Page 7 of Mario
He is taller than I expected.
Not because his height wasn’t listed somewhere. It was. I know it was. I read every public detail I could find before walking into this building.
But facts on a screen don’t prepare me for the reality of him.
I become keenly aware of my own pulse.
Mario Conti stands near the windows with one hand in his pocket and his attention already on us. On me.
He is broad in the shoulders, solid in a way that makes the expensive cut of his dark suit seem less like style and more like necessity. White shirt open at the throat, no tie. A watch at his wrist that Benjamin’s probably already pricing in his head.
His hair is black with silver at the temples, neatly cut, thick enough that the gray looks intentional rather than aging him.
He isn’t beautiful.
That would be too simple.
Mario Conti is striking.
His face is strong in a way that does not need softness to be attractive. Firm jaw, straight nose. His mouth is set in a line that suggests he does not smile unless he means it. His skin is olive, his features unmistakably Italian, and his eyes are a mesmerizing blue, hypnotic in a way that I cannot read from across the room.
But I feel them.
That is the unnerving part.
Before he speaks, before he moves, before anyone says his name, I feel the weight of his attention settle on me.
Everything in me stills at the silent assessment because that’s what he does. He assesses. He’s not cold or warm, just neutral.
It’s a moment before his eyes leave me and move over Benjamin, then Ainsley.
All of this happens in a split second, but it feels as if time has slowed.
Beside him, the second man is a little younger, with the same dark coloring and a more openly polished appearance. His suit is navy. His expression is easier. Business-minded, if I had to guess. Less force at the surface, more calculation underneath.
He steps forward first.
“Ms. Murray.” His smile is professional, and there’s a faint accent in his words. “Lorenzo Conti.”
I shake his hand. “Mr. Conti. Thank you for having us.”
“Lorenzo, please. Otherwise, this meeting will become impossible very quickly.”
That earns him a small smile from Ainsley.
He clocks it and turns the charm her way. “And you must be Ms. Torres.”
“Ainsley is fine.”
“Benjamin Harper,” Benjamin says, extending his hand.
“Mr. Harper.”
Then Lorenzo turns slightly, and the atmosphere in the room changes almost palpably.
“My brother,” he says. “Mario Conti.”
Mario steps forward.
