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Zaccheo swallowed the savage growl that rumbled from his soul. Icily calm, he flicked through pages of Pennington celebrating his revived success with galas, lavish dinner parties and polo tournaments thrown about like confetti. One picture showed him laughing with one of his two children.
Sophie Pennington. Private education all the way to finishing school. Classically beautiful. Ball-breaker. She’d proven beyond a doubt that she had every intention of becoming Oscar’s carbon copy.
Grimly, he closed her file and moved to the last one.
Eva Pennington.
This time the growl couldn’t be contained. Nor could he stem the renewed shaking in his hand as he clicked her file.
Caramel-blonde hair tumbled down her shoulders in thick, wild waves. Dark eyebrows and lashes framed moss-green eyes, accentuated dramatically with black eyeliner. Those eyes had gripped his attention with more force than he’d been comfortable with the first time he’d looked into them. As had the full, bow-shaped lips currently curved in a smouldering smile. His screen displayed a head-and-shoulders shot, but the rest of Eva Pennington’s body was imprinted indelibly on Zaccheo’s mind. He didn’t struggle to recall the petite, curvy shape, or that she forced herself to wear heels even though she hated them, in order to make herself taller.
He certainly didn’t struggle to recall her individual atrocity. He’d lain in his prison bed condemning himself for being astounded by her singular betrayal, when the failings of both his parents and his dealings with the establishment should’ve taught him better. He’d prided himself on reading between the lines to spot schemers and gold-diggers ten miles away. Yet he’d been fooled.
The time he’d wasted on useless bitterness was the most excruciating of all; time he would gladly claw back if he could.
Firming his lips, he clicked through the pages, running through her life for the past year and a half. At the final page, he froze.
‘How new is this last information?’
‘I added that to the file yesterday. I thought you’d want to know,’ Romeo replied.
Zaccheo stared at the newspaper clipping, shock waves rolling through him. ‘Sì, grazie...’
‘Do you wish to return to the Esher estate or the penthouse?’ Romeo asked.
Zaccheo read the announcement again, taking in pertinent details. Pennington Manor. Eight o’clock. Three hundred guests. Followed by an intimate family dinner on Sunday at The Spire.
The Spire...the building that should’ve been Zaccheo’s greatest achievement.
‘The estate,’ he replied. It was closer.
He closed the file as Romeo instructed the driver.
Relaxing against the headrest, Zaccheo tried to let the hum of the engine soothe him. But it was no use. He was far from calm.
He’d have to alter his plan. Not that it mattered too much in the long run.
A chain is only as strong as its weakest link. While all three Penningtons had colluded in his incarceration, this new information demanded he use a different tactic, one he’d first contemplated and abandoned. Either way, Zaccheo didn’t plan to rest until all of them were stripped of what they cherished most—their wealth and affluence.
He’d intended to wait a day or two to ensure he had Oscar Pennington where he wanted him before he struck. That plan was no longer viable.
Bringing down the family who’d framed him for criminal negligence couldn’t wait till Monday.
His first order of business would be tackled tonight.
Starting with the youngest member of the family—Eva Pennington.
His ex-fiancée.
* * *
Eva Pennington stared at the dress in her sister’s hand. ‘Seriously? There’s no way I’m wearing that. Why didn’t you tell me the clothes I left behind had been given away?’
‘Because you said you didn’t want them when you moved out. Besides, they were old and out of fashion. I had this couriered from New York this morning. It’s the latest couture and on loan to us for twenty-four hours,’ Sophie replied.
Eva pursed her lips. ‘I don’t care if it was woven by ten thousand silk worms. I’m not wearing a dress that makes me look like a gold-digger and a slut. And considering the state of our finances, I’d have thought you’d be more careful what you splashed money on.’ She couldn’t stem her bewilderment as to why Sophie and her father blithely ignored the fact that money was extremely tight.
Sophie huffed. ‘This is a one-of-a-kind dress, and, unless I’m mistaken, it’s the kind of dress your future husband likes his women to wear. Anyway, you’ll be out of it in less than four hours, once the right photographs have been taken, and the party’s over.’
