9. Mia

Chapter 9

Mia

It’s been two days since the boardroom meeting with Bianca and Carlito. The soft hum of voices and the occasional clatter of cutlery echo through the vendor meeting room in the Venetian. It’s a polished, understated space—elegant without trying too hard. The neutral tones of the walls and the gleaming table at its center reflect the meticulous standards Carlito expects for his gala.

I glance at my notes, running through the vendor proposals again. Today feels heavier than usual, the pressure mounting with every passing day. Carlito’s words from when we were with Bianca ring in my ears: The gala isn’t only about logistics. It’s about perception.

It’s mid-afternoon, and my scheduled meetings have gone smoothly so far. This is where I thrive—coordinating, negotiating, and balancing the complex puzzle of an event as grand as this one. Yet, for some reason, my skin prickles with unease.

“Ms. Caruso?” A voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

I look up to see a man standing at the edge of the room. He doesn’t belong here. Dressed in a dark suit, his posture is casual but his eyes... there’s something unsettling in them.

“Yes?” I reply, keeping my tone professional as I stand.

“I couldn’t help but overhear your discussion with the florist,” he says smoothly, his lips curving into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You have quite an eye for detail.”

“Thank you,” I say cautiously, instinctively taking a step back. “Are you with one of the vendors?”

“Not exactly,” he replies, his gaze lingering on me in a way that sends a shiver down my spine. “Let’s just say I have a personal interest in events like this. Particularly... the people involved.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. There’s no way this man stumbled into this meeting room by accident. I glance toward the door, hoping one of the staff might intervene, but it’s empty save for the two of us.

“I’m sorry, but this is a private meeting,” I say firmly. “If you’re not part of the event, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

The man tilts his head, his smile widening. “Of course. I just wanted to meet the woman behind all this. Mia Caruso, right? You have an interesting... history.”

My stomach twists, but I force myself to keep my expression neutral. How does he know my name?

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Not yet,” he says cryptically. “But I know you. More than you think.”

Before I can respond, he steps closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You might want to be careful, Ms. Caruso. Not everything—or everyone—is what they seem. Including your oh-so-perfect world here at the Venetian.”

He turns and walks out, leaving me frozen in place. My heart pounds in my chest, and the weight of his words sinks deep into my mind.

I stand motionless for a moment, his words echoing in my head like the lingering vibration of a struck bell. You might want to be careful, Ms. Caruso. Not everything—or everyone—is what they seem.

The door swings shut behind the stranger, breaking the spell. My breath catches as I glance around the room, searching for any sign that someone else might have witnessed the bizarre encounter. But the space is empty, save for the stack of proposals and the perfectly arranged vase of flowers at the center of the table.

I grab my phone with trembling fingers, hesitating for only a second before dialing the one person I trust in this moment. Carlito.

The line clicks, and his deep voice answers almost immediately. “Mia?”

“Are you still in the building?” I blurt out, my voice sharper than intended.

“Yes,” he replies, his tone shifting into something colder, more alert. “What’s wrong?”

“I—I think someone just tried to intimidate me.” I glance at the door again, half-expecting the stranger to return. “He knew my name. He knew... things. Personal things.”

There’s a brief silence on the other end before Carlito speaks, his voice calm but edged with steel. “Where are you now?”

“The vendor meeting room, second floor,” I reply.

“I’m on my way. Don’t move.”

The call ends abruptly, leaving me clutching the phone to my chest. I exhale slowly, trying to steady my racing heart, but every creak of the floor outside the room makes me jump. I don’t know who that man was, but his presence felt calculated, deliberate, and far too personal.

A few tense minutes later, the door opens—not with the slow, eerie creak I feared but with Carlito’s sharp, purposeful stride. His commanding presence immediately fills the space, and relief washes over me like a tidal wave.

His eyes sweep the room, scanning for any sign of danger. “Tell me everything,” he says, his voice low and firm.

