Taking Down The New York Project
1214 Words
Scott didn’t slam the club door when he walked out, but the impulse twitched inside his wrist. That alone was a warning sign. He almost never reacted impulsively. He wasn’t wired that way. Control was something he had sharpened into a habit, carved into his spine like a second bone structure.
But the moment Sofia had looked at him like he was an inconvenience, like he was noise something in him had cinched tight. He was trying to wrap his head around what changed. They were already getting to know each other, all of a sudden she's giving him a cold shoulder. Is it because she knows he owns the club now? She doesn't want to have anything to do with her boss?
He stepped into the afternoon light with a steady breath, ignoring the prickle of anger crawling under his skin. The day was still young, Club Mirage was quiet behind him neon lights dimmed, music dead, the evening staff beginning their routines.
He walked to his car, unlocked it, and slid in.
Silence.
He leaned back and let out a long, slow exhale through his nose. He replayed their exchange again. Sofia’s stiff shoulders, the way she refused to meet his eyes, the cold “leave me alone.”
It bothered him that it bothered him.
They weren’t friends. They weren’t lovers. They shared a single dinner, a conversation, a moment of ease. He knew better than to mistake ease for intimacy. Still, he had expected something other than the sudden frostbite.
He started the engine and drove toward the city center, forcing his mind to shift gears.
Things needed to be done.Work always steadied him.
His construction office occupied the top floor of a building overlooking the river, glass walls and black marble floors sharp, minimal, quiet. The place he controlled best.
When he walked in, his assistant, Mandy, was standing near his office door with a stack of files clamped in her arms. She was usually too flirty for her own good. Glossed lips, exaggerated sweetness, brushing her hand against his arm as though she had any chance. They once had intimate sessions together. That was a long time ago. A few months back, maybe.
But not today.
Today she looked rattled, the moment she spotted him, she hurried forward.
“Scott,” she breathed, “finally.”
He didn’t slow down. “What is it?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”
He walked past her, entered his office, and dropped his keys on the desk. “I left my phone in the car. What’s wrong?”
She stepped in behind him. “He’s called at least twelve times.”
“Who?”
“Andriano Casagrande.”
Scott stopped.
Then his jaw flexed barely, but enough.
Mandy kept talking. “The way he sounded… Scott, he’s furious. He said it’s urgent, something about the project site being…”
“Stop.” His voice was quiet. Controlled. But sharp.
She froze.
“Start again,” he said without raising his tone. “Properly.”
Mandy swallowed. “Andriano has been trying to reach you nonstop. He said it’s an emergency. Something about the New York project. He wants you on the phone. Immediately.”
Scott turned his face away, irritation punching into his ribs.
“I’m handling the project through Dante,” he said. “Not his father. I don’t answer to Andriano. He can wait.”
“Scott…”
“Unless you have something else to say, leave.”
The irritation wasn’t her fault, he knew that. But Sofia’s coldness had already unsettled him, and now this?
But Mandy didn’t move. “Scott… the office line is ringing.”
As if on cue, the desk phone began to vibrate and light up. Scott exhaled once, slow and exhausted.
“Go,” he muttered, waving Mandy toward the door.
She scrambled out, closing the door behind her.
He let the phone ring twice before picking up.
“Scott here.”
“And finally, he answers.” Andriano’s voice was smoke and fire in equal measured italian arrogance wrapped in venom. “Do you understand the gravity of what has just happened?”
Scott straightened. “You called about the project. What’s going on?”
“What’s going on,” Andriano snarled, “is that my men called me at six in the morning to tell me the New York Supreme Court has placed a restraining order on the construction site. A restraining order, Scott! Do you know how many millions we’ve poured into this deal? And your responsibility, your one responsibility was to ensure this exact problem never occurred!”
Scott frowned, shock flickering through his control. “Restraining order? On what grounds?”
“You tell me!” Andriano barked. “I partnered with you because Dante speaks highly of you. Because you were supposed to be the clean one. The one with the reputation. And now this?”
Scott forced calm into his voice. “Andriano, listen…”
“No. You listen.” A beat of cold silence followed. “We are not playing games. Fix it. Do whatever you must. But if this project fails, if it draws heat to my company, we won't be talking on the phone.”
The line went dead.
Scott stared at the receiver for a long moment before gently placing it back. He walked to the window.
Below him, the river moved like liquid steel. The city was waking tiny figures, taxis, delivery trucks weaving between each other. Life continued.
His reflection in the glass stared back at him, calm, unreadable, but the muscle near his jaw ticked again.
A restraining order meant someone had filed an injunction. Someone powerful enough, fast enough, and strategic enough to hit the project at its kneecaps.
The Casagrandes had enemies. They've stepped on toes, especially since they have new companies outside of Milan.
Scott reached for his phone, unlocked it, and opened his emails.Someone went behind their backs. Someone with resources.
He sat down, opened his laptop, and began cross-checking communications, permits, construction schedules, environmental reports, anything that could have triggered a legal block.
Nothing obvious.
Which meant one thing, It was intentional.
Someone wanted the Casagrande project delayed or destroyed.
The question rang inside his head with quiet precision. Who benefits from stopping the Casagrandes?
He knew Dante, he did not know Andriano well and preferred it that way.But Scott wasn’t naive. Partnerships with families like that were always two things, profitable and dangerous.
He rubbed the space between his brows.
The problem wasn’t the court order. He would find the reason, fix it, reverse it. That part he could handle. The problem was that he had been caught off guard.
He hated being blindsided.
His mind drifted, unexpectedly to Sofia.He pushed the thought away and stood. Time to work.
He grabbed his suit jacket, left the office, and called out to Mandy.
“I need every document related to the New York site today’s filings, yesterday’s notices, all correspondence with legal teams. Print everything. Make three copies.”
“Yes, of course.” She scrambled.
“And cancel all my meetings.”
Mandy blinked. “All of them?”
“All.”
He walked toward the private elevators.
- Writer
