Chapter 3

...Chapter 3...

...Dante’s POV...

- The wedding will take place in six months, declares Francis.

That gives enough time for preparations without dragging on too long. However, the public announcement should be made immediately. Disgust overwhelms me as he smiles, perfectly hiding the snake he is behind his jovial tone and friendly expression. We moved to the dining room after my arrival, and the conversation immediately turned to the wedding preparations. Obviously, he wants the whole world to know as soon as possible that his daughter is marrying a Russo.

Men like Francis are ready to do anything to climb the social ladder, including threatening me two weeks ago in my own office, shortly after my grandfather's death. Thinking back on it, rage swells in my chest. If I had listened to myself, he would have left New York in a wheelchair. Alas, I am bound hand and foot, at least metaphorically, and until I find a way to untie them, I will have to remain silent. At least, most of the time.

- No, that won't be the case, I reply, gripping my wine glass tighter, imagining instead Francis's neck. No one will believe that I'm getting married so quickly, unless there's a dubious reason. For example, if your daughter were pregnant and we were getting married in a hurry.

My insinuation makes everyone uncomfortable, but I maintain a neutral expression and a bored tone. Restraint is not something that comes naturally to me. When I don't like someone, I make sure the person knows it, but extraordinary circumstances call for extraordinary measures. Francis's lips pinch.

- In that case, what do you propose ?

- One year is a much more reasonable duration.

Never would be better, but that's not an option.

- A year will do the trick then.

It's short enough for Francis to agree, and long enough to give me time to find and destroy the evidence of his blackmail. In any case, I hope so.

- The announcement of our engagement can be postponed, I continue. A month will give us time to come up with a credible story, given that your daughter and I have never even been seen together in public.

- We don't need a month to come up with a story, he retorts.

If arranged marriages are common in high society, the parties involved always make a considerable effort to hide the true reason for the arrangement. Admitting that one family is joining another for reasons of social status or money is considered vulgar.

- Two weeks, he decides. We will make the announcement the weekend Vivian moves in with you.

My jaw tightens and I feel my fiancée stiffen beside me, clearly surprised to learn that she has to live with me before the wedding. That's part of Francis's conditions in exchange for his silence, and I already dread that moment. I hate it when people invade my privacy.

- I am sure your family would also like to announce it soon, Francis continues, emphasizing the word family. Don't you agree ? I hold his gaze until he fidgets in his chair and looks away.

- Let's go for two weeks.

The day of the announcement doesn't matter. I just want to make the preparations as complicated as possible. What matters is the wedding date. One year. One year to destroy the photos and break off the engagement. It will be a huge scandal, but my reputation can handle it. Unlike the Lau's.

For the first time of the evening, I smile. Francis stirs again and clears his throat.

- Perfect. We will work together on the announcement...

- I will write it. Then ?

I ignore his dark look and take another sip of merlot. The conversation turns into a boring enumeration of guests, flowers, and a million other absurdities I couldn't care less about. A stormy anger swells within me, and I no longer listen to Francis and his wife. Instead of working on the Santeri contract or relaxing at Club Valhalla, I'm stuck here, on a Friday night, listening to their nonsense.

Next to me, Vivian eats without saying a word, lost in her thoughts. After a heavy silence, she finally speaks up.

- How was your flight ?

- Very good.

- Very well.

- I appreciate that you took the time to come here even though we could have met in New York. You must be very busy.

I cut a piece of my veal cutlet and bring it to my mouth. Vivian's gaze pierces me as I slowly chew the meat.

- I also heard that the more zeros a person has in their bank account, the less capable they are of conversing, she declares in a falsely sweet tone. Do you confirm this rumor ?

- I thought an heiress like you would know that it's inappropriate to talk about money in polite society.

- I thought an heiress like you would know that it is inappropriate to talk about money in good society.

- The key word being "good."

