I took her on a tour of the house, showing her the large kitchen Abigail thrived in, the three separate dining rooms, the different living rooms, and then the private gym on the second floor.

  She looked at the cardio machines and all the equipment I used on a daily basis. “Wow. This is the size of a regular gym. You’re the only one who uses it?”

  “You can use it too if you like.”

  “I’m not big on exercise.” She walked to the biceps curl and stared at the machine like she had no idea how it worked. “Singing is my exercise.”

  Then she must have good genes, keeping a figure like that. I’d only seen her eat a couple of times, and she had a full meal. I walked out of the gym then took her to the drawing room on the third floor. The room didn’t have much of a purpose, but it had the best view of the property. There were a couple of couches facing each other and a grand piano tucked into the corner. Sleek and black, it didn’t have a spot of dust because my staff kept this entire place perfectly tidy every single day.

  Her eyes lit up when she spotted the instrument. “Maverick, do you play?” She approached the piano and slid her hand along the smooth exterior, touching the glossy finish. She moved to the bench and lightly pressed her fingers against the keys, exploring the whites and the blacks.

  “No.”

  “Then why do you have it?” She tested out the notes, as if she were checking that the piano was still in tune.

  “Ask my interior decorator.”

  I had a lot of priceless possessions in this house, but this seemed to be the only thing that truly impressed her. With a loving gaze, she stared at the keys and made love to each one with her fingertips. Gentle sounds filled the room, random notes that didn’t create a song.

  I watched her head dip to observe the movement of her fingers, watched the way she instantly became immersed in the instrument, like she was about to perform on stage. Her eyes filled with innate joy, like this was the first time she’d felt happiness since her father passed away.

  “Do you play?” It felt like a stupid question when I saw how attached she’d already become.

  “Yes.” She hesitantly pulled her hands away from the keyboard and rose to her feet. “Can I play it sometime? When I’m rehearsing?”

  The question seemed odd considering this was her home now, but my bedroom was right down the hallway so I could probably hear every sound she made. “This is your home now. Do whatever you want.”

  We drove a golf cart to the factory a few acres away. The facility had workers that showed up every day, stirring the cheese in the big pots, melting the wax onto the cheese wheel, and professionals dating and storing the cheese until they were properly aged. They had to check in with security at the gate every day before they came onto the property.

  Arwen was fascinated by everything.

  I took her through the factory, showing her the different parts of the assembly. “Our cheese is native to Italy because we have special bacteria that is indigenous to the area. It doesn’t grow anywhere else in the known world.” I stood off to the side with her as two men stirred the cheese wheel that was forming in the center of the pot. “We inoculate our cows with it, and that produces the special milk we use to make the cheese.” We kept moving through the factory, seeing the different steps until we arrived at the storage room. Hundreds of cheese wheels were stacked high in their cubbies.

  Arwen walked down the aisle and examined one at eye level. “This is humongous. Do people buy the entire wheel?”

  “Yes. Mainly restaurants.”

  “That must be expensive. It’s got to weigh twenty pounds.”

  “It is expensive. They can range from two to four thousand euros.”

  Even though she’d been rich all her life, her eyes still filled with surprise. “Wow…how long are they aged?”

  “The minimum is three years. But we have cheese wheels that are ten years old. The longer they age, the more they’re worth.” I kept walking and headed to the very rear of the building, stepping inside the large office where I took care of the business.

  She followed behind me, examining my oversize desk and the bookshelves on both walls. She picked up a book at random and glanced at the title, seeing that it was a manufacturing book about the cheese process. She turned it then looked at my mahogany desk. Behind it was a picture window with my three-story home in the distance. “How long has the business been in your family?”

  “Longer than I can remember. At least ten generations.”

  “Wow…even some of the historic wineries don’t date back that far. That’s amazing.” She studied my plain desk, seeing the closed laptop that sat in the center. There was nothing else on the surface besides a single pen. “You’re extremely organized.”

  “Minimalist.”

  When she looked out the window and admired the house in the distance, the sunlight blanketed her face perfectly, making those blue eyes shine like they were two orbs. With her arms across her chest, she stood there for nearly a minute before she turned away. “If you ever need any help, I’m happy to lend you a hand. I don’t know much, but I’m a fast learner and a hard worker.”

  My business was self-sufficient. It worked on a tight schedule, and I oversaw the big things. My foreman was in charge of all the day-to-day stuff. I never expected her to be part of my world. “I have all the help I need.”

  “Alright…the offer still stands if you ever change your mind.”

  When we returned to the house, she turned to me. “You didn’t show me your office.”

  “I just did.”

  “Your home office.”

  “I don’t see why you need to see that.” Or my bedroom.

  Her nostrils flared like she was irritated by the comment, but she held back her rebuttal, being more compatible because I’d been nice to her. She swallowed her retorts and kept the peace instead of insulting me like I deserved. It was a diplomatic move for her. “I’m going to take a nap before I head out for the show.” She headed to the stairs. “I’ll see you later.” When she got to the point where she couldn’t stand me anymore, she made a good excuse to get away from me.

