finger at him, she shook her head. "You aren't allowed to come into my house and talk to me like I'm a five year old who can't take care of herself."
"I can when you've been acting like a child." He swirled the ice in the glass. "And this is my house, actually. I'm renting it for you."
Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she glared at him. "Next you'll tell me you're cutting me off from my own money."
"If that's what it takes to get you back on track."
She gasped. "You bastard."
Exhaling, he rubbed his eyes, as though he were exhausted. "Daniela, don't act like I'm the bad guy here. I just want what's best for you."
"You have no idea what's best for me."
"I know that a soup kitchen isn't it." He crossed his arms. "Ever since you moved to San Francisco, you've run unchecked. I've come here to get you back on path."
"I think I can manage my life without your help."
"That's not the impression I get. As far as I can tell, you're determined to destroy everything we've worked so hard to build."
"I didn't realize you were in the kitchen, slaving over the hot oven with me."
"That's not the point, Daniela, and you know it."
His tone was harsh and hurt. She blinked back sudden tears, trying not to remember how he used to call her Dani. She cleared the nostalgia from her throat. "What is the point?"
"You have to accept the Food Network deal." He leaned forward, every bit the aggressive businessman his clients paid a fortune for. "It's unprecedented. It'll make you set for life. Then if you want to fritter your life away—"
"I'm frittering my life away now," she cried.
"Stop being so melodramatic." He set the glass down and reached for the briefcase next to him. "I brought the paperwork for the network—"
She crossed her arms. "I'm not signing anything."
"As your representative—"
"You're fired."
That stopped him cold. Then he shook his head and spoke to her in that paternal tone that made her want to throw something at his head. "Stop acting like a child, Daniela."
"I'm not acting like anything. I'm dead serious. I don't want you to represent me anymore."
"Who are you going to get then?" he asked, his voice rising.
"No one. I don't want to be a TV star. I just love to bake."
"Are you going through an early midlife crisis?"
She narrowed her eyes. "If you ask me if I'm PMS'ing, I'll throw something at you. Something heavy. Like the bookend you got me for Christmas last year. Or maybe the ugly vase my birthday flowers came in. Remember that one?"
He shook his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"No kidding, because you didn't even order the flowers yourself," she yelled. "Somewhere along the way you stopped being my brother and just became management. Well, I'm done with management. I'd like my brother back."
"Daniela, you're being nonsensical."
"Antonio, you're being an idiot." With one last glare at him, she stormed out.
She heard his heavy footsteps come after her. "Where are you going?" he demanded.
"Out."
"Are you going through some sort of belated rebellious period? Because you hiding things is growing old."
"I'm not hiding anything," she lied, thinking of Nico.
"What about the man you're seeing? Assuming that's why you're going out dressed like that."
Whirling around, she glared at him with her hands on her hips. How had he known? Was Marley spying on her? "Be careful."
He glared right back. "You're the one who needs to be careful. You look like—"
"Like what?"
"Like a harlot."
She burst out laughing. "Harlot? Have you been reading Chaucer?"
"I'm glad you think it's funny." Anger made his features harsh. "You know Nonna is probably turning over in her grave over how you look."
"Nonna would be the first one to cheer me on." She would too. She'd have said Brava, Daniela! and told her to feed Nico tiramisu. Nonna thought tiramisu was a great aphrodisiac. "I know exactly what's going on here, and it's not going to work, so knock it off."
"Who's the guy?" her brother persisted.
"None of your business." She lifted her chin.
"It's absolutely my business. I'm your brother."
Daniela snorted.
"What does that mean?"
"If you don't know, why don't you have your secretary clue you in? Or maybe Marley, since you're using her as your mole these days." She strode to the door, yanked it open, and walked outside.
She was still flushed and fuming when her cab pulled up to the opera house. Not even seeing Nico leaning against the façade in front cooled her