A faint smile stretches across my lips. Under different circumstances, I might have liked Vivian. She's gorgeous and surprisingly witty, with wisdom-filled brown eyes and a refined figure that no amount of money can buy. But with her pearls and Chanel tweed suit, she's a carbon copy of her mother and all the other uptight heiresses who care only about their status in society. What's more, she's Francis' daughter. It's not her fault she's the offspring of a bastard, but I don't care. Even her beauty can't erase that stain on her pedigree.

- It's rude to talk to a guest like that, I reply mockingly, reaching for the salt.

My sleeve brushes against her arm and I see her tense up.

- What would your parents say ?

It's been less than an hour since we met, and I've already figured out how Vivian works: being perfect, avoiding confrontation and a desperate need for her parents' approval. Bla-bla-bla, what a bore ! Her eyes crinkle.

- They would say that the guests in question must respect social etiquette just as much as their host, including making an effort to hold polite conversation.

- Would they ? Does propriety include dressing like a Park Avenue housewife ? I retort.

Detailing her jacket and pearls. I don't care if women like Cecilia wear such an outfit, but Vivian looks as out of place in these old-fashioned clothes as a diamond in a burlap sack. I don't know why, but it annoys me.

- No, but it clearly doesn't include ruining a pleasant dinner with this kind of behavior, she replies coldly. You should buy yourself some manners to go with your suit, Mister. Russo. As a luxury CEO, you know better than anyone that the slightest lapse in taste can ruin an entire outfit.

Another smile appears on my lips, still discreet, but more insistent. Not so boring after all. However, any trace of amusement goes up in smoke when her mother interferes in our conversation.

- Dante, is it true that all the Russo's get married at the family estate on Lake Como ? I hear the renovations will be completed next summer, in time for the wedding.

My smile disappears and I tense up when she mentions the ceremony again. I look away from Vivian to meet Cecilia's enthusiastic face.

- Yes, I retort curtly. All weddings have taken place at Villa Serafina since the 18th century.

My great-great-great-grandfather had this place built and named it after his wife. Although my family is originally from Sicily, they emigrated to Venice, where they made their fortune in the luxury textile trade. By the time the boom in Venetian trade came to an end, they had diversified enough to continue prospering, and then acquired properties all over Europe. Today, several centuries later, the Russo family is scattered all over the world, in New York, Rome, Paris and Switzerland, but Villa Serafina remains the family estate we hold most dear.

I'd rather drown in the Mediterranean than tarnish this place with the farce that is this wedding. My anger suddenly resurfaces.

- Superb! exclaims Cecilia. Oh, I'm so glad you're soon to be part of the family. You and Vivian are the perfect couple. You know, she speaks six languages, plays the piano and the violin, and...

- Excuse me, I scold, pulling back my chair loudly and interrupting Cecilia. I must leave for a few moments.

At my rudeness, the room falls silent. I don't wait for an answer before turning on my heels, leaving behind a furious Francis, a perplexed Cecilia and an embarrassed Vivian. My anger continues to bubble up inside me, but it subsides a little more as I walk away from them. In the past, I was quick to take revenge on those who attacked me. Never mind the saying that revenge is a dish best served cold. My personal motto has always been to strike fast, strike hard and strike where it hurts the most.

The world is changing too fast for me not to evolve with it. I've always dealt with my problems by reacting harshly to make sure they don't happen again, then moving on. However, the Lau situation requires patience. It's a virtue I'm not familiar with, and I feel cramped, as if in a suit that's too tight. The echo of my footsteps disappears as the marble floor gives way to carpet.

I've visited enough mansions to know where the toilets are, but I walk past them without stopping, choosing instead the mahogany door at the end of the corridor. I turn the handle and discover an office decorated in the style of an English library, with wood panelling, leather furniture and dark green accents. Francis' sanctuary. At least it's not overloaded with gold like the rest of the house.

My eyes were about to bleed, the sight was so awful. I left the door open and entered, taking my time. If Francis doesn't like me searching his office, he can come and confront me. He's not so stupid as to have left the photos lying around in an unlocked room when I was coming tonight. And even if they were here, he would have planned to keep copies elsewhere. I settle into his chair, take a Cuban cigar from the box in his drawer and light it, studying the place.

