by Eva Charles
“I apologize,” I murmur, smoothing my blazer.
He doesn’t deserve an apology. But this isn’t who I am, and I’m embarrassed. Although not as embarrassed as I would be if there were guards monitoring me in the shower.
“I’ll dress for dinner next time.”
He steps closer, gripping my arm above the elbow so tightly I can’t move. “Next time is right now. I suggest you go upstairs and shower quickly, because the staff is on until dinner is finished, and they’ve already had a long day. This isn’t the US. They’re not paid overtime.”
I feel the color rise in my cheeks. With Antonio still holding my arm, I glance at Victor, begging silently for forgiveness.
He smiles kindly and winks at me with both eyes.
I look up at Antonio. His gaze is dark and threatening, not inviting questions or comments. But I need to know. I have a right to know.
“Are there cameras in the bathroom?” I whisper, my heart racing.
His brow crinkles, and he blinks a couple of times. “No.”
“Do I have your word?” Not that it matters. I clearly don’t have a choice.
He drags me to the bank of windows across the room from where Victor is mincing parsley, out of earshot.
“You’re hurting me,” I hiss, but he doesn’t loosen his grip on my arm.
“Is that why you haven’t showered or changed your clothes since you arrived?”
I nod. “I’m not—”
“Did you sleep in those clothes?”
I lift my chin. I’m not going to let him make me feel any smaller than I already do. This is all on him.
“I didn’t have another option. I’m not an exhibitionist, and we both know that photos of me naked would eventually find their way to the internet.”
He doesn’t say the words, not even in a roundabout way, but I see the regret in his face. It’s gone as quickly as it came, but it gives me a sliver of hope. I had started to have doubts that he had any humanity. But his conscience is still there. It’s buried under a mountain of sins, but the heartbeat is detectable.
There’s hope for me.
“You have my word,” he says unequivocally.
Maybe I’m foolish, but I believe him. He’d have no qualms about telling me there are cameras and I need to suck it up.
“There’s no surveillance in your suite,” Antonio continues. “It will remain that way as long as you don’t give me any reason to have it installed.”
He couldn’t leave it at “There’s no surveillance in your suite,” like a decent man would have done.
One small pang of regret does not a decent man make.
“I won’t be long,” I murmur, scowling at where his fingers still squeeze my arm.
Antonio slowly removes his hand, and we glance at the welts on my skin. They’re a fresh, vivid red. Tomorrow there will be bruises.
Acid tickles my throat. The insults I want to hurl are on the tip of my tongue. But I won’t be reduced to the animal he’s pushing me to be.
I stay quiet and let my eyes spew the fury.
To his credit, he doesn’t look away. He takes all my anger, my disgust, every drop of it—until I’m tired of looking at him.
When I’m done, I turn and walk across the room and through the doorway with my head high.
He can go straight to hell.
16
Antonio
Are there cameras in the bathroom?
It was a whisper, but I’m sure Victor heard every word. I’m also sure an image of my father came to mind when he heard the fear in her small, timid voice.
It was bad, although not as bad as the marks I left on her skin. Marks not put there for pleasure—mine or hers, or as a calculated punishment to teach a lesson. I have no problem marking her in either of those ways. But the welts on her skin are the stain of a raging, out-of-control man.
Like my father.
I’ve seen angry, red handprints before. On my mother’s smooth cheek, her neck, arms—anywhere my father could reach. It always started with an open hand. Then his fists would fly, and before he was done, he might kick her, or beat her with some shiny object that caught his attention.
Violence begins with a whimper, not a roar.
I’ve spent a lifetime evading Hugo Huntsman’s shadow, ridding myself of his stench. In less than thirty-six hours, Daniela has managed to coax the rage to the surface. To dredge up the pain I keep buried, the rage, stir it ruthlessly, and send me back to the edge of the abyss.
She’s not entirely to blame. My father’s DNA is a powerful force, rotten to the core. The roots are deep and clawing, their tentacles insidious. True escape is not part of my destiny.
Darkness is my destiny. I accept it. But I will not be Hugo Huntsman. I’d rather be dead.
Without a word to Victor, I go to the library and pour a whiskey, emptying the tumbler and pouring another before putting down the bottle.
This is not the life I want. Not for me, and not for her either. She’s an innocent woman who doesn’t deserve to be saddled with a monster.
But it’s not so simple. I vowed to marry her—to keep her safe. A drop of my blood sealed the oath. Honoring that promise will require sacrifice—from both of us.
It might have been easier to have married her right after her father died, when she was young and more malleable. But I had a war to win, and power to solidify, and she was little more than a child. Beautiful and barely restrained, even then, but much too young for my tastes. Now she’s been out of the country, living in the US, where arranged marriages and other old ways of our world don’t exist—at least not in the open. It’s hard to walk away from that kind of freedom once you’ve tasted it.
But she will. I’m not going to give her a damn choice.
Daniela’s spirit needs to be broken. No. Not broken. I don’t want that either.
Her fire makes my blood hot—and my dick hard. I’ve spent more time than I care to admit thinking about fucking the little hellion. I want her passionate. I want her hungry. I want her blood to burn the way mine does. But that passion needs to be better controlled. I need her compliant. Obedient. It’s for her own good.