  I watched her ass move back and forth as she climbed the stairs with a straight back. It was strange to think that I would have to share my life with this woman, that I should probably show her my office. In my mind, I kept thinking this was short-term, but it wasn’t.

  It was a lifelong commitment.

  I caught up with her. “Follow me.”

  On the second landing, she turned to me, clearly uneasy about what I wanted.

  “Come on.” I took the lead and moved to the third floor. I didn’t check if she was behind me because the sound of her shoes was audible enough. I went past the bright windows and approached the door across the hall from my bedroom. “This is my office.” I stepped inside the large room. There were two couches that faced the dark desk situated near the window. Decorated in dark colors with a stash of brandy and scotch in plain sight, it was my personal space. There was a box of cigars on the table.

  She stepped inside, and the first thing she noticed was the cigars. “You smoke?”

  “Occasionally.”

  She didn’t take a seat as she examined my room, her arms crossed over her chest like she was afraid to let her guard down in my presence. “It suits you…”

  I grabbed the decanter of brandy and two glasses. “Would you like some?”

  “I’m not a brandy kind of girl.”

  “Water, then?”

  “No, I’ll take the scotch.” I paused for just an instant as I set the glasses on my desk. She seemed like a girl who could only handle a weak bottle of wine. I would have never guessed that she had a palate for something stronger. I swapped out the brandy for the scotch and filled both glasses.

  She took a seat then accepted the drink. Bringing to her lips, she took a decent swallow and didn’t even cringe when the booze dropped into her stomach. With perfect posture and crossed legs, she sat like she was still every bit of royalty.

  I sat across from her and grabbed a cigar. “Mind if I smoke?”

  “As long as you don’t smoke alone.”

  I stilled again, not expecting her to participate in such a disgusting habit. She seemed like a woman who would berate me for smoking, because she was a perfect know-it-all. Or maybe she just didn’t care how long I lived.

  She placed the cigar in her mouth, her full lips snug around the tip. She leaned forward and craned her neck out, the front of her dress giving way and revealing cleavage that was impossible to ignore.

  But I didn’t look. I held the lighter to the end until it started to burn. She sucked at the same time, making the ash smolder into orange embers. With two fingers, she pulled the cigar out of her mouth and let a wall of smoke rise to the ceiling.

  I was so mesmerized, I almost forgot to light my own cigar. I’d never seen a woman smoke like that, at least not a woman of her station. She seemed too prissy for it. I got the end burning and brought the smoke into my mouth, immediately feeling the calming sensation as it absorbed into my blood. I released a deep breath and let the smoke escape my nostrils.

  With her drink in one hand and the cigar in the other, she leaned back against the couch and got comfortable, looking just like one of the guys. She slowly puffed on her cigar and let the smoke rise to the high, vaulted ceiling.

  I hated to admit it, but she looked pretty sexy.

  I left my drink on the table and moved to my desk to retrieve the folder. I returned and set the cigar in the ashtray so I could go over the papers. “This is for you.” I pulled out a couple bank cards and set them in front of her. “This one is for monthly expenses, gas, food, shopping, whatever.” I pushed another toward her. “This is for emergencies, and if you need to make a purchase up to a million dollars. If you need more cash than that, you’ll have to get approval from me—and I’ll probably say no.” I picked up the cigar again and took another puff.

  She eyed the cards without taking them. “I don’t need this.”

  She was broke, so unless Dante was buying her everything, she didn’t have any cash. “I think you do.”

  “I get paid from the opera. It’s not a fortune, but it’s enough to cover food, gas, and anything else I might need. I don’t have rent or a car payment, and all my meals at the house are free. It’s a nice gesture, but I don’t need your money.” She set her cigar in the ashtray and changed her focus to the scotch.

  I just threw a ton of money at her, and she turned it down. No one in their right mind would do that. “You should still keep these in case you need them.” If she really did pay for her own things, then it wouldn’t be like she existed at all. She was just a woman who slept in one of the rooms and shared meals with me. She could have easily taken the cards and gone on a shopping spree, but she didn’t seem interested. She was used to being rich, but now she didn’t seem to care that she wasn’t anymore.

  She left them on the table but didn’t argue with me.

  “How much do you make at the opera?”

  She took a long drink then licked her lips. “Maybe a thousand euro every two weeks.”

  “That’s nothing.”

  “I don’t have any bills, so it’s plenty. Otherwise, I would just put the money into your account anyway.”

  I wouldn’t take a dime from her.

  “So, I’ll just cash my checks and spend that.”

  I’d dreaded marrying this woman, but now it didn’t seem so bad. She didn’t rip into my wallet right away, and she did make an effort to be nice to me…even if it annoyed me sometimes. She could never get me to like her, but she was getting me to respect her—which was impressive. “Your name is on one of my accounts, so you can go to the bank if you need something.”

