Page 33 of The Hunter's Empire

"Longer."

I glance toward him. "Why?"

Domenico studies me briefly before answering. "Because I prefer knowing exactly who may eventually become my enemy."

The statement hangs between us heavily. Then, as if the thought occurred naturally, he asks, "Does your fiancé know you are here alone tonight?"

I look at him sharply. "That’s not your concern."

"Mm." He leans casually against the edge of the desk. "So he doesn’t."

"Sebastian and I have an arrangement."

"An arranged marriage built on business." His mouth curves slightly. "How beautifully romantic."

I narrow my eyes. "You seem unusually interested in my relationship."

"I am interested in leverage." His gaze sharpens slightly. "And in understanding how far someone is willing to go for power."

There it is again. That deliberate pressure. The constant psychological probing beneath every conversation.

"You enjoy trying to dissect people." I say.

"Maybe."

"And do you believe you have me figured out already?"

"No." Domenico says softly. "That is why I keep looking."

The honesty in the answer unsettles me more than arrogance would have.

I step closer to the screens, forcing my attention back onto the information in front of me. Then my eyes catch something familiar buried inside one of the shipping maps.

Eastern routes. A hidden deviation point near the Irish coast. Interesting.

I glance toward him slowly. "The Keegans’ eastern shipping corridor."

For the first time since arriving, Domenico’s expression changes completely. Subtle surprise.

"They think it is invisible." I continue calmly. "But the route bends too far north before rerouting back through customs. Which means they are hiding transfers somewhere offshore."

Domenico smiles slowly. I hate how much I like seeing that look on him.

"You noticed that quickly."

"You left it visible."

"I wanted to see if you were intelligent enough to catch it."

"And?"

His eyes hold mine. "You continue to exceed expectations."

The next few hours blur into strategy and arguments. Domenico pushes constantly, testing my patience, my intelligence, my limits. I push back every time, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me rattled. And somehow, that only seems to make him more interested.

By the time the conversation finally slows, the sky outside has turned completely black.

Domenico leans back in his chair, studying me with unsettling focus. "I will take the job." Relief almost surfaces before he continues. "But I have one condition."