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“Really?”
His tone is smug. So smug I’d like to slap him across the face hard enough to make my palm sting.
“What does she need? Someone to water the flowers around her grave?”
He knows she’s dead.Why would he bother with my relatives? Why?
I lower my eyes, giving myself a few seconds to regroup.
3
Daniela
If he knows about my great-aunt, what else does he know?
I imagine him digging into the past, unearthing secrets meant to remain buried forever.
I’m so worked up I can’t think straight, and a few measly seconds isn’t enough to clear my head.
It doesn’t matter who buys the property.But it does. No, it doesn’t. Not anymore. You’re out of options. He knows the deal is almost done, and he’s not going to allow the sale unless it’s to him. Remember who you left back in the US. That’s your only concern now.
“I’ve entered into a sales agreement with a buyer,” I blurt when the voices arguing inside my head become too much. “We’ve been working on the sale for several years, but I’m willing to sell you the vineyards, if you can persuade the buyer to let me out of the contract.”
I despise myself right now. My cowardice. My unwillingness to fight for something that rightfully belongs to me. But I hate him even more. I hate him with every fiber of my being.
“The employees need to be treated fairly,” I add, modulating my voice to hide how much I loathe him. “A strong severance package, or better, they’ll be allowed to keep their jobs. The contract I came to sign protects everyone who works at Quinta Rosa do Vale. That’s all I care about.”
“That’s all you care about? You don’t care if I torch the house you grew up in, or the vineyards your family nurtured for generations? The vineyards that provide grapes to make the Port that keeps the entire region afloat? And you don’t care about money for yourself? Is that right?”
What a prick.
But I can deal with it. My new life has made me stronger and, to some extent, tougher. It’s taught me how much the human spirit can bend to survive. The universe already taught me that lesson once, but I was too young to grasp it fully at the time. Now I could write a thesis on it.
I’m a survivor. Plain and simple. Antonio Huntsman’s bullying doesn’t even nick the surface.
It takes some doing, but I gather the courage to respond.
“I can live without your money. And the region will manage without Quinta Rosa do Vale’s grapes. But if you want to burn the property to the ground, be my guest. I’m not going to stop you. To be clear, I’d rather see it in a mountain of ashes than with your family.”
His closely groomed beard doesn’t hide the tic in his jaw.
“Tough words from a woman confined to the four corners of this room. If I were you, I’d be pleading for mercy instead of trying to piss me off.”
In the US, I’m a woman struggling to make ends meet, like so many others. There’s nothing unique about me. But here, I’m still a D’Sousa. And I’ll be damned before I beg a Huntsman for anything.
“You’re going to do what you want to do,” I reply coolly. “You’re going to take what you want to take. Pleading for mercy doesn’t work with men like you.”I’ve seen it firsthand.“I’m not getting on my knees for the likes of you.”
He crosses his arms over his broad chest and sits back. But his scowl doesn’t recede.
“Work it out with the buyer. I’ll sign whatever you want,” I assure him, standing. “But I’ve got a plane to catch, so if you’ll excuse me.”
“Sit down,” he growls. “We’re done when I say we’re done. Not one second sooner.”
His voice is low, laced with simmering rage.
I don’t sit. Not because I want to challenge him—although I do—but my better sense tells me he’s too angry to push any further. I don’t sit because the stress and the jet lag are catching up with me. My body feels like it’s running seconds behind my brain.
“You will sit in that chair by your own accord, or with my assistance, but you will do it.”
