ENZO BARTOLI'S POV
The private meeting room still held the lingering scent of Thomas Cole's expensive wool suit and the sharp, clean musk of controlled anger. I remained seated for several moments after he left, allowing the silence to settle and the internal disturbance he caused to recede.
Thomas Cole was exactly as my background check had suggested: ex-military, highly disciplined, fiercely protective, and possessing an unnerving capacity for strategic analysis. He was the kind of man who did not threaten lightly. He was also, quite unexpectedly, devastatingly attractive, with an intensity in his gaze that had momentarily rattled my own professional composure. That unwelcome flicker of raw, immediate attraction was something I filed away instantly, a vulnerability I would acknowledge once, then neutralize.
He had come to threaten, but more accurately, to beg for intervention. He saw the rot in his brother, and he targeted the closest viable pressure point: ME.
