Chapter 20
Alia POV
Sunlight streamed through the floor–to–ceiling windows when I finally opened my eyes. I reached out automatically, the space beside me was empty, the sheets cool to the touch.
The digital clock on the nightstand read 12:23 PM. I bolted upright, my online internship report meeting at San Luca University had started at 9
AM!
My last clear memory was sitting by the hot spring pool with a bottle of wine.
“Oh God,” I groaned, mortification washing over me as fragments of the night before filtered back–Marco pulling me from the water, his soaked suit, my hands reaching for his tie….
I lifted the silk gown, examining myself with trepidation. Everything seemed normal.
The sound of quiet conversation drew my attention to the balcony doors.
I pulled the velvet duvet around me like a shield before calling out, “Marco?”
The conversation outside ceased immediately. A moment later, Marco appeared in the doorway, His eyes moved over me, assessing.
“You’re awake,” he stated simply, pocketing his phone. “How do you feel?”
I clutched the duvet tighter, mortification heating my cheeks. “I missed my report meeting.”
“I called your professor this morning. You’ve been granted an extension due to illness. His lips quirked slightly.
“I don’t normally drink like that,” I said quickly, “I just-”
“You don’t need to explain, Alia. But remember one thing: the next time you drink, I have to be there!”
I swallowed hard, changing the subject. “Did you… help me change last night?”
A hint of redness spread across his cheekbones, which surprised me. “What else did you think happened?” he asked.
“Thank you,” I whispered, genuinely touched by his consideration.
Marco nodded, then glanced at his watch. “I’ve arranged for us to return to our apartment in Portano this evening.”
As we departed Bellavista Estate an hour later,
“Marco, what exactly does your family business involve?” I asked, keeping my voice casual. “I mean, what industries does the Vittorio family specialize in?”
His expression remained neutral, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Any business that makes money, we’re involved in.”
“Cortese Tech is just one branch,” he replied smoothly. “We have investments in real estate, shipping, hospitality, private security… diversification is key to sustainable wealth.”
I nodded, realizing he had changed the subject. There was something he wasn’t telling me, something beyond what I, as an intern, should be touching upon.
About twenty minutes into our journey, Marco opened his laptop and began reviewing documents. His black work phone–separate from his personal one—buzzed almost constantly. Within ten minutes, he’d taken at least a dozen calls, switching effortlessly between Italian, English, and German.
I pretended to be absorbed in my phone while secretly listening to his German conversation. My two semesters of German weren’t fluent, but I
1.03 AM
Chapter 20
caught enough to realize he wasn’t discussing ordinary business matters.
“Nein, keine Verzögerung. Die Lieferung muss heute Nacht ankommen,” he said sharply. No, no delay. The shipment must arrive tonight.
His tone left no room for argument. Whatever was being delivered, it was urgent and non–negotiable. Each call followed a similar pattern–Marco issuing precise instructions, his voice carrying an authority that seemed to transcend his role as a tech company CEO.
“Die Zahlung erfolgt wie üblich. Stellen Sie sicher, dass niemand davon erfährt.” Payment will be made as usual. Ensure no one finds out about it.
I suppressed a shiver. This wasn’t the language of corporate acquisitions or software development. This sounded more like…
I pushed the thought away. I letting my imagination run wild based on fragments of conversation in a language I barely understood.
Still, I couldn’t help noticing how different Marco appeared during these calls–his jaw set harder, his eyes colder, his entire demeanor radiating dangerous kind of power. This wasn’t just a businessman; this was someone accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed without question.
a
Half an hour later, Marco closed his laptop and slipped his phone into his jacket pocket. The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease slightly he glanced over at me.
“What’s on your mind?” he observed.
as
I hesitated, then opted for a safer question than my suspicions about his business calls. “I was wondering about your family. You rarely mention them.”
“What would you like to know?” His tone was neutral.
‘Do you have siblings? What are your parents like?” I asked, genuinely curious about the family I’d married into.
Marco’s eyes remained fixed on the road. “I have parents and a grandfather above me, and one sister below me who doesn’t understand rules.”
‘A sister who doesn’t understand rules?” I perked up, intrigued by this hint of family dynamics. “What’s her name?”
“Sabrina,” he said, then his expression cooled noticeably. “She’s young and impulsive.”
