by Eva Charles
And just like that, my days of throwing back expensive whiskey and chasing cheap pussy were over. I was twenty-two.
Yes, I had the pedigree, but D’Sousa was kingmaker.
He lived and breathed lush, rich Port—from the vine to the bottle. He knew every detail of the process intimately, and appreciated every aspect. Soon I did too.
Since the beginning, the business—the shadowy parts and the more principled—have filled every corner of my life. Although some might argue that flooding the world market with fortified wine is hardly principled.
“Jesus, I’m glad to be out of there,” Cristiano grumbles, settling his large frame into the seat beside me.
Cristiano, Lucas, and I have been friends since we were kids. Lucas, who is at the command center monitoring video feeds we set up in and around the funeral home, is also part of my inner circle. Cristiano and Lucas are the inner circle. While there are others I trust, no one else has the kind of access they do. Not even close.
“I hate when you’re exposed like that,” Cristiano mutters. “Even with all the extra precautions in place. Too damn many people in and out, milling around. It’s exactly the kind of occasion one of our enemies would use to take you out. It’s not smart.”
But necessary. And I’m done talking about it. “Why do you think Daniela was so spooked by my uncle and Tomas?”
He shakes his head. “Not sure. But I’m going to poke around this afternoon. I was starting to worry that you’d want to hang around to see how it played out.”
“I saw enough.” More than enough. She belongs to me, and nobody, nobody gets to make her tremble. Nobody but me.
“What are the chances they’ve already approached her about the property?” Not that it matters. She doesn’t own it, so she can’t sell it, but I want those facts to unfold on my terms.
“We have eyes all over Quinta Rosa do Vale,” Cristiano replies, scrolling through his phone. “We’d have known if they showed up. But I guarantee they’re planning something.”
“Have Lucas sift through Daniela’s email and call records, to see if they’ve contacted her since we last checked. Tell him to drop whatever he’s doing—and get on it.”
I want answers. Now.
I drum my fingers on the armrest, until even I’m irritated by the tapping.
“I’m going to pay her a visit this week.”
Cristiano lifts his head and peers at me from across the console. “Have you changed your mind about waiting to tell her about the betrothal contract?”
“Did you see how young she is?” I scowl at him. “How long do you think I can tolerate a teenage girl’s bullshit? Especially a spoiled one?”
He groans. “My sisters weren’t spoiled teenagers, but they could torture me without breaking a sweat.”
They still torture him without breaking a sweat.
“I already have my hands full with Rafael, and he’s away at school.”
Rafael is Abel’s youngest son. Tomas’s little brother. He came to live with me several years ago, after his father’s abuse became intolerable. Rafael’s a good kid, but every day is a new adventure. Daniela is several years older than him, but after just a few minutes with her, I can already guarantee she’ll make my challenges with him seem like child’s play.
“It’ll be one headache after another if we bring her in now. I have enough problems. And I’m not a goddamn babysitter.”
She’s not a child, Antonio. No, she isn’t, but she’s not a woman either.
What she is, is tempting. Too damn tempting.
Something about her vulnerability stirred a desire I can’t shake. A desire to mark her. To spray my seed all over her supple, virgin skin. That’s the truth. It’s exactly what was going through my mind when she licked her lips, struggling to keep it together at the funeral home.
One day, I’ll tease her until she surrenders—until I demand her surrender. It’ll be brutal and filthy. No sense in prettying it up to make it sound like something it’s not. Wife or no wife, I’m talking about base carnal lust, nothing more.
“She’s young,” Cristiano admits, propping his elbow on the armrest. “But something about her . . .” He pauses for several seconds, staring into space.
He better not say one fucking word about her innocence being a turn-on. “What about her?” I challenge.
“I don’t know. She looks like jailbait, but she seems much older. Something about her eyes. Like they’ve seen a lot.” He draws a breath and blows it out carefully. “Our world can wipe the sheen off the rose-colored glasses pretty quick. Without her mother around, she was probably exposed to some of the dirtier parts of her father’s life.”
“Her father was sick for a long time, and the end was ugly,” I remind him. “That’s wariness and exhaustion in her eyes. D’Sousa was careful around her. Up until recently, he sheltered her from everything. Besides, his hands have always been cleaner than ours.”
I pause to remember the man I tortured last night, until he gave up the information I needed. No regrets. Not a single fucking one.
Cristiano shakes his head. “Marrying her now is likely to be a huge clusterfuck. But who knows? Maybe waiting will be even worse.”
Russian roulette. Not a game for someone, like me, who craves control.
I lean over and adjust the air flow so I can fucking breathe.
“She’s not ready to be married to me.”
It’s perfect, because while I might be more than a decade older, I’m not ready to marry her, either. “I’ll make a final decision about the timing, after I spend some time with her.”
5
Daniela
I lift the heart-shaped paperweight from my father’s desk, sliding my thumb over the glazed ceramic. I made it for Papai in first grade, when my life was all rainbows and unicorns.
