Page 2 of Captive Ruin

It makes my skin crawl.

The man next to us regards me with steady steel-grey eyes, like he’s assessing me in an instant and finding me wanting. His gaze takes in my ill-suited dress, pauses on my throat for a reason I can’t possibly explain but still sends a shiver through me, then settles on my face. His top lip twitches as though he wants to curl it in a sneer, like my existence is beneath him.

He’s undeniably handsome, but I go for more than just looks. Personality, for example, and not one that finds the whole world wanting or considers Serranto to be a worthy conversation partner.

Still, I can’t help but appreciate fine art in all its forms, and that body suggests it’s been sculpted by a master.

Serranto sees the direction of my gaze, and gestures with one hand, his signet ring catching the light. “This is Lukas Van Wyk, Amelia. He’s… uh… associated with Northbridge Capital, our hosts tonight.”

Presumably there’s some hidden meaning to his emphasis on that word, but I’m not planning to stay long enough to find out. As soon as I’ve delivered my message, I’ll be gone.

But before I can open my mouth, Van Wyk speaks. “If you weren’t on the guest list, why are you here?”

His voice carries an edge, but despite that, it’s deep and surprisingly melodious. It could be distracting, but I’m not in the mood to be questioned.

I hold his gaze. “That’s between Serranto and me.” There’s a flicker in his expression, a hunger in his eyes that is quite disconcerting. But I look away from him, at Steven. He’s my focus. “Let’s find a quiet corner.” I only make that suggestion with Lucy’s interests in mind, not caring to spare his blushes.

“Oh?” He cocks a smug eyebrow, like he thinks I’m about to proposition him.

I’d rather sleep with the sculpture we’re standing next to, despite the numerous sharp edges and spikes the artist has used.

Serranto smiles, but it still doesn’t reach his eyes. “Lukas is a friend, he won’t mind whatever you’d like to confess to me.”

I can’t help it; I laugh at that ridiculous phrase. As if I’d come to him for any such reason.

Van Wyk watches the whole exchange with growing interest.

“An ironic choice of words, Serranto,” I reply. “It’s you with confessions to make.”

He glances at Van Wyk, as if to say how amusing this woman is, and his smile takes on a condescending edge. “How so?”

“I did some digging on you,” I say. “It’s amazing what a private investigator can uncover.” I only wish I’d done it sooner.

“Sounds like you’re in trouble now,” Van Wyk says to Serranto, tone bored, like this is all a joke.

Serranto tries to laugh it off in response, but it’s strained. “What would Lucy say if she knew you’d been intruding?”

“She does know,” I reply coolly. “She also knows about your ex-wife in Tennessee, and the size of your alimony payments.”

His gaze hardens. “None of that is your business. It’s between your sister and me.”

“And your debts with three different Las Vegas casinos?” I continue. “I can’t imagine why a woman like my sister would be of interest to you. Would it, by chance, be the two million we each inherited?”

Serranto glances at Van Wyk again, this time with irritation in his expression. “One more time,” he says to me, his tone harsh, “what I do with Lucy is none of your concern.”

“My sister’s business is my concern, Serranto, and I’ll destroy anyone who tries to fuck with us. Stay away from her, and stay away from me.”

“Some might be drawn to you for that,” Van Wyk mutters