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Her beauty is raw, unadorned, and without pretense. Every emotion is readable in her vibrant green eyes, on her lush, pink lips, and in the tilt of her head. Her body language is my mother tongue.
Right now, she’s thinking that she would like me naked.
“Brooding,” she says.
My brows pull together. “That’s not what I expected.”
“Where do you want to hang your portrait?”
“My office.”
“Then it makes sense for you to look powerful and in control.” She raises her phone and snaps a picture. “Go on, brood.”
“Like this?” My gaze lingers on the swell of her breasts.
She takes another picture, glances at the screen of her device and expands it with her fingers. “Concentrate. Those are bedroom eyes.”
I bow my head, close my eyes, and remind myself that the woman standing in front of me is the daughter of my enemy. Her father didn’t just steal from us, but I’m sure he was responsible for Dad’s death. I only got framed for murder when I started talking about an autopsy.
But does Emberly deserve to die? I can’t have her running to a judge accusing me of fraud, and I also can’t have her crying foul to her distant cousins, the Galliano brothers.
The cleanest way to deal with her is through a bullet to the head.
“Okay,” she says, “Open your eyes.”
I stare into green eyes I should despise and see a woman who is nothing like Capello. But it doesn’t matter how much I like her. Emberly Kay must die.
She snaps a picture. “That’s perfect.”
I give her a sharp nod. “We’re holding a party tonight, and I want you to come as my date.”
“I thought you’d have women lined up from the club,” she says, her voice laden with accusation.
It takes half a second to realize that her little roommate might have poured poison in Emberly’s ear about where I was last night. The blonde had walked over, intending to speak to me until I sent Gil to intercept her. Gil’s a great guy. Any woman would be lucky to attract him, but it has to stick in the blonde’s craw that her less conventional friend got this luxurious set up with the mafia boss.
I shake my head. “I was at the club to meet a male business associate.”
When she disappears behind the canvas with a huff, I smile. “Nobody compares to you, baby. Are you going to be my date tonight, or do I need to pluck some random bimbo from the club?”
“Fine,” she replies, sounding like she’s under duress. “I’ll be there.”
I lean back, my pulse thrumming with satisfaction. Getting the first signature will be easy, considering I’ve commissioned a portrait, but I already have a plan to get Emberly to sign the bogus contracts.
TWENTY-EIGHT
EMBERLY
I spend the rest of the afternoon sketching Roman’s portrait, making sure to capture the powerful lines of his posture and the intensity of his stare. The more time I spend with him, the more I’m entranced by his personality.
He’s an enigma. I wasn’t joking when I called him multi-layered. Sometimes, he’s playful, other times, he takes control. Then there’s the gentle side of him that tended to my neck wounds and held me while I cried. Roman is a man with compassion, but he’s also ruthlessly cruel.
Watching him pistol whip Dominic had been satisfying. My adrenaline had been high, and I was relieved to have such a powerful protector. But seeing him fill his unmoving body with bullets leaves me undecided.
The first thing I paint are his eyes. Up close, they’re not just ebony but a deep brown with tiny flecks of gold encircled with black. They’re shadowed by a masculine brow that makes them appear much darker.
I’m so engrossed in the portrait that I don’t even notice when a pair of large hands wrap around my waist.
“You’re progressing nicely,” he murmurs, his voice breathy with awe. “I didn’t realize you were so multi-talented.”
