Greed (A Sinful Empire Trilogy Book 1)

by Eva Charles

It’s as though I’m possessed, and no longer have control of my mind or body.

  Antonio’s lips are bruising, demanding my surrender, as his fingers dig deeper into my flesh, holding me still against his solid body.

  Without warning, he sinks his teeth into my bottom lip, and although I whimper from the pleasant zing, it jolts me out of my stupor.

  What are you doing, Daniela? He’s the enemy. How much do the Huntsmans need to take from you? You stupid, stupid girl. How much?

  Overcome by a sharp attack of conscience, I force my head to the side. “Get off me,” I croak, pushing at his chest. “I don’t want this.”

  “Liar,” he taunts, softly, caging me with his muscular forearms braced on the wall, above my head.

  He’s right. I do want this. I spent years wanting this very thing, but I can’t disrespect my mother’s memory any more than I already have. I won’t do that.

  “Get off me. Now!”

  He doesn’t budge.

  “Not until I’m finished with you.” His voice is low, rough and tight, edged with menace. “You’ll learn that in time. It’ll be a pleasurable lesson, if you don’t fight me.”

  It’ll be a pleasurable lesson, if you don’t fight me.

  The panic hits hard, landing with such force it’s paralyzing. He’s not going to stop. History is about to repeat itself. I don’t want to die.

  Terror swirls in my head, until my thoughts are nothing more than a labyrinth of fears.

  I can’t die. Please. No. No.

  A scream withers in my throat when Antonio takes secure hold of my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.

  “You have nothing to worry about—not today. Deflowering virgins isn’t my thing.”

  He pauses, his features hardening into something grotesque as the light fades from his eyes. “I’m not a man who has the patience to teach inexperienced girls how to swallow cock. I play with women. No exceptions. And I prefer when someone else has taken the time to break them in properly.”

  I squeeze my eyelids together to block out his filthy words, and so I don’t have to look into his face, where a tempest rages that’s as black as his soul. But Antonio is not having it.

  “Look at me when I speak to you.”

  My heart hammers until the pain in my chest is almost unbearable, but I do as I’m told. At least I try. When it takes me a few seconds to focus, he tips my chin higher until we’re peering at each other, with only a breath between us.

  “Our fate—yours and mine—is entwined for eternity. For now, you’re safe, Princesa. But when I come back, it’ll be for more than a kiss.”

  He releases his hold on me, turns, and walks out.

  I don’t move a muscle. I’m not sure I even breathe, until the front door latches.

  What just happened?

  Nothing. It was nothing. Don’t think about it. Within a week you’ll be gone, and it’ll all be behind you.

  I adjust my braid, but the ribbon is missing. It’s not caught on my clothing, or on the floor. I look near the desk, but it’s not there either. It’s the least of my concerns. But searching for it makes a fine distraction, so I don’t have to think about what almost happened here. What I wanted to happen—until I didn’t.

  I glance out the window, cupping my elbows. In the distance, a black car is leaving the property through the front gate. It has to be him.

  You can come back, Antonio, but I won’t be here when you do. I hope you enjoyed the kiss, because that’s all you’re ever getting from me.

  13

  Antonio

  Thiago, my longtime driver, is waiting with the car outside D’Sousa’s front door.

  “The helipad?” he asks, as I climb into the vehicle.

  “Yes.” Before I go back into that house, peel off those skin-tight riding breeches, and fuck her against the wall like an animal. One damn kiss, and I’m still having trouble getting my body under control, like I’m a goddamn teenager.

  She’s trouble.

  “I have a meeting in an hour.”

  “Traffic’s light,” Thiago tells me, as he engages the privacy screen. “We’ll have you back in plenty of time.”

  When the screen is all the way up, I call the villa. It’s not much of a villa, but more of a cave equipped with state-of-the-art technology. It’s accessible only to Cristiano, Lucas, and me.

