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Or, she’ll seduce one of my brothers—probably fuckboy Mario—then take the six mil and screw the marriage.
She won’t leave before then. No, she’s too tenacious to do something like that, I’m sure of it.
My grandfather was a crazy old man. He had ferrets for pets that had free rein over his house, drove nothing but antique Cadillacs, and smoked hundred-dollar Cubans over breakfast with Limoncello chasers. No love was lost between him and my grandmother, and we all knew it. She came to live with us long before he died, though he visited often. When I grew to adulthood, I wondered if it had more to do with needling my father than anything. My grandfather had a nasty streak, and my father brought out the worst in him.
Who is this woman? That question above all needs to be answered. I don’t know why she’s here. And why the fuck was she at that bar last night?
I don’t touch her as I bring her to her room. I haven’t decided if she’s here to blackmail me, but I want it clear, I won’t take that lying down. Is she really as innocent as she appears?
I doubt it.
She walks beside me, her face set in anger. It doesn’t lessen her beauty at all. If anything, it enhances it.
“You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” I say, feeling my lips curl in amusement. She’s like a feisty little kitten with needle-sharp teeth. I could curl her in the palm of my hand to subdue her, and she’d purr for me.
And as we walk, I start to think for once not about her choices… but mine.
“Humor me,” I say as we walk up the circular staircase that leads to the second floor. “Tell me everything. Where you came from. Why you’re here. What you hope to accomplish.”
“No.”
I’m so surprised by her patent refusal that I don’t respond at first.
No one tells me no, but she doesn’t know that yet. She’ll learn it, though.
I shake my head but don’t respond. A response like that will earn her punishment, but we’re too new. If I’m going to make this woman my wife, she’ll learn soon enough.
So I try another tack.
“If you don’t tell me everything, I’ll be forced to make assumptions, Vittoria, and believe me when I tell you, my assumptions won’t be in your favor.”
“Is that a threat?” she spits out.
I don’t respond. She really doesn’t know who I am. From the moment I was born, to the very first nanny that wiped my ass and fed me, everyone has known who I am, where I come from, known my family’s wealth and power.
And now this woman... she actually doesn’t? Our first interaction was her seeing me kill a man that threatened her. I have no idea how she feels about that. Is she scared? Does she think me only a ruthless murderer?
Why do I care what she thinks about me at all?
She gives me a haughty shrug. “I didn’t choose to come here.”
“Lie. Careful, bella. Lies will earn you punishment. No one brought you here in chains, though I’ll admit the concept intrigues me.” Chains and cuffs, her naked and under my command… Yeah. Yeah, I like that.
A slight rise of her brows shows me she heard that. Felt it, maybe.
She shakes her head. “I have no interest in divulging anything about myself to you.”
“So you’ll live under my roof and take advantage of my family’s hospitality, but you won’t tell me a thing about yourself? Excellent. I’ll have my men find everything out anyway.”
Yet another really well-thought-out threat. Any other woman who dared talk to me this way would’ve been over my knee by now, but no one’s ever had the audacity. I still can’t believe the nerve she has. I don’t allow anyone to speak to me this way, and she’ll learn soon that I won’t tolerate it.
At the second floor, she still doesn’t speak as we walk down the hall to her room. I don’t know why she unnerves me. I’m not used to women treating me this way. I’m not used to anyone treating me this way.
This one’s special.
I show her to a guest room, one that my mother renovated. With the pointed arched doorways, renovated fireplace, stained glass accent windows and wooden ceiling beams, the Gothic appeal of this room often wows our visitors.
“It’s a beautiful room,” I say, hands in my pockets. I try to soften my tone.
She merely narrows her eyes. She doesn’t trust flirtation. I stifle a chuckle.
Vittoria walks past me and looks around, her eyes wide with surprise. “This is your guest room?”
I nod and glance at the time on my watch. “It is. You’ll stay here for the remainder of your visit.”
“Thank you.” She sighs. “Much appreciated, Mr. Rossi. You may leave now,” she says, as if dismissing me.
