The CEO’s Hamster

Two

Chapter 2 — The Italian Mogul

Lorenzo

The first thing I noticed about New York was the noise.

The second was how much everyone seemed to be in a hurry.

I stood behind the floor-to-ceiling windows of my hotel suite, one hand resting in my trouser pocket as I watched the city move beneath me.

Cars crawled through the streets.

Yellow taxis filled the avenues.

People rushed beneath umbrellas despite the clear evening sky.

New York was nothing like Milan.

Milan had elegance.

History.

A certain quiet confidence.

New York had hunger.

I understood hunger.

My phone vibrated on the table behind me.

I glanced at it.

Matteo.

I answered.

“Where are you?”

“Still in the room.”

“Of course you are.”

I heard him laugh.

“You're the one who insisted we arrive early.”

“I came for business.”

“And I came because you threatened to leave me behind.”

“You needed supervision.”

“I'm twenty-eight, Lorenzo.”

“And still incapable of behaving for an entire evening.”

“That is slander.”

I smiled despite myself.

Matteo was my younger brother, and where I was reserved, he was impossible to ignore.

He had inherited our mother's warm olive complexion, thick dark hair, and expressive brown eyes. He dressed beautifully, spoke too quickly when excited, and possessed enough confidence for three people.

Where I preferred silence, Matteo filled it.

Where I calculated every decision, he followed instinct.

We were different.

But family was family.

“Be downstairs in ten minutes,” I said.

“Ten?”

“Nine now.”

He cursed playfully before hanging up.

I adjusted my cufflinks and looked at myself in the mirror. Thirty-Two.

Six-foot-three.

Dark hair, cut short at the sides and slightly longer on top.

A trimmed beard.

Broad shoulders.

A face people often described as intimidating when I wasn't smiling.

I rarely smiled.

Not because I was unhappy.

I simply had little reason to.

Business had taught me that expressions revealed more than words.

My father had taught me that weakness was expensive.

And life had taught me not to give strangers access to either.

I owned companies across Europe, investments in America, and enough money to purchase almost anything I wanted.

Almost.

There were some things money couldn't buy.

Trust.

Peace.

And memories.

My gaze fell toward the small wooden box sitting on my desk.

I opened it.

Inside was an old photograph.

The edges were worn from years of handling.

Two children stood beneath a tree.

A little boy with messy dark hair.

And beside him, a little girl with enormous hazel eyes and a cookie stuffed into both cheeks.

I smiled.

“Cricetina.”

Hamster.

The ridiculous nickname I'd given her when we were children.

She had hated it.

At least, that's what she had claimed.

But whenever I called her Hamster, she would chase me around the garden until we were both laughing.

I had been nine.

She had been eight.

We had met during one summer when our families were staying in America.

For a few weeks, she had been my entire world.

Then the summer ended.

Our families returned to their separate lives.

And Victoria disappeared from mine.

I never forgot her.

I tried.

Years passed.

School.

University.

Business.

Relationships.

Success.

Nothing erased that little girl from my memory.

Then, three months ago, I saw her face in a business magazine.

VICTORIA HAYES: AMERICA'S RISING BUSINESS POWERHOUSE.

I bought the magazine.

I read the article twice.

Then I searched for everything I could find about her.

Victoria Hayes.

Thirty-one.

CEO of Hayes International.

Brilliant.

Private.

Cold.

The Ice Queen.

I knew immediately.

It was her.

My Hamster.

Tonight, our companies would meet at the charity gala.

Officially, I was there to discuss an international investment partnership.

Unofficially...

I wanted to see her.

To know whether the little girl I remembered still existed somewhere beneath the woman the world feared.

I closed the box.

“Lorenzo!”

Matteo's voice came from the hallway.

I turned.

He entered wearing a midnight-blue tuxedo, his hair perfectly styled.

He looked at me.

Then at the photograph I’d left on the desk, his eyebrows rose. “Who’s she?” I closed the box.

“No one.”

Matteo stared at me. “You are a terrible liar.” I look at him irritated and said “Go downstairs.” He smiled and said “oh this is interesting.” It isn’t.” I grumbled.

“You have been smiling at the box for about ten minutes.” “Matteo!”

“Fine.”

He walked towards the door then stopped. “ whatever you are hiding, fratello,I hope she knows what she’s getting herself into.”

I said nothing.

I wasn't sure she did.

The elevator carried us toward the lobby.

Tonight, I would finally see Victoria again.

I wondered whether she'd remember me.

Then another thought occurred to me.

What if she didn't?

For the first time in years, the possibility unsettled me.

The elevator doors opened.

I stepped out.

And somewhere across New York, the little girl who once chased me for stealing her cookie was getting ready to walk back into my life.

This time, I wasn't nine years old.

And I wasn't planning to let her disappear again.

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