  “I’m on my way back,” I mutter, knowing they have me on speaker.

  “We expected to hear from you sooner. Problems?”

  “She’s leaving Porto, just as we thought. She concocted a whole bullshit story about a trip to Canada to tell her father’s elderly aunt that he died.”

  “The aunt with end-stage Alzheimer’s who no longer speaks or recognizes anyone?”

  Cristiano is clearly more amused by her recklessness than I am. If we didn’t already know about her great-aunt, it would have taken us less than ten minutes to figure out. It won’t be hard for others to verify her story either.

  Daniela is out of her league. While parts of her plan are solid, most of it’s amateurish, with gaps big enough to drive a tank through.

  “Since her father had only one aunt, yeah—that would be the one.”

  “Did you learn anything else?” Lucas asks impatiently.

  Her mouth is warm and sweet, and her hair smells like the orange blossoms that perfume the procession route on Good Friday. But more importantly, I learned that her gorgeous little body tests my self-control in ways that are dangerous.

  I don’t share any of this with them.

  “She’s a terrible liar.”

  “Anything useful—like why she’s leaving?”

  “No,” I reply sharply.

  We discovered her plan to move to the US a week ago. We’ve managed to cover a lot of ground in that time, but it pisses me off that we still don’t know her precise motivation for fleeing the country. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who would shirk her responsibilities here, just to have a fling in the US. Something’s chasing her.

  “You still think Abel is behind her leaving?” Cristiano’s voice is tight. He knows my uncle. Abel is capable of anything—including killing his wife.

  “One hundred percent,” Lucas spits out, before I can reply.

  “I agree. But we shouldn’t rule out anyone. Abel and Tomas could be a red herring.” Whenever there’s a problem, we always look to them first—with good reason, especially in this case.

  Daniela showed us her cards at the funeral home. She’s afraid of them. I crack my knuckles to relieve some of the building pressure. “If we allow ourselves to get lured by the obvious, we could get screwed. I trusted Manuel D’Sousa, but I don’t pretend to know everything he had his hands in.”

  “Were you able to install the listening devices?” Lucas asks.

  “Only in the office. One under the lip of her father’s desk, and the other in the sitting area.”

  “I’ll activate them now.”

  “She’s adamant about not selling the property. I don’t get it. From what we know, she appears to be leaving the country—indefinitely. She’s gone to a lot of trouble to cover her tracks. Why hold onto something that’s going to be that kind of albatross?” Because she doesn’t really want to leave. Because this is her home.

  “She’s inexperienced,” Cristiano says, quietly, “and probably driven more by emotion than practicality. Sounds pretty normal for someone her age.”

  Maybe.

  Although it wasn’t my idea, I’m not unhappy she’s leaving. If I was, she wouldn’t be going. It’s that simple.

  “Who’s she planning to leave in charge of the estate while she’s away?” Cristiano asks.

  “She trusts the vineyard manager to take care of business. I’m sure her father told her to lean on him.”

  David is trustworthy, and she can lean on him all she wants, but he works for me now. That was settled long before Manuel died.

  “Did you learn anything that would have us deviate from any aspect of our pla
n to deal with her?”

  “No,” I reply, firmly. “We’re sticking with the original plan.”

  I can almost hear the collective sigh of relief from them.

  With D’Sousa gone, every asshole is going to make some kind of power play to test my resolve. Let them. It’s our chance to see if the loyalty in the valley is to me, or to my uncle, or to someone else.

  “We’re prepared for whatever the bastards throw at us, but it’s not going to be easy. I can’t afford distractions.”

  And Daniela is one huge fucking distraction. She proved that today.

  Thiago stops at the traffic light, and I glance at the car idling beside us. We’re in an armored Mercedes, and Thiago is as capable a soldier as he is a driver, but this is a precarious time. An assassination attempt in the middle of the day would be bold, even for my most brazen enemies, but stranger things have happened.

  “Where are we with the apartment in the US?”