My anger gives way to reflection. The black screen of the computer tempts me, but I prefer to leave the hacking to Christian, who is already looking for digital copies of the photos. Instead, I focus on a shot of Francis and his family in the Hamptons. My research has taught me that they have a vacation home in Bridgehampton, and I'd bet my brand-new Renoir that at least one copy of the evidence is there. Where else could they be...

- What are you doing ?

The smoke from my cigar obscures Vivian's face, but I can still clearly feel her disapproval. That was quick. I thought I had another five minutes before her parents forced her to come and get me.

- I take a cigar break, retorting with a slow draw. I don't smoke cigarettes, but I do enjoy a good Cohiba.

At least Francis has good taste in that department.

- In my father's study ?

- Obviously, I answer.

A gloomy satisfaction comes over me when the smoke clears and reveals Vivian's grimace. Finally, a trace of emotion. I was beginning to think I was stuck with a robot for the duration of this ridiculous engagement. She crossed the room and took the cigar from my hand, dropping it into the glass of water on the desk, without taking her eyes off me.

- I understand that you're used to doing what you want when you want, but it's extremely impolite to sneak out in the middle of a meal to smoke in your host's office, she declares, her fine facial features taut. Please, join us at the table. Your meal is getting cold.

- That's my problem, not yours, I declare, stepping back. Why don't you take a break with me ? I promise it'll be more pleasant than listening to your mother worry about the wedding flowers.

- Given our interactions so far, I highly doubt it, she retorts.

I study her playfully as she slowly inhales and exhales in a controlled manner.

- I don't understand what you're doing here, Vivian resumes in a calmer voice. It's clear you don't like this arrangement, and you don't need money or a connection to my family. You could have any woman you want.

- Really ? I say. What if it's you I want ?

- It's not, she replies, clenching her fists.

- You underestimate yourself, I say, standing up and walking around the desk to join her.

I stop when I'm close enough to see her pulse beating in her neck. Would it beat faster if I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back ? If I kissed her hard enough to mark her mouth and pulled up her skirt until she begged me to take her ? A wave of heat rushes through my lower abdomen. I have no desire to fuck her, but she's so prim and proper that I'm dying to corrupt her. A deafening silence falls between us as I raise my hand to stroke her lower lip with my thumb. Her breathing becomes anarchic, but she doesn't back down. She gazes defiantly into mine and I take my time exploring the curves of her mouth. It's fleshy, soft and so tempting it's disturbing, compared to the rest of her formal appearance.

- You're sublime, I say languidly. Perhaps I saw you at an event and fell completely under your spell, before asking your father for your hand in marriage.

- I don't know why, but I highly doubt it, she replies as her breath tickles my skin. What deal have you struck with my father ?

The reminder of the deal in question ruins the sensuality of the moment as quickly as it appeared. I freeze, my thumb on her bottom lip, and let my hand fall back, cursing in my head. Tingles cover my skin as the memory of her sweetness etches itself into my memory. I hate Francis for blackmailing me, and I hate Vivian for being his pawn. What the hell am I doing playing with her in this office ?

- You should ask your father, I retort with a cruel, humorless smile. Never mind the details, just know that if I'd had the choice, I wouldn't have agreed to this damn marriage. But business is business, and you... you're just part of the deal.

I conclude my explanations with a shrug. Vivian is not aware of her father's schemes. Francis warned me not to talk to her about it, but I wouldn't have done it anyway. The fewer people who know about the blackmail, the better. He discovered one of my rare weaknesses, and there's no way he's going to inform the rest of the world about it. Vivian's gaze ignites with anger.

- You are a bastard.

- Yes, indeed. Better get used to it, my dear, because I am also your future husband. Now, if you would kindly excuse me... I adjust my jacket with deliberate care, I have to go back to dinner. As you said, my meal is getting cold.

I walk past her, savoring the delicious taste of her indignation. One day, she will wake up and discover that her wish has been granted and our engagement is broken. Until then, I will bide my time and play the game, because Francis's ultimatum is crystal clear : if I don't marry Vivian, my brother will die.

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