  “Why would you do that?” she asked, dead serious. “Maverick, I don’t need your wealth. I’m only here because I need the protection. But I don’t need your money, and I certainly don’t need to be on your account.” She sipped her drink again then eyed her cigar.

  I closed the folder and picked up my cigar again. “How long have you smoked?”

  She took a deep puff and let the smoke rise from her mouth and drift toward the ceiling. “A few years. I only do it once in a while…maybe two times a year.”

  So, much rarer than I did.

  “You?”

  “I’ve been smoking for ten years.”

  “And how often?”

  “Weekly.”

  She didn’t give me a judgmental stare, but there was a slight pursing of her lips. “That’s not good. You should cut back.”

  “I should do whatever I want.” There were so many things in this world that could kill me. I chose to live how I wanted, and that was on the dangerous side. I finished the scotch and left the glass on the empty table before I rested against the cushion of the couch.

  “How old are you?”

  The question was unexpected, and it also indicated how little she knew about me. Given how angry she was at her father at the time, she’d probably never had the opportunity to ask about me—especially since she’d refused to marry me. “Almost thirty.”

  “That could mean anything. That could be twenty-six.”

  “Twenty-nine.” And my birthday was on Saturday. When I meant almost, I meant it literally. I didn’t know anything about her either, other than the fact that she was an opera singer, and that was only because her father took me to a performance. I’d never cared to learn about her either because she would never mean anything to me. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  Jesus, she was young. This woman was almost ten years younger than me. I never would have guessed it, not because her appearance suggested she was close to my age, but because she possessed the attitude of someone much older. She had wisdom, she had grace, she wasn’t an obnoxious party girl that had only been drinking for a couple years.

  “So, you’re an old man.” A slight smile stretched across her lips, like she was teasing me.

  With the amount of shit I’d seen, I certainly felt like an old man. “I feel like one.”

  Her firm legs were crossed at the knee, her slender calves noticeable underneath her dress. Her skin reminded me of the color of my cheese, just before it was covered in the wax seal and stored on the wooden shelves. It was such a beautiful color, like a blush rose petal that had never been harmed by the sun’s damaging rays. I forced my eyes down into my drink, careful not to stare at her.

  “My father never explained your role in the underworld. It seems like you and your father have bloody hands.”

  “We aren’t different from everyone else. Sometimes we make illegal trades, sometimes we buy things that shouldn’t be for sale, sometimes we break the rules just for the hell of it. My father and I used to be more involved in drug trafficking across the shore to Turkey. There’s a lot of money in that. But things started to get too serious, and we were in too deep. We built a reputation for ourselves because we never let anything stand in our way. But all of that changed when we pissed off Ramon and he wanted revenge. So he crossed the line and took my mother. We got out of the game and never went back.” It had been a stupid decision on our part all along because we didn’t need the money in the first place. Our greed cost us my mother’s life. All that money we’d made was covered in her blood now. It was tainted.

  “I’m sorry.” Even when she wasn’t singing, she had the most beautiful voice. It was whimsical, somehow musical. She could express her emotions so easily because the sound of her voice was so heavy with her thoughts. So when she whispered those words, it was obvious she meant them. “When will you kill him?”

  “Next week. Your father had contact with one of his suppliers. That’s how he knew he would be returning to Florence. My father and I have been trying to track him down for a year, but since he was hiding in Croatia, it was too difficult. But now we have our chance.”

  “I hope you get what you want—and it gives you closure.”

  Killing Ramon wouldn’t bring my mother back, but it had to be done anyway.

  “Have you talked to your father lately?”

  “I avoid him like the plague.”

  “I don’t blame you.” She finished her scotch then set the glass on the table. Her cigar was still burning, so she took another puff then left it in the ashtray. A string of smoke escaped from her lips.

  When I’d stepped into that hospital room and watched Dante leave, I didn’t like him immediately. A real man wouldn’t have allowed her to marry someone else. He wouldn’t have given up on her. A woman like this should have been with a man who could have protected her from Kamikaze and all the other assholes that hated her father. That was how I knew Dante wasn’t good enough for her—not even close. “What do you see in him?”

  It took her a moment to understand the question. Her eyebrows rose slowly as she regarded me, deducing exactly who I was talking about. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Doesn’t seem like your type.”

  “And you know my type?” she questioned.

  “I just assumed you were interested in men—not boys.”

  Sparks flew in her eyes. “Dante is a good man, and I might have married him if this hadn’t happened. He’s kind and good to me. He’s much better than that trashy woman who wouldn’t bother putting on her shoes before walking out the door.”

  I didn’t take offense to that because I didn’t give a damn about what’s-her-name. “She means nothing to me, so I don’t care if she is trashy. But you love this guy, so it’s a different story. If he really loved you, he wouldn’t have stepped aside and let you marry someone else. That’s why I don’t understand what you see in him.”

  “I never said I loved him.”

  “You said you would have married him.”

  “I said I might have married him if things were different. We only met a few months ago, so we didn’t have much time together before all of this happened. And I never would have wanted him to interfere because it would have cost him his life.”

 

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