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More than that, Maceo had also discovered that Casa di Fiorenti, the confectionery empire his grandparents and parents had built thirty years ago, which he’d turned into a multi-billion-euro conglomerate, didn’t belong wholly and exclusively to him. That a slice—albeit a very small slice, which he probably wouldn’t miss if it broke off and fell into the Mediterranean Sea, but was nevertheless his by right—belonged to a faceless, grasping gold-digger, already sharpening her claws in anticipation of a hefty payday.
A woman named Faye Bishop.
Carlotta had kept tabs on her from afar over the years, and reached out in the past few months without much success.
And now Maceo was supposed to tolerate this woman for a stretch of time, fulfilling Carlotta’s last wish.
Anger intensified as he stalked into his private lift.
Faye Bishop had dangled a promise to his dying wife she’d had no intention of keeping. Yet she’d found the time to email his lawyers and accept their invitation to attend the will reading next week.
A dark anticipatory smile curved his lips as he stabbed the button for his office.
Faye Bishop might have succeeded in pulling the wool over Carlotta’s eyes.
Maceo would savour teaching her a lesson she would never forget.
* * *
Faye resisted the urge to glance at the sleek, near-silent clock, gracefully sweeping its way towards noon. For one thing, it would only confirm that just twenty seconds had passed since she last checked. For another, it wouldn’t dissipate the weird sensation of being watched.
Although, thinking about it, it wasn’t that strange. Every wall in the stunning conference room she sat in was made of smoky glass, in sharp contrast to the shiny clear surfaces of the vast table and chairs, the cabinets and the sci-fi-looking communication system poised in the middle of the table. The smoked glass was most likely a two-way mirror, allowing her to be gawped at and gossiped about without being any the wiser.
Besides feeling a world away from the remote Devon farm she’d travelled from yesterday, Faye knew her feeling of being a fish out of water extended beyond the sensation prickling her skin. After all, she’d put considerable effort into resembling a fish out of water. So, really, she couldn’t fault anyone for gawping. In fact...
She aimed a look at the centre of the widest glass wall and smiled.
Imagining she’d startled one or even several people with her you can’t intimidate me smile, she relaxed as a layer of tension eased away.
The bulk of her anxiety remained, though. It was a different sensation from that generated by the clutch of tabloid journalists downstairs, who’d pounced on her the moment she’d stepped out of the taxi, but just as unnerving.
More than once in the last hour she’d considered walking out.
If only she hadn’t answered her phone all those weeks ago. If only she hadn’t made Carlotta Caprio that promise. One she now felt obligated to keep after learning of the older woman’s death.
You don’t owe her or Luigi’s family anything. You should leave them in the past, where they belong.
Her smile died. It was too late. Luigi was gone, taking all Faye’s bewildered questions to his grave. And now his wife was dead too.
Really, she had no business being here, grasping at straws and hoping that maybe someone had answers for her—
Her thoughts stalled as the door to the conference room sprang open. Her notions of leaving evaporated, replaced by different questions as she froze.
Questions like what the identity of the man who’d entered was—because he looked nothing like a lawyer. Sure, he’d aced the ruthless cut-throat demeanour well enough to evoke images of sharpened blades and sharks’ teeth. But there was something else. Something barely contained, something electrifying that gripped her and tightened its hold as seconds ticked by.
Seconds during which she was aware she was gawping. With eyes wide and her mouth possibly hanging open. Seconds during which she couldn’t summon a single command her brain was willing to follow. Like blink. Swallow.
Slow down her runaway heartbeat.
The fact that this non-lawyer seemed equally fascinated with her was neither here nor there. Faye was aware that she attracted dumbfounded looks wherever she went. Partly because of her eclectic clothing. Possibly because of the profusion of hennaed flowers climbing up her right arm. But mostly because of the uniqueness of her hair.
She was pleased she resisted the sudden urge to reach up and smooth down the silver, lilac and purple tresses knotted haphazardly atop her head, especially when the stranger’s gaze rose to rest there.
What she wasn’t pleased about was her inability to look away. Her utter, almost helpless absorption with him. She shouldn’t, couldn’t be this affected.
Yes, he was indescribably handsome—enough to give every Roman god a run for his money and easily come out on top.
Yes, he commanded the very air around the room, as if harnessing it to power his godlike form and leaving none for mere mortals.