Most women who grew up like Daniela already understand the danger that lurks in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to pounce. They learn, as teenagers, to balance their safety with their desire for freedom. Mothers, older sisters, and wise aunts pass on this life skill, much the same way they teach about fashion or babies.
But Daniela has no sisters, no aunts, and her mother died when she was twelve. She had the maid, but the dangers Isabel knew were far different from the ones awaiting her young charge.
Her father taught her nothing. He sheltered her from anyone and anything that could do her harm. He protected her, but in the process he denied her important life lessons.
I don’t know any more about teaching a woman how to balance safety and freedom than her father did. Maybe less. My instincts are the same as his: Take away all autonomy, any meaningful choice, and confine her to the house, unless she’s well-guarded or with me. But unlike Manuel, I can’t keep her cloistered forever. At least I prefer not to. She’s an adult now, and she deserves more—at least an opportunity to earn more.
I’m prepared to give her some measure of freedom, but first she needs to submit to the rules and stay within the boundaries I construct. It’s the only way to ensure her safety in this dangerous world.
“Senhor,” Victor calls from the doorway. There’s a brittle politeness in his voice that’s not normally there. “Where should I serve dinner?”
“We’ll eat in here. Near the fire.”
He strides into the room and takes the candlesticks from the mantel. It takes me a few seconds to realize they’re for the table. I’m here for dinner and to set a tone. It’s not a romantic evening.
“Candles aren’t necessary. Between the lamps and the fire, we’ll have plenty of light.”
He nods curtly and replaces the candlesticks before leaving
without a word. As much as I’m sure he’d like to, Victor knows better than to question me further.
I light the kindling in the fireplace and gaze into the flames as it catches. No matter how much sadness fills her warm brown eyes, I can’t be soft with her. Not even when we’re alone. Not yet. Maybe not ever. That part is in her hands.
Why didn’t I stay in the goddamn city tonight?
17
Antonio
When I turn around, Daniela’s in the doorway, wearing a fitted skirt with a soft red wrap draped around her shoulders. Thin lines mar her brow, but her head is high and her posture regal. Not like a princesa but like a queen.
“Come in.”
She hesitates before stepping into the room. Can’t blame her for being wary.
As she moves, the light bounces off the gems dangling from her ears, bathing her face in a pearly glow.
She’s gorgeous.
I suck in a long breath as my eyes rove down her legs to a pair of high-heel slides.
I can blame oaths and contracts until I’m blue in the face, but this is why I didn’t stay in the city.
“Red is beautiful on you,” I murmur, taking a step toward her.
“Red is beautiful on everyone.”
Her lips curl as she gazes at the fire, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Although it’s not so beautiful when applied directly to the skin.”
It’s a small slap to remind me I’m an asshole. I should have known she wouldn’t let the manhandling slide. A part of me is happy she’s calling me out, but as much as I deserve it, I can’t allow her to question my behavior.
I glance at her arm. The color has deepened, and it’ll be a dark-purple hue by tomorrow. She’s entitled to the small slap. That’s what my better angels whisper.
No one’s around, so I choose to ignore the slight. But I know better. Tiny infractions, if not nipped in the bud, turn into something bigger and, ultimately, more dangerous.
If you can’t control your woman, how can you control the entire region and a multibillion-dollar Port industry? That’s what my enemies will conclude right before making a power grab.
Daniela is going to fight me every step of the way. Nothing will be easy.
Easy is boring, Antonio. Easy is all the women who came before her. The women who were happy to spread their legs. The ones who wanted nothing more than to be your wife. The women who couldn’t capture your interest for more than an hour or two. She’s not like them.
No, she’s not.
I reach over and take a loose wave between my fingers. She lowers her eyes but doesn’t pull away.
Sometime after she left, while I was still healing, I wandered through the D’Sousas’ house to see what kind of upkeep the property would require. I spent longer than necessary in Daniela’s room—trying to get a sense of the woman who would one day be my wife. At least that’s what I told myself.
But the truth is, I was recovering from a near-death experience. My enemies got to me because I was reckless and arrogant. I felt young and stupid, and my lungs were still weak from the ventilator. I’d been in bed for weeks, unable to work out, and for a while I couldn’t even make it to the bathroom without stopping to rest. My pride was wounded and my body weaker than it had ever been.
Being in Daniela’s room infused me with a renewed sense of strength—of purpose. It made me feel alive. I promised to marry her. To keep her safe. I was with her right before the attack, and her bedroom was steeped in her essence, reminding me how sweet she tasted, how her hair smelled of orange blossoms, and how hard my cock had been from a simple stolen kiss.
I drank her in. Learned everything I could about her—and took it with me.
In the shower that night, I braced my shoulders against the stone and fucked my fist while I fantasized about her. Her pouty lips on my cock. Her eyes filled with lust as she smiled shyly from her knees. Her sweet smell carried by the steam. With my eyes shut and the water beating on me, I pumped fast and rough until I was spent.
Just thinking about that night makes me hard.