  “I rerouted some emails, and connected her with our Realtor in Fall River. She sent some pictures of the apartment, and Daniela agreed to take it furnished. Our team will occupy the first and second floors of the three-decker. They’ll live on the third.”

  “What about the guy who forged the travel documents?”

  “Leo,” Cristiano replies. “I sent Alvarez to talk to him this morning. Apparently, he’s a little prick with a big mouth. He essentially confirmed everything we know about her travel plans. Alvarez said that he didn’t have to push to get the information. Leo couldn’t keep his mouth shut about how he set the D’Sousa princesa up with fake passports, ID cards, and everything else she needed to set up residency in the US.”

  I’ve heard enough. “Eliminate that fucker, before he talks to anyone else. Make sure you get everything you need before he takes his last breath.”

  This whole thing is a clusterfuck, not to mention a huge time suck. But Daniela needs to grow up, and I need to deal with the shitstorm here. While I do, it’s better for all of us if she’s tucked away in a corner of the world where no one will find her—until I’m ready to bring her home.

  “Lucas, is it going to screw things up, or can you work around it if Leo isn’t in the picture?”

  “I’ll reroute the server, and if she contacts him for anything else, I’ll provide it.”

  “Good. Get rid of him. I don’t want to share the earth with that fucker for one more day.”

  “I’ll make sure there’s not a trace of her at his place,” Cristiano answers, before I can say anything else about it.

  “I’m getting off, so you can get back to work. We’re almost at the helipad. I have a meeting with the Minister of Agriculture in my office, and then I’ll be down.”

  After I hang up, I sit back and take a swig of water, gazing at the turbulent river below. There’s a storm brewing inside me too.

  14

  Antonio

  You’re going to drive me insane, Daniela, even before I taste your sweet little pussy. If I didn’t have a war to fight, you wouldn’t be going anywhere.

  You belong here. In Porto. Deep down you know it, and that’s why you don’t want to sell the property. The fertile vineyards, the lush valley, and the ancient city—reigning over the empire is your destiny—and mine.

  For now, I’m going to give you some time to play. Something you never had the chance to do under your father’s watchful eye. It’ll be my wedding gift to you, before I bring you home and drop you into a gilded cage, where you’ll spend the rest of your days as my obedient wife.

  Until then, develop your passions, take some classes, dance in clubs, and sip those fruity drinks that young American women love so much. You can have your fun away from the glare of the spotlight, but under my protection.

  Enjoy, pretty girl, but not too much, or I’ll drag you home and drape your tight little body across my knee, until your ass is the color of Vintage Port. Then I’ll fuck you until your screams echo off the stucco walls.

  I pull the red ribbon from my jacket and smooth the satin between my fingers before bringing it to my nose. The faint scent of orange blossoms, sweet and pure, brings my dick to life.

  We’ll meet again, Princesa, and when—

  Boom!

  The car jerks sideways. I jerk with it.

  Thiago brakes, and the vehicle skids to the right.

  What the fuck?

  I glance out the window, struggling to stay upright in the seat.

  A rig is alongside us—inches away. Even a reinforced car is no match for something that size. We’re caught between the monster truck and the edge of the narrow road.

  The river. Fuck.

  The truck swerves and sideswipes us, again.

  We land on the shoulder, spinning, the Mercedes teetering on the edge of the embankment.

  My fucking phone is nowhere to be found.

  I grab the seat in front of me for leverage and fumble for the button, lowering the partition between us.

  “This is an attack!” I bark, as Thiago fights to control the vehicle.

  Boom!

  Fuck!

  “We need reinforcements,” he yells, as we take another hit and tumble into the steep ravine.

  “Call the villa. Press the SOS button on the steering wheel,” I shout over the noise.

  Thiago doesn’t respond. Not even when I scream his name the second time. Or the third.

  Time slows as we bounce around the interior, weightless.

