Chapter 15 - The Boss's Wife
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One year later, the executive boardroom on the sixty-fourth floor of the Cavallo Tower bustled with high-stakes energy.
Twenty senior executives, corporate lawyers, and harbor directors sat around the immense glass conference table.
At the head of the table sat Arabella Crawford-Cavallo, dressed in a sharp, tailored navy pantsuit, a platinum wedding band gleaming on her finger.
Her hair fell in polished, glossy waves over her shoulders, and her hazel eyes commanded the room with effortless poise and authority.
“The environmental permits for the new electric crane systems at Red Hook have been approved by the city council,” she stated, closing a leather-bound folder.
“We begin phase one of construction on Monday morning.”
“Any objections from the logistics board?”
The room full of seasoned corporate veterans shook their heads in unanimous agreement.
“Excellent. Meeting adjourned, gentlemen.”
The executives gathered their tablets and files, filing out of the boardroom with respectful nods toward the chairwoman.
As the heavy frosted glass doors clicked shut, a pair of strong, familiar arms wrapped around Arabella’s waist from behind.
Vincent buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of vanilla and amber perfume.
“You are entirely too intimidating in these meetings, Mrs. Cavallo,” he murmured against her skin, his lips pressing a warm kiss behind her ear.
Arabella leaned back against his chest with a soft laugh, resting her hands over his forearms.
“Someone has to keep these men in line, Vincent.”
“If I let you handle the negotiations, you would have threatened to throw the harbor commissioner into the Hudson River.”
Vincent smiled, turning her around in his embrace so she was pinned comfortably against the edge of the conference table.
He looked magnificent in his bespoke navy suit, completely detached from the underworld violence that had once consumed his youth.
His face was unlined, his dark eyes bright and filled with a peace nobody had ever thought possible for Vincent Cavallo.
“I wouldn't have thrown him in the river,” Vincent argued with a mock-serious expression.
“I would have merely suggested that swimming in November is bad for his arthritis.”
“You are impossible, Mr. Cavallo,” Arabella teased, echoing the exact words she had said to him hundreds of times across six long years.
“And yet you married me, Arabella.”
“Someone had to keep you functioning.”
Vincent chuckled, reaching into his inner jacket pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper.
He unfolded it and held it out for her to see.
It was his printed daily schedule for tomorrow.
Across the morning block, between eight and ten o’clock, someone had written a handwritten note in dark ink.
It read: Private breakfast with my wife. Do not disturb under penalty of death.
Arabella smiled up at him, her heart swelling with an abundance of warmth and love.
“Is that a direct order from the boss?” she asked, tracing the line of his strong jaw with her fingertip.
Vincent looked down at her with all the devotion, passion, and reverence a man could hold for a woman.
He leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, sweet kiss that made the entire city of New York outside the window disappear into irrelevance.
When he finally pulled back, he smiled, resting his forehead gently against hers.
“You know better than anyone, Bella,” Vincent whispered with a tender, triumphant smile.
May you like
“You’re the one who runs this city.”
“And I am just the man lucky enough to love you.”