He kept the quirky little gift in the same spot on his desk all these years. It sits right in front of a photo of my mother and me, nose to nose, giggling. Her face glowed as she kissed me goodnight in the foyer before they left for the evening. She was stunning, and whenever my father was behind the lens, he captured her beauty in unexpected ways. It’s how he saw her—his Rosa.
“What if the travel documents don’t arrive?” Isabel asks, before I drown in the bittersweet memories.
Isabel has lived with my family since she was fifteen—more than thirty years. When I was born, she became my nurse, then later, my governess, and after my mother passed, my angel. But through it all, she’s always been my closest friend.
“We have almost everything we need already. The rest of the documents will get here. Please don’t worry.”
Isabel has always been the nervous type, although her anxiety has been off the charts since the day I told her I’d be leaving the country after my father died. Despite her reservations, there was never any doubt that my friend, her husband Jorge, and five-year-old Valentina would leave with me. I never had to ask.
“I wish we were all traveling together,” she says wistfully—for the fourth time this morning.
We’ve been in my father’s office for two hours, managing the to-do list. She gets skittish whenever we spend too long on the preparations. I try to be sensitive, but the clock is ticking louder with each passing day. I’m desperate for us to leave—before we can’t.
There’s still so much to get done before we go. Some of it necessary, and the rest to appease my conscience.
I had planned on staying in Porto through the harvest—until those animals showed up at the funeral home. They haven’t had the nerve to show their faces here yet, but they will.
Abel and Tomas Huntsman—just the thought of them sullying my parents’ home makes my skin crawl. Now that my father’s gone, it’s only a matter of time before they pay me a visit. Isabel knows it too.
With any luck, I’ll be long gone when they come looking for me.
“It’s not too late to reconsider the travel arrangements, Daniela.”
“It’s safer to travel se
parately,” I say gently, trying to remain patient with her. “It’s one thing if you were to travel to Canada with me to see my great-aunt, but it would raise suspicions if your family came along with us.”
She nods and gets up, using her nervous energy to tidy the neat-as-a-pin room.
We’ve been through every detail, dozens of times. The scheme is complex, but the complexity is essential if we want to disappear.
Parts of it have been in place for years. My father was a powerful man, with powerful enemies. We always had a plan to flee the country, one we could put in motion at any time it became necessary.
That time has come.
I watch Isabel fuss with the drapes on the window that overlooks the sprawling vineyards on the southern end of the estate. The ones that have been in my mother’s family for more than three hundred years. The conditions on the south side create a perfect microclimate for growing grapes unlike any others. It’s those grapes that transform ordinary Port into something extraordinary.
They’re the most important vineyards in the entire country, a World Heritage site, and now, my responsibility. Mine. It’s almost laughable.
“Don’t worry,” my father assured me more times than I can count. “You’ll have plenty of help when I’m gone.”
Despite my father’s promises that he tied up all the loose ends and put safeguards into place when he learned he was dying, it’s always been clear to me that no one would fall in line behind a young woman. Unlike my father, I believe that the unflinching loyalty people have always shown our family will die with him. It might be different if I had been born a boy—it might have all been different.
“If you still intend on riding, you should get going,” Isabel says, collecting some paperwork from the desk, and organizing it into folders. “The morning’s slipping away, and you need to shower and be ready to receive guests.”
Guests. Ugh. It’s been a week since the funeral, and I’m long past tired of opening the house to visitors paying condolence calls, but I won’t shame my family by shirking tradition. Besides, my father deserves the honor.
I glance at my schedule and sigh heavily. I really can’t afford to play—but I’m already dressed for it. I woke up determined to spend some time with my horses today and threw on riding clothes first thing. There won’t be many more opportunities with Zeus and Atlas. The horses are one of the many reasons leaving Porto is so painful.
The doorbell rings, startling me. I glance at Isabel. “Are we expecting someone?”
“Not at this hour,” she says cautiously. “But people keep sending flowers and food. So much food.” She waves her hands in the air. “I’ve been giving it to the staff to take home to their families, but we still have more than we can eat.”
“Send it to Santa Ana’s. They must know some families who will appreciate the food. We shouldn’t let it go to waste.”
We really shouldn’t. But roasted meat and vegetables or a rum-soaked cake showing up on the doorstep is the least of my concerns. Abel and Tomas, on the other hand—that’s something to worry about. I’m sure when the doorbell rang, it crossed Isabel’s mind too.
We stare at each other silently as a single pair of footsteps approaches. If it were food or flowers, Jose, my father’s butler, would take it directly to the kitchen without bothering us.
Not waiting for the inevitable knock, Isabel gets up and pulls the heavy French door open.
“Pardon me,” Jose says in an apprehensive tone. “Antonio Huntsman is here to see Daniela.”
6
Daniela
My stomach roils, and I shut my eyes for a few seconds. Antonio Huntsman. As though I don’t have enough problems.
I’ll never understand why my father liked him so much. Not just liked him, but supported his rise to power. Papai could have squashed the entire Huntsman clan like a bug, but he didn’t.