I recount the encounter as succinctly as possible, focusing on the stranger’s cryptic words and his unnerving demeanor. Carlito listens in silence, his expression growing darker with every detail.

When I finish, he steps closer, his presence grounding me in a way I can’t explain. “Did he say his name?”

I shake my head. “No, but he knew mine. He acted like... like he knows me. Or something about me.”

Carlito’s jaw tightens. “Leo will investigate. In the meantime, I’ll make sure security around you is doubled.”

“I don’t think he’s here for the gala,” I say softly, the fear creeping back into my voice. “It felt... personal.”

Carlito’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the usual guardedness in his expression gives way to something softer. “You’re safe here,” he says, his voice a shade gentler.

And then, before I can think better of it, I step forward, seeking the reassurance I so desperately need. My hands brush against his chest, and he doesn’t pull away.

“Mia...”

His voice is a warning, but I barely hear it. The fear, the tension, the weight of everything crash over me at once, and for a fleeting second, I let myself feel protected.

Carlito’s arms instinctively come around me, strong and steady, as if shielding me from the weight of the world. For a moment, I allow myself to lean into his embrace, letting his presence ground me. The sharp edges of fear and uncertainty fade, replaced by a warmth I don’t dare name.

“You’re safe, Mia,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring.

The words, so simple yet so charged, unravel something inside me. I close my eyes briefly, letting myself believe it. In his arms, the chaos of the moment dims, and I feel like nothing can touch me.

But then reality creeps back in. My cheeks flush as I pull away, the heat of embarrassment replacing the comfort I’d felt just seconds ago.

“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head and taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to... I just—”

Carlito raises a hand, cutting off my apology. “Don’t.” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge of authority that stops me cold. “You’ve been through enough. There’s no need to explain.”

I nod, clutching my notebook against my chest like a shield. “Thank you. For... everything.”

He studies me for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable. “Mia,” he says, his tone shifting to something softer, almost hesitant. “If you ever feel unsafe, you call me. No hesitation. Understand?”

I swallow hard, nodding. “I understand.”

Before either of us can say more, the door swings open, and Leo steps inside. His sharp gaze flickers between Carlito and me, lingering for a fraction of a second before landing squarely on Carlito.

“Sir,” Leo says, his voice crisp and professional. “I’ve already started looking into the matter. Security cameras in the Venetian should have caught something.”

Carlito gives a short nod, the commanding aura I’ve come to associate with him snapping back into place. “Good. I want to know who he is, why he’s here, and how he got close to Mia without anyone stopping him.”

Leo nods. “I’ll update you as soon as I have something concrete.”

Carlito turns back to me, his expression softening slightly. “I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

The certainty in his voice is comforting, but it also makes me wonder—how far will he go to ensure that? There’s a quiet intensity in Carlito that both reassures and unsettles me, as if he’s capable of things I can’t quite imagine.

“I trust you,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Carlito holds my gaze for a beat longer than necessary, his lips curving into the faintest semblance of a smile. “Good.”

Leo clears his throat. “If you’re ready, we can head to the surveillance room.”

Carlito nods, gesturing toward the door. “Stay here for now, Mia. I’ll handle this.”

I hesitate, wanting to argue, but the steel in his gaze tells me it’s not a request. “Alright,” I finally say, my voice quiet.

As the two men leave, the door closing firmly behind them, I let out a shaky breath. The room feels bigger, emptier, without Carlito’s presence. I glance at the papers scattered across the table, but my focus is elsewhere.

The stranger’s parting words replay in my mind, chilling and cryptic: “Nothing is what it seems. Including your oh-so-perfect world here at the Venetian.”

Who was he? And why did he feel so familiar, as though he’d been watching me long before today?

I sit down and grip my pen tightly, forcing myself to write down notes for the gala. But my thoughts drift, and no matter how hard I try to focus, one thing is clear.

Whoever that man was, he’s not done with me yet.