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My mind raced with possibilities. I’d never met this man, but that was hardly surprising. My gut told me this was the powerful backer Sofia had mentioned, although I had no idea where that fit in with Rocco. This man was in another league, the demonstration of which had just been removed and three people were cleaning up after the mess.
“But come, we don’t dock for another thirty minutes.” He stood and walked over to a small bar. “What will you drink?”
“I’m not thirsty,” I whispered. I was valiantly trying to hold onto my stomach contents.
His cold eyes settled on mine. “That wasn’t the question.” The threat was apparent. “I think you’re a white wine sort of person?”
I nodded. I wasn’t but I really didn’t care. But the wine was less potent than whatever he had, I was sure. He clasped a bottle and picked up a crystal wine glass. “I have this chilled, but if you don’t like it, there are plenty more.”
I didn’t have an answer to that, as he turned and walked back, passing me the glass. I shivered as the air conditioning blew over my cold skin, but there wasn’t so much as a cushion I could hide behind.
He pressed a button and gave an order to warm the cabin. I wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or alarmed. He chinked glasses with me. “This is one of my own wines.”
I took a sip, both simply to have something to do, and because I didn’t want to give him any more reasons to hit me. I barely wet my lips and he eyed me closely. “What do you think? It’s quite tart, but perhaps you wish for something sweeter like you.”
I clasped the stem tighter. “It’s fine.” I muttered, but I flinched as he swooped down and took the glass out of my hand. He stood, tutting, and went back to the bar.
“Do not lie to me. That is your last warning,” he said while he had his back to me. I swallowed down my fear while he wasn’t looking, but a few seconds later he pressed a different glass in my hand. “This is milder. Take a small amount and let it sit on your tongue for a few seconds before swallowing.” Because I was trying not to panic, I obeyed him. He’d said thirty minutes until the boat docked. I could last for thirty minutes.
“And again,” he ordered, so I took another swallow. It wasn’t bad. Which was a completely insane thought. I was about to have to run for my life when I got my brother, and here I was critiquing wine choices.
“No,” he said and took the glass from me. “Let me see.” He went to the bar and brought back a flute of what looked like champagne. “Perhaps this?” He stood over me while I took another swallow. "This is from our jewel in the Franciacorta region."
And then the accent hit me. I was so used to it, I hadn't even registered it, but I knew—I couldn't remember how—that the Franciacorta region was a small champagne-producing area ofItaly. He was Italian, which backed up Sofia's insistence that the Irish weren't her allies. Which meant the Italian were. But who? I tried to think about what I knew, and what possible motivation this man could have for helping Sofia. None of it made sense. Her motivation was clear. She wanted Dario. She had my brother. But if this man's power was anything like I imagined, what did she have that he wanted?
Not me. And not Dario either. I didn't think for one minute he needed any help to get rid of Dario if he truly wanted Atlantic City. She didn't have anything—but my brain came to a sudden stop. My brother? I blanched. Was this man his father? Was that it? I took a sip to steady my racing heart.
He watched me. “Good boy,” he praised. “But take another just to make sure.” He opened a drawer in the cabinet next to him and brought out a robe. It wouldn’t cover much, but it was definitely an improvement. I reached out and he shook his head. “I want your opinion on the Champagne I make first. I am not convinced it is a good year. We have experimented.” I took another swallow, keeping my eyes on the robe, which after a few seconds while I tried to look enthusiastic, he passed over to me. He took the glass out of my hand while I slid my arms into the sheer silky material that didn’t cover very much, then passed me the glass back.
“I imagine you are eager to see your brother.” He leaned back away from me, and I nodded, trying to relax. I even took a tiny sip as my throat was so dry. Did I dare?
"Are you?"
He met my eyes, and I fancied I saw a spark of admiration in them. Had I been correct? But he didn't answer, just slid nearer and my heart picked up a little. I’d stopped shivering, though. Turning the air off had made a huge difference in the temperature. I could even be too warm. Not that I wanted to draw attention to the fact.
“Tell me about your new husband,” he commanded, and my heart rate sped up even more.
“W-what do you want to know?” I took another sip, hoping for a delay, but then he plucked the glass from my hand and set it down.
“I wouldn’t want you to get drunk, Alessandro. That would be very remiss of me.”
I raised my eyes to his. The relief was tremendous. I had worried when he kept pushing different wines on me. I let out an easier breath, but then he took my empty hand and raised it to his lips, brushing a kiss over my knuckles. “Does he do this?”
I shook my head, tears smarting in my eyes, because no, Dario didn’t. He was good at sex, yes, but the caring was all for show.
“I’m delighted he knows how to please you in the bedroom,bellissimo.”
“What?” I turned in confusion. I hadn’t said that out loud, had I?
“If you were mine, I wouldn’t let you out of my bed at all.” He passed me the glass back. “Tiny sips,” he cautioned.
I shook my head. “He married me because he was forced to.” As the words left my mouth, I jerked in horror. What was I saying? This man wasn’t the sort to confess to. I stared at the champagne as my vision blurred a little, and my heart slammed against my ribs. “You drugged me.” I tried to stand, but he pulled me back effortlessly and lifted me so I was sitting on his lap.
“Drugged is such a harsh word,” he said and started kissing my throat. “I simply wanted to relax you. You were frightened, understandably so. But isn’t this more pleasant?”
The room seemed to be spinning in lazy circles when I looked, but that could have been the motion of the boat. I tried once more to sit up, but he held me with barely any effort, and I sagged back.
“Good boy,” he murmured and slipped his hand inside my robe, his fingers sliding over my cock. I gasped and tried to move, but he held me still with little effort. He chuckled again.