“I don’t have the luxury of destroying our world, to exact that kind of revenge—even in your mother’s name.”
That was his final word on the subject.
My father never invited Antonio to our home, until the end—at least not when I was here. But his trust in him was an affront to my mother—and to me—and painful. Excruciatingly painful. Like picking the scab off a fresh wound. My scab. My wound.
Although he had a soft heart when it came to us, nothing was more important to my father than preserving our world. I understand the imperative too, but a small part of me will never forgive him for not destroying everything the Huntsmans hold dear.
No, Antonio wasn’t involved in what happened that day, but as far as I’m concerned, the men in that family are monsters. It’s in their genes. And if the gossip is true, this one’s no different than the rest. Maybe crueler. But if I have to choose, I’d rather take my chances with him—just not right now.
I glance at Jose, who’s still waiting patiently for some direction from me. “Please tell him I’m indisposed. Thank you.”
He hesitates before nodding. Not many people want to tell Antonio Huntsman to get lost, but the staff who work inside the house are loyal—sometimes to a fault.
Isabel turns to him. “I’ll go,” she says. She must have seen the same wariness in Jose’s eyes that I saw.
“Maybe I should see him and get it over with,” I grumble, although it’s the last thing I want to do.
When I start to stand, Isabel motions for me to stay seated. “You’re not dressed for visitors. I’m going to tell him you’re not seeing guests right now. I’ll invite him to come back. He won’t make a problem in your father’s house.”
Maybe not. But it’s not my father’s house anymore. It’s mine.
“Thank you.”
“Who shows up unannounced at nine thirty in the morning?” she mutters, breezing into the hall.
Antonio Huntsman, the arrogant bastard who does whatever he wants. That’s who.
To a large extent, he’s always been this way. Good-looking, rich, with a powerful father—a trifecta that never required him to learn humility.
It doesn’t have to be that way. Money and power don’t have to suck every drop of humanity from your soul—but they often do.
As much as it pains me to admit now, when I was younger, I had a huge crush on Antonio, and although he barely knew I existed, he was always nice to me.
When I was nine, he intervened when some boys were being mean to me and my friends at the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. He put an end to it pretty quick. Those boys never bothered us again. Neither did their friends.
There were a few other small things too, but he was so much older that our paths seldom crossed—unless he came to visit with his mother, which was rare, but always a special treat. I thought so, anyway.
But from the rumors I’ve heard in the last few years, there’s nothing kind about Antonio now. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. That old saying isn’t for nothing.
When curiosity gets the best of me, I creep into the hall where I can hear the conversation in the foyer, but still remain out of sight.
As I inch closer, the voices become less garbled.
“I’m sorry, senhor, but as I said a moment ago, Senhora Daniela is not seeing anyone until the customary calling hour.”
Isabel’s voice has an edge. She’s a stickler for protocol, and he must be giving her a hard time. Good luck, Antonio.
“The customary calling hour?” he hisses.
He won’t make a problem in your father’s house. File it under famous last words.
“Yes, senhor. Visitors are free to drop by to pay their condolences, but not until the appointed time, as has always been the custom.”
Oh Isabel, teaching a lesson in manners is not the way to deal with the likes of him.
“I’m a busy man. I don’t have the time or the patience for arbitrary customs. Tell Daniela I need to speak to her. I won’t ask politely a second time.”
A second time? You didn’t ask politely the first time. Good Lord, he’s even
more full of himself than I remember.
I’ve heard enough. I might not fare any better, but it’s not right to leave her to deal with him.
I take a deep breath and force myself from the safety of the shadows.
7
Daniela
“Good morning, Senhor Huntsman,” I greet him as I enter the sunny foyer. Even though my stomach is somersaulting, my voice is steady and clear.
Antonio gazes over Isabel’s shoulder, but doesn’t say a word as I approach. Probably because he’s too busy raking over my form-fitting riding clothes like he can see right through them. It’s openly lewd and entirely unrushed, as though he doesn’t give a damn if anyone catches him looking.
“Bom dia,” he drawls in a buttery timbre, when I stop beside Isabel.
Although I feel my cheeks warming, I lift my chin and force a smile. There is no way I’m going to let this jerk see that he’s embarrassed me in my own house.
“I realize this isn’t an ideal hour to pay a visit.” Antonio peers into my eyes, holding my gaze steady. “But I won’t take up too much of your time.”
I don’t shy away but I take a quiet breath, replaying his words in my head one by one, looking for something resembling an apology. All I find is arrogance. But unlike Isabel, I don’t bother to waste my breath teaching manners.
“Why don’t we talk in my father’s office.”
Not that we need to talk. I know exactly why he’s here. He wants the grapes—or more likely, the entire estate. He owns plenty of premium real estate throughout the valley, but men like him aren’t satisfied until they have everything. Although it’s not just that. Quinta Rosa do Vale, my legacy, is the ultimate jewel for his kingdom. It will put all the power in one man’s hands, cementing his legacy forever—even I know this.
But nothing is forever, Antonio. If that’s what you believe, you’re a fool.