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Zaccheo levelled steely grey eyes on him, then his parents. ‘This is a private discussion. Leave us.’
Peter Fairfield’s laugh held incredulity, the last inch of champagne in his glass sloshing wildly as he raised his arm. ‘I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick there, mate. You’re the one who needs to take a walk.’
Eva caught Harry’s pained look at his father’s response, but could do nothing but watch, heart in her throat, as Zaccheo faced Peter Fairfield.
Again she was struck by how much his body had changed; how the sleek, layered muscle lent a deeper sense of danger. Whereas before it’d been like walking close to the edge of a cliff, looking into his eyes now was like staring into a deep, bottomless abyss.
‘Would you care to repeat that, il mio amico?’ The almost conversational tone belied the savage tension beneath the words.
‘Oscar, who is this?’ Peter Fairfield demanded of her father, who seemed to have lost the ability to speak after Zaccheo’s succinct taunt.
Eva inserted herself between the two men before the situation got out of hand. Behind her, heat from Zaccheo’s body burned every exposed inch of skin. Ignoring the sensation, she cleared her throat.
‘Mr and Mrs Fairfield, Harry, we’ll only be a few minutes. We’re just catching up with Mr Giordano.’ She glanced at her father. A vein throbbed in his temple and he’d gone a worrying shade of puce. Fear climbed into her heart. ‘Father?’
He roused himself and glanced around. A charming smile slid into place, but it was off by a light year. The trickle of ice that had drifted down her spine at Zaccheo’s unexpected arrival turned into a steady drip.
‘We’ll take this in my study. Don’t hesitate to let the staff know if you need anything.’ He strode away, followed by a disturbingly quiet Sophie.
Zaccheo’s gaze swung to Harry, who defiantly withstood the laser gaze for a few seconds before he glanced at her.
‘Are you sure?’ Harry asked, that touching concern again in his eyes.
Her instinct screamed a terrible foreboding, but she nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Okay. Hurry back, sweetness.’ Before she could move, he dropped a kiss on her mouth.
A barely audible lethal growl charged through the air.
Eva flinched.
She wanted to face Zaccheo. Demand that he crawl back behind the bars that should’ve been holding him. But that glimpse of fear in her father’s eyes stopped her. She tugged the wrap closer around her.
Something wasn’t right here. She was willing to bet the dilapidated ancestral pile beneath her feet that something was seriously, dangerously wrong—
‘Move, Eva.’
The cool command spoken against her ear sent shivers coursing through her.
She moved, only because the quicker she got to the bottom of why he was here, the quicker he would leave. But with each step his dark gaze probed her back, making the walk to her father’s study on the other side of the manor the longest in her life.
Zaccheo shut the door behind him. Her father turned from where he’d been gazing into the unlit fireplace. Again Eva spotted apprehension in his eyes before he masked it.
‘Whatever grievance you think you have the right to air, I suggest you rethink it, son. Even if this were the right time or place—’
‘I am not your son, Pennington.’ Zaccheo’s response held lethal bite, the first sign of his fury breaking through. ‘As for why I’m here, I have five thousand three hundred and twenty-two pieces of documentation that proves you colluded with various other individuals to pin a crime on me that I didn’t commit.’
‘What?’ Eva gasped, then the absurdity of the statement made her shake her head. ‘We don’t believe you.’
Zaccheo’s eyes remained on her father. ‘You may not, but your father does.’
Oscar Pennington laughed, but the sound lacked its usual boom and zest. When sweat broke out over his forehead, fear gripped Eva’s insides.
She steeled her spine. ‘Our lawyers will rip whatever evidence you think you have to shreds, I’m sure. If you’re here to seek some sort of closure, you picked the wrong time to do it. Perhaps we can arrange to meet you at some other time?’
Zaccheo didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Hands once again tucked behind his back, he simply watched her father, his body a coiled predator waiting to strike a fatal blow.
Silence stretched, throbbed with unbearable menace. Eva looked from her father to Sophie and back again, her dread escalating. ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded.
