question hits like a slap. No. I didn’t. I never apologize. It’s weakness.

“Business isn’t about feelings, Dante.”

“Maybe not. But people are.”

He sits back down, crosses his legs.

“So what now? Force her?”

“I’ll talk to her. Find out what’s really stopping her.”

“And apologize?”

I turn away. Apologizing twists something deep in my chest. Shows weakness. The kind Valeria exploited.

But Emma’s face in that alley, the pain I caused…

“Vedremo,” I mutter. We’ll see.

Dante shakes his head, but there’s amusement there now.

“Sei impossibile. Just don’t terrify her again. If she’s as good as you say, losing her would be a waste.”

____

One o’clock approaches too fast. I avoided my office, too intimidating after what happened. Too much like a trap. Instead, I picked a quiet restaurant. Expensive but not flashy. Neutral ground where maybe she won’t feel hunted.

When I arrive, she’s already there. Perfect posture, hands folded, every line of her body radiating tension. She looks like she’s waiting for a verdict, not a meeting.

The dress she’s wearing is simple, black, nothing flashy. But it draws my eyes to how thin she is. Too thin. I didn’t notice before rage has a way of blinding you, but now I do. Her shoulders are too sharp, wrists too thin, like she’s carrying a weight that’s not just mine. I clench my jaw, hating how her fear makes my chest tighten. I don’t have guilt. Not anymore.

The restaurant hums with quiet wealth, clinking glasses, soft murmurs, the kind of place I’d usually command without effort. But Emma sits across from me, her fingers twisting that damn napkin like it’s her lifeline, her eyes darting anywhere but mine. It’s distracting. Too distracting.

“Miss Miller,” I say, observing her.

“Mr. De Luca.” Barely a whisper. She won’t look at me, staring at her hands like they hold secrets.

Silence stretches between us. She’s bracing for another attack, another round of destruction. The realization makes my chest tight.

“Emma…” The words feel foreign on my tongue. “I owe you an apology.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide with shock.

“For the other night. What I said. It was… out of line.” She stares like I’m speaking another language. “Your work was exceptional,” I force out. “The event was perfect. You saved everything with that lighting.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, still stunned.

The waiter appears. Emma shakes her head immediately.

“I’m not hungry.”

But I see the lie. How her eyes dart towards the menu, then away. She’s not “not hungry”, she’s afraid to eat in front of me. The thought makes my stomach clench.

“You need to eat,” I say, softer than intended.

“Really, I don’t, ”

“Sì. Yes.” I cut her.

I order for both of us. Light but substantial. She watches like I’ve performed magic.

“Now,” I say, when we’re alone, “Florida. Why are you refusing?”

Her whole body goes rigid. “Personal reasons.”

“Be specific.”

“It’s… complicated.”

“I have time.”

She fidgets with her napkin.

“I can’t leave the city. There are… obligations.”

“Such as?”

Fire flickers in her eyes, the first I’ve seen since she sat down.

“You don’t need to know every detail of my private life.”

“If it affects my project, sì, I do.”

Her jaw sets. Stubborn. After a moment, she sighs.

“I can’t leave Simba. My dog. He depends on me.”

Un cane. A dog. She’s throwing away the opportunity of a lifetime for a dog. And somehow, that reassures me. It’s innocent. Real. Nothing like the calculated moves I’m used to.

“Bring him,” I say simply.

“What?”

“Your dog. Bring him to Miami.”

“That’s impossible. Hotels don’t”

“You won’t be in a hotel. The company has apartments in Brickell. You’ll use one.”

She stares, speechless. “I… I can’t accept that.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Panic creeps into her voice.“Because you’ll be there too.”

The admission hits like a physical blow. She’s terrified of me. So terrified she’d rather destroy her career than work with me.

Bravo, Massimo. You’ve traumatized an innocent woman.

“No,” I say carefully. “I’ll be in Miami, sì, but my main office. You’ll work with Isabelle. Complete control.”

Hope flickers. “You won’t be… supervising?”

“Complete creative control. You need something, go through Isabelle.”

She hesitates, biting her lip. The waiter sets down her plate. She won’t even look at the food.

“You should eat,” I say. The words come out rougher than I intend, more command than suggestion.

“I’m not,” she starts.

“Emma,” I cut in, softer this time. “Mangia.”

She blinks, surprised by the shift in my tone. Less like a boss giving an order, more of… something else. For a second I think she’ll push back, that fire in her eyes sparking again. This time she obeys, she lowers her gaze and takes a small, cautious bite. Then another.

Each one looks like an effort, like it costs her something. I hate that I notice. Hate even more that it matters to me.

“So?” I press. “Your answer?”

She sets down her fork, meets my eyes for the first time.

“If you guarantee we won’t work directly together…”

“Guaranteed.”

“And I can bring Simba…”

“Already arranged.”

She takes a shaky breath. “Then… yes. I’ll do it.”

Victory surges through me. I can’t stop the smile. “Perfetto. You leave on Sunday. Isabelle handles everything.”

She nods, looking dazed.

I watch her finish eating, more fascinated than I should be. Her fear unsettles me. The way she barely eats tells me there’s damage I didn’t cause, though I added to it.

But she said yes. That’s what matters.

Except some part of me, the part that can’t stop thinking about those blue-green eyes, knows it’s not that simple anymore.