  While the car rolls, I claw my way to the front, and cling to the steering wheel. My vision is blurry, dotted in black. I grope for the button and press. But I can’t hold on.

  The car bounces, sending my head into the windshield.

  Can’t see. Need to stay awake.

  Stay awake.

  Stay awake.

  Fight, Antonio.

  Fi—

  I hear my father’s booming laugh from inside the gates of hell as the river swallows me.

  Greed

  A SINFUL EMPIRE TRILOGY (BOOK 1)

  1

  Daniela

  SIX YEARS LATER

  Getting through customs takes longer than expected, and by the time the taxi stops in front of the Moniz Law Office, light is breaking over the horizon.

  “How much is the fare?” I ask, opening my wallet.

  Before the driver answers, his phone rings. “One moment, please,” he mutters, holding up a finger to silence me.

  What’s one more lost moment? It won’t change anything—not for me. Although lingering at the curb isn’t a good idea.

  I adjust the hideous sunglasses from Dollar Mart and lower the brim on my cap before turning my face toward the sidewalk. It’s not much of a disguise, but at this hour it’s enough to get me from the car to the door without being recognized.

  Once inside, I’ll sign the paperwork transferring the property and return to the airport in time to catch a flight back to the US. If all goes according to plan, I’ll be home before the end of the day, sleeping in my own bed tonight.

  My own bed, yes. But Fall River isn’t home. It’s a safe harbor. The place where everyone important to me—everyone who’s left—is awaiting my return. The gritty American city has been my refuge for the past six years, but it’s not home.

  I sigh deeply as the light creeps across the sky—purple hues melting into gold, casting a celestial glow on the ancient city, softening centuries of wear.

  While I wait for the driver to end the call, I soak in every nuance, committing the smallest details to memory. It might be years before I see the sun rise over Porto again. This could be the last time.

  As I untangle my emotions, a small box truck pulls in front of us.

  The taxi headlights shine on the rear of the vehicle, illuminating the chain and padlock securing the roll-up door. From this angle, it’s the single defining feature. The truck is so unremarkable it could fade seamlessly into the landscape, coming and going without catching anyone’s attention.

  My stomach roils as I stu
dy the grimy license plate.

  Memorizing a series of numbers won’t do you one bit of good if you’re abducted.

  I grab the door handle, prepared to bolt. But before I do, a delivery man emerges from the truck with three bags of sandwich rolls. He jogs across the street and drops the bread on a bench outside a shuttered coffee shop.

  I draw a breath to quiet the trembling inside.

  This might be home, but it’s not safe for me here—and it might never be. I can’t even begin to think about testing the waters until after Quinta Rosa do Vale officially changes hands, and the deed is sealed and recorded as a matter of public record.

  After that, I’m not worth anything. Yes, I’ll be millions of dollars richer, but money isn’t what they want from me. It’s the priceless vineyards. It’s always been about the vineyards.

  “How do you want to pay?” the driver asks, pointing to the charge on the taximeter.

  “Euros. Thank you,” I murmur, handing him some bills before getting out.

  My eyes dart up and down the deserted street before I climb the steep steps into the building.

  This is it. After I sign the papers, we’ll be safe. No more looking over my shoulder. Despite the freedom ahead, a muscle in my chest contracts painfully.

  I’m not sure the price of safety has ever been so high, but this isn’t just about me. If it were, I’d never give up Quinta Rosa do Vale. They’d have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.

  Inside the shallow entryway, I pause to offer a small prayer. Not to God—he doesn’t seem to want any part of my dilemma—but to my parents, to my mother, who I hope will forgive me for what I’m about to do. In my shoes, she would do the same thing. At least that’s what I tell myself when my conscience pricks sharply. Although it never dulls the pain. How can it?

  When I sign those papers today, I’ll be spitting on the graves of my ancestors. With a simple stroke of the pen, I’ll convey more than three centuries of my family’s blood, sweat, and tears to a stranger.