When it was time to bring her back to Porto, I had Victor stock the bathroom with toiletries I remembered from her room. Brands she couldn’t afford while she lived in the US. I’m not sure if I did it for her, or for me.
“Your hair is damp.” I rub the curl between my fingers, dispersing a faint citrus scent into the air.
“I didn’t want to keep you waiting any longer than necessary.”
“You mean you didn’t want to punish the staff any more than necessary. You don’t give a damn about making me wait.” My words are sharp, but my tone is light.
Her cheeks pinken. “That’s not true.”
“You’re not the innocent girl I met with in your father’s office—you’re a beautiful woman.” Who’s going to be the death of me. “While you’ve proven to be quite wily, you’re still a terrible liar.” I pause. “Don’t ever forget what I said about lying to me.”
I tug on her hair gently, but it’s enough to make my point.
She pulls her lips into a tight, disapproving line, but she doesn’t say anything.
“Would you like a drink?”
“No, thank you. I haven’t eaten much today. It’s probably better if I wait. I’ll have wine with dinner.”
One choppy sentence after another tumbles out in a breathless voice. She’s nervous. As she should be. Isn’t that what you want?
Daniela watches as I pour myself another whiskey. She’s quiet, but I suspect the noise inside her head is loud and frenzied.
“I apologize for the way I came to dinner earlier. I wasn’t sure—please don’t punish the staff, especially Victor. He’s not a young man, and he’s up early. I’d be more than happy to serve dinner and to clean up when we’re done—or at least clear the dishes. I’m used to it. We don’t have help at home.”
This is your home. And you’re not a goddamn servant. Stop acting like one.
“What about Isabel? Isn’t she a maid?” It comes out gruffer than I intend.
Daniela narrows her eyes, shooting daggers at me. “Why did you kill her husband?”
She awaits my response with her chin up and shoulders squared. As nervous as she is, she has a streak of courage inside her that won’t be kept down. Even though it makes my life more difficult, it’s hard not to admire her mettle.
“Why?” she demands in a whisper.
I didn’t, but I would have. The sonofabitch contacted us and offered to share Daniela’s location for the right price. He also wanted a lot of money in exchange for secrets he claimed to know. He deserved to die, but someone else got to him before we did.
“I’ve already told you once—I didn’t kill Jorge. But don’t spend a second mourning him. He was only too happy to sell you out, and not just you, but his wife and daughter. He was the worst kind of scum.”
The color drains from her face. “Is—is that how you found out where we were living?”
“We’ve known where you were the entire time.” And although it took awhile, someone else found you too.
Daniela blinks several times before the wheels begin turning. No doubt she has more questions, but I’m not ready to give her more answers.
“If Isabel isn’t your maid, what role does she play in your life?” I know all about Isabel. More than I care to know. But aside from redirecting the conversation, I’d like to hear about the relationship from her mouth. It might provide some insight into how to deal with Isabel, who is still too damn anxious for her own good. Plus, it might give me some ammunition to keep Daniela in line, if we need it.
She steps closer to the fire and holds her hands inside the decorative grate, warming them.
“She’s had many roles. Isabel came to live with us when she was fifteen,” Daniela says in a hollow voice. “My mother intervened to protect her from being trafficked. I’m surprised you don’t know the story.”
Oh, I know the story. Not just hers but dozens like hers.
“Since
my mother died, she’s been more of an assistant than a maid. She’s always been like a member of the family.” Her voice catches as she says the word family.
I pour some water and hand it to her.
“Thank you,” she says, taking the glass.
When she presses her glossy lips to the rim, my cock twitches like I’m fourteen. Christ. I avert my eyes and take a swig of whiskey.
“Let’s go back to Victor for a moment,” she says softly. “Please let him go to his suite at a reasonable time. He needs to rest.”
“Why do you care so much?”
“He’s not young. And he’s gone to a lot of trouble to make me comfortable. The better question is, Why don’t you care?”
Aside from my mother, who essentially has an unlimited pass, no one would dare question me using that tone. Not even Rafael, or Cristiano, or Lucas. No one.
“Watch your tone, Princesa. I won’t repeat myself.”
I add a log to the fire, and then another. “We all have our roles in life. Some we’ve chosen and some that have been chosen for us. Victor is free when I no longer need him this evening—after coffee has been served, and every dish has been washed and put away.” I turn to her. “Your role is to enjoy the food he’s prepared and to be good company for me while we have dinner—and later.”
Her chest rises and falls, and I half expect her to tell me to go fuck myself. That I won’t let pass.
Daniela slides her tongue over her fuckable lips and gazes into my eyes. “I’m the one responsible for dinner being delayed. Punish me instead.”
Punish me instead. It takes every bit of self-control I can muster to not move.
I’m jonesing to give her what she wants. To punish her in ways that’ll have tortured whimpers and helpless cries tumbling from that sexy little mouth.
While I’m fantasizing about defiling her gorgeous body, she’s watching me intently. Taking stock of the animal. She doesn’t bat an eyelash. It’s as though she sees into the depths of my twisted soul, but instead of recoiling, she thumbs her nose at the beast. She’s nervous but not afraid—there’s a difference.