Chapter 6 - Adrian Moretti’s Second Bet
Three months later, I was standing in the same ballroom.
But this time, nobody was laughing.
My floral company had been hired to redesign the entire estate for a charity gala benefiting families of fallen first responders.
My company.
Not the shop where I'd worked for barely above minimum wage.
Mine.
Daniel helped me secure a small greenhouse outside the city.
Adrian provided no money.
That had been my condition.
“You don't buy my future.”
He'd answered, “Understood.”
He did, however, send business.
An unreasonable amount of business.
I found him near the head table inspecting white roses.
“You ordered four hundred centerpieces last month.”
“They were necessary.”
“For three restaurants?”
“They looked empty.”
“You own seventeen restaurants.”
His expression remained perfectly serious.
“I was pacing myself.”
I laughed.
“You're terrible at subtlety.”
“So I've been told.”
Marcus approached.
“Boss, everyone is waiting.”
“For what?”
Marcus looked at me.
“The rematch.”
I stared at Adrian.
“You didn't.”
Adrian looked innocent.
“I have no idea what he's talking about.”
Marcus pointed toward the terrace.
A digital target system had been installed.
Daniel stood beside it smiling.
“You're involved too?”
“Absolutely.”
I shook my head.
“This family is insane.”
Adrian raised an eyebrow.
“Family?”
I realized what I'd said.
Marcus immediately disappeared.
Coward.
Adrian stepped closer.
“You called us family.”
“Don't make it weird.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“You're making it weird right now.”
He smiled.
Outside, guests gathered around the range.
This time there was no humiliation.
No punishment.
No kneeling.
Just laughter.
Marcus handed me protective glasses.
“Five rounds.”
“Scared?”
“Terrified.”
Daniel called out, “Remember your breathing.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I remember.”
Marcus shot first.
Excellent grouping.
The crowd applauded.
Then I stepped forward.
Five shots.
The target returned.
Marcus stared.
“Oh, come on.”
Daniel burst out laughing.
I had beaten him again.
Adrian walked over holding two champagne glasses.
“You know, this is becoming expensive.”
“How?”
“Marcus keeps demanding raises.”
“He deserves one.”
“Traitor.”
He handed me a glass.
Then he said, “One more bet.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Your bets have a terrible history.”
“This one's different.”
“What are the stakes?”
“Dinner.”
I blinked.
“Dinner?”
“With me.”
“And if I lose?”
“You have dinner with me.”
“And if I win?”
“You have dinner with me.”
“That isn't a bet.”
“It's efficient negotiation.”
I laughed.
“You're unbelievable.”
“Is that a yes?”
I looked across the terrace.
My father was alive.
My business was thriving.
Whitman and Victor were awaiting trial.
Marcus was complaining about losing again.
And Adrian Moretti was standing in front of me looking strangely nervous.
The most feared man in the room was nervous asking a florist to dinner.
I liked that more than I should have.
“Friday.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Seven?”
“Eight.”
“Seven-thirty.”
I smiled.
May you like
“Deal.”
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