PART 2: My Ex Announced He Was Marrying My Sister—So I Brought Seattle’s Most Feared Hotel Magnate to Dinner

“People who ask Mr. Moretti for favors usually know what they are offering in return.”

That should have been enough to make me turn around. It should have reminded me that I was an event coordinator in a navy pencil skirt with a coffee stain on one sleeve, and Lorenzo Moretti was the kind of man people lowered their voices to discuss. But the thought of sitting across from Ethan and Chloe while my mother watched for the first sign of weakness made something stubborn harden inside me.

“I’m not here for money,” I said. “Or influence. Or protection.”

Tobias’s eyebrow lifted by the smallest degree.

“I need a date.”

For the first time, his stone-carved expression shifted.

Not into a smile exactly. More like the idea of one passed behind his eyes and decided not to stay.

“A date,” he said.

“To dinner.”

“With Mr. Moretti.”

“Yes.”

“Do you understand who you’re asking?”

“No,” I admitted. “But I’m beginning to think that’s why I had the courage to ask.”

Silence stretched between us.

Behind Tobias, the private elevator waited with its polished brass doors open, reflecting my pale face back at me. I looked like a woman standing at the edge of a bridge, deciding whether the fall was worse than staying where she was.

Then a voice spoke from inside the elevator.

“Let her in.”

Tobias stepped aside.

Lorenzo Moretti stood in the back of the elevator, one hand in his trouser pocket, the other resting lightly against the brass rail. Up close, he was even more unsettling than he had been from a distance—not because he looked cruel, but because he looked calm in a way that made everyone else’s panic seem unnecessary.

His dark hair was neatly combed back. His charcoal suit fit like it had been made by someone afraid to disappoint him. His eyes settled on mine with quiet attention.

“Miss Hayes,” he said. “You seem determined tonight.”

“That depends on whether determination and desperation are close relatives.”

A faint warmth touched his expression.

The elevator doors closed behind me.

The ride upward was silent. I tried not to stare at the numbers as they climbed, but each soft chime seemed to mark another chance to change my mind. By the time we reached the top floor, my mouth had gone dry.

Lorenzo led me into an office overlooking the city. Seattle glittered beyond the windows, wet streets reflecting silver ribbons of light. Far below, traffic moved along the waterfront, small and distant. The room itself was spare but beautiful—dark wood, cream walls, a single painting of a stormy sea, and a desk so organized it made my anxious thoughts feel indecent.

He gestured toward a chair.

I sat because my knees were beginning to reconsider their duties.

Tobias remained near the door.

Lorenzo took the chair across from me instead of moving behind his desk. That surprised me. Men like Ethan had always used furniture like a weapon—desks, doorways, silence, distance. Lorenzo sat where I could see him plainly.

“What kind of dinner requires a stranger?” he asked.

I almost laughed.

“The kind where my ex-fiancé announces he’s marrying my sister.”

There it was. Ugly and small, lying between us.

Lorenzo’s eyes did not widen. He did not offer the quick sympathy people gave when they wanted to move past discomfort. He simply watched me, as if waiting for the part I had not said.

“They invited me so I could prove I’m fine,” I continued. “Or so they could prove I’m not. I’m not sure which.” My hands tightened around the strap of my purse. “I know this is inappropriate. I know you don’t owe me anything. I don’t even know why I came here, except everyone expects me to show up alone, and I can’t bear the thought of giving them exactly what they want.”

Lorenzo leaned back slightly.

“And you chose me because?”

I looked at him honestly.

“Because everyone is a little afraid of you.”

Tobias made a sound that might have been a cough.

Lorenzo’s gaze flicked toward him, then returned to me.

“Are you?”

The question landed softly, but it mattered.

I thought about lying. I thought about saying no, because courage looked better when it didn’t tremble. But I was tired of pretending.

“A little,” I said. “But not the way I’m afraid of them.”

Something changed in his face then. Not much. Just enough.

He looked toward the window, where rain threaded down the glass in crooked lines.

“What is his name?”

“Ethan Prescott.”

“And your sister?”

“Chloe Hayes.”

His expression remained still.

I frowned. “Do you know them?”

“No.”

The answer came too quickly, but I was in no position to interrogate powerful men in their private offices.

Lorenzo stood.

“Thursday at eight?”

I blinked. “You’ll come?”