Page 134 of Brutal Heir

And I hated every minute of it.

Not because I regretted bringing her to Italy, but because I found myself not wanting to share her.

I lacked control, and that didn’t sit well with me.

On more than one occasion, I’d seriously considered simply locking her in the palazzo.

I wanted her light to shine for me and me alone.

The log cracked and popped, drawing my attention back to the flames.

My thoughts had veered in a dangerous direction. They held a warmth of feeling that would make what I had planned more difficult.

Now was not the time to suddenly grow a heart. There was no room for sentimentality in business, especially not a business as ruthless and complicated as mine.

All my attention needed to be on the events of this evening—not on the feel of Sabrina’s skin against my palm or the adorable sound of her moans.

Tonight, I would escort Sabrina to the Teatro dell'Opera di Roma for a performance of Giuseppe Verdi’s Rigoletto. The tragic opera of a hunchbacked court jester attempting to protect his innocent daughter from a corrupt duke’s seduction seemed almost obscenely fitting for what I had planned.

Beforehand, we would attend a small party for the affluent citizens of Rome who supported the opera.

Her father would be in attendance.

The difficulty would be in making sure he recognized Sabrina, who, rather helpfully, closely resembled her mother, without giving him the slightest access to her.

If he wanted to know the truth about his unknown daughter, he would have to come to me.

The mantel clock chimed seven.

After tossing the remains of my cigar into the fire, I buttoned my tuxedo jacket and moved into the central hallway.

The top of the grand marble staircase stood…empty.

Sabrina was not there.

I knew my car had brought her home two hours previously. My staff kept tabs on her for security reasons, and I could also track her through the phone I’d given her.

I scraped the sole of my shoe against the first step. I would drag her out of her bedroom if necessary.

Then, out of the shadows of the upper level, she appeared on the landing.

She wore a flowing winter-white gown, embellished with real diamonds and pearls across the high-necked bodice. Her glossy black hair hung in loose waves over her shoulders, adding to her innocent appeal. She was the very vision of a young bride. Precisely my intention.

She placed one pale hand on the banister and slowly made her way down the stairs toward me.

“Am I late?” she asked softly, her sweet, heart-shaped face turned up to me.

Her makeup couldn’t completely hide the evidence of earlier tears—tears I’d caused.

They weren’t the first and wouldn’t be the last.

I smiled. “Right on time.”

I slipped my hand inside my jacket pocket and pulled out a signature black velvet and gold-trimmed Diamanti jewel box. “A gift.”

“I don’t think that would be appropriate, since this is a business function.”

Sweetly stubborn.