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While Manuelnevershied away from tough conversations, in the end, he didn’t have the balls to tell his only child he’d bequeathed her to the son ofo diabo. That task was left to me.
I push aside the thoughts of ourarrangement, and distract myself with studying Daniela. It’s not too taxing.
Her dark hair is pinned neatly to the top of her head, exposing a smooth, elegant neck. Even in mourning she’s quite lovely, with all the polish one would expect of a princessgroomed to one day become queen.
I continue to watch, as she accepts each condolence with poise and grace. Those who pick the grapes are shown the same respect as those who own the valuable vineyards and port houses.She’s like her mother.
Someday she’ll be a useful asset to me—her kind heart the perfect complement to my black soul. Her soft center balancing my rough edges.Someday. But not today.
As Daniela waits for the line to move, she gazes toward the main entrance. When she does, the color drains from her face, and she shudders before exchanging a dire look with a woman standing a short distance away.
The older woman is as pale as Daniela.
Without turning my head, I glance at the entrance, expecting to find a demon lurking.
I find two.
My uncle Abel and his oldest son Tomas darken the arched doorway, casting an ominous shadow over the room. Unlike Daniela, I’m not surprised to see them. They’re here for show—to see, and to be seen—much the same reason I’m here.But I don’t like it.
Abel was my father’s younger brother, married to my mother’s younger sister, Vera. My father always had the upper hand in the relationship, but the brothers were mostly friendly competitors, often scheming against the other port houses.
My cousin Tomas and I, on the other hand, are fierce rivals who seldom exchange a civil word. It’s been like this since we were boys. But like my father, I, too, have always had the upper hand.
One day Tomas will take over my uncle’s entire port business, the legal and the illegal enterprises, and our rivalry will grow even more bitter. But with D’Sousa’s vineyards in my clutches, my power in the valley will be unassailable. For as long as I’m alive, my cousin will forever be second string.
I catch Cristiano’s eye from across the room. He nods. He saw Daniela’s reaction, too.
She’s afraid of them.
I want to know why.
3
Antonio
When I finally reach the front of the line, Daniela doesn’t pale, but she draws a heavy breath when she sees me and stands taller, with her shoulders pulled back and pupils dilated. If I held my fingers to her throat, her pulse would be racing. It’s a subconscious survival instinct, and I doubt she even realizes she slipped into battle mode.
“Bom dia,” she says so softly, her greeting is barely audible over the rustling in the room.
“Antonio Huntsman,” I murmur, taking her outstretched hand. The introduction is merely a formality. Everyone in the room knows who I am—including her. “It’s been a long time. Do you remember me?”
“Of course.” Her brow eases some. “Our mothers were friends.”
The best of friends, along with my aunt Vera. Of the three, only my mother is still alive—and that was purely luck.
“Your father was a great man,” I acknowledge, sincerely. “You were probably too young to know the details, but while I was away studying, your parents helped my mother. I’ll never forget the kindness they showed her. I know it wasn’t an easy time for them.”
A flicker of something—anguish, maybe—contorts her delicate features. It happens in a heartbeat, and for several seconds I observe carefully to see what else she’s hiding behind that stoic mask. But she shows me nothing more.
“My mother lives in London now,” I continue. “Otherwise, she would be here. She sends her condolences.”
“Thank you,” Daniela says, her voice just above a whisper. “How is she?”
“Happy. Very happy.”
Daniela’s face softens. “I haven’t seen her since—” She blinks a few times before continuing. “It seems like a lifetime ago.”
There’s a resigned wistfulness in her voice that seems out of place from someone so young.
