“Dante, is it true all Russos get married at the family estate in Lake Como? I hear renovations will be finished by next summer before the wedding.”
My smile vanished as my muscles tightened at the reminder.
I turned away from Vivian to face Cecelia’s eager expression.
“Yes,” I said, my tone clipped. “All Russo weddings have taken place at Villa Serafina since the eighteenth century.”
My many-times great grandfather had built the villa and named it after his wife. My family could trace its roots to Sicily, but they later migrated to Venice and built a fortune trading luxury textiles. By the time the Venice trading boom ended, they’d diversified enough to hold onto their riches, which they used to acquire property throughout Europe.
Now, centuries later, my modern relatives were scattered across the world—New York, Rome, Switzerland, Paris—but Villa Serafina remained the most beloved of all the family estates. I would rather drown myself in the Mediterranean than tarnish it with a farce of a wedding.
My anger came roaring back.
“Wonderful!” Cecelia beamed. “Oh, I’m so thrilled you’ll be part of the family soon. You and Vivian are a perfect match. You know, she speaks six languages, plays the piano and violin, and—”
“Excuse me.” I pushed my chair back, cutting Cecelia off mid-sentence. The legs scraped against the floor with a satisfyingly harsh screech. “Nature calls.”
Silence thudded in the wake of my shocking rudeness.
I didn’t wait for anyone to speak before I walked out and left a fuming Francis, flustered Cecelia, and red-faced Vivian in the dining room.
My anger remained a restless burn beneath my skin, but it cooled with each step farther away from them.
In the past, I’d exacted retribution on those who crossed me immediately. Fuck revenge being a dish best served cold; my motto has always been strike fast, strike hard, and strike true.
The world moved too quickly for me not to move along with it. I took care of the problem harshly enough to ensure there wouldn’t be any future problems, and I moved on.
Resolving the Lau situation, on the other hand, required patience. It was a virtue I wasn’t familiar with, and it stretched tight over me like an ill-fitting suit.
The echo of my footsteps faded as marble floors gave way to carpet. I’d visited enough mansions with similar layouts to guess where the restroom was, but I bypassed it in favor of the solid mahogany door at the end of the hall.
A twist of the knob revealed an office styled after an English library. Wood paneling, overstuffed leather furniture, forest green accents.
Francis’s inner sanctum.
At least it wasn’t overly festooned with gold like the rest of the house. My eyes were starting to bleed from the eyesore.
I left the door open and walked to the desk, my pace unhurried. If Francis had a problem with me snooping through his office, he was welcome to confront me.
He wasn’t stupid enough to leave the photos lying around behind an unlocked door when he knew I’d be here tonight. Even if the photos were here, he’d have backups stashed elsewhere.
I settled into his chair, plucked a Cuban cigar from the box in his drawer, and lit it while I examined the room. My anger gave way to calculation.
The dark computer screen tempted me, but I left the hacking to Christian, who was already tracking down digital copies of the photos.
I moved on to a framed picture of Francis and his family in the Hamptons. Research told me they had a summer house in Bridgehampton, and I’d bet my newly acquired Renoir he kept at least one set of evidence there.
Where else…
“What are you doing?”
The smoke from my cigar obscured Vivian’s face, but her disapproval came through loud and clear.
That was fast. I’d expected at least five more minutes before her parents forced her to come after me.
“Enjoying a smoke break.” I took another lazy drag.
I didn’t touch cigarettes, but I indulged in the occasional Cohiba. At least Francis had good taste in tobacco.
“In my father’s office?”
“Obviously.” Dark satisfaction filled my chest when the smoke dissolved to reveal Vivian’s frown.
Finally. Some visible emotion.
I’d started to think I was stuck with a robot for the remainder of our ridiculous engagement.
She crossed the room, plucked the cigar from my hand, and dropped it in the half-empty glass of water on the desk without taking her eyes off mine.
“I understand you’re probably used to doing whatever you want, but it’s exceedingly rude to sneak off during a dinner party and smoke in your host’s office.” Tension lined her elegant features. “Please rejoin us in the dining room. Your food is getting cold.”
“That’s my problem, not yours.” I leaned back. “Why don’t you join me for a break? I promise it’ll be more enjoyable than your mother’s hand wringing over floral arrangements.”
“Based on our interactions so far, I doubt it,” she snapped.
I watched, amused, as she took a deep breath and released it in one long, controlled exhale.
“I don’t understand why you’re here,” Vivian said, her voice calmer. You’re clearly unhappy about the arrangement, you don’t need the money or connection with my family, and you can have any woman you want.”
“Can I?” I drawled. “What if I want you?”
Her fingers curled into loose fists. “You don’t.”
“You give yourself too little credit.” I rose and circled the desk until I stood close enough to see the pulse fluttering in her neck. How much faster would it beat if I wrapped her hair around my fist and pulled her head back? If I kissed her until her mouth bruised and hiked up her skirt until she begged me to fuck her?
Heat ran to my groin.
I wasn’t interested in actually fucking her, but she was so prim and proper she begged for corruption.
The silence was deafening as I lifted my hand and grazed my thumb over her bottom lip. Vivian’s breathing shallowed, but she didn’t move away.
She stared at me, eyes full of defiance as I took my time exploring the lush curve of her mouth. It was full, soft, and disturbingly tempting compared to the stiff formality of the rest of her appearance.
“You’re a beautiful woman,” I said lazily. “Perhaps I saw you at an event and was so enamored I asked your father for your hand in marriage.”
“Somehow, I doubt that’s what happened.” Her breath drifted over my skin. “What kind of deal did you make with my father?”
The reminder of the deal killed the sensuality of the moment as quickly as it came.
My thumb paused on the center of her bottom lip before I dropped my hand with a silent curse. My skin tingled with heat from the memory of her softness.
I hated Francis for the blackmail, but I loathed Vivian for being his pawn. So what the fuck was I doing, toying with her in his office?
“You should ask your dear father that question.” My smile cut across my face, cruel and devoid of humor as I regathered my composure. “The details don’t matter. Just know that if I had any other choice, I damn well wouldn’t be getting married. But business is business, and you…” I shrugged. “You’re simply part of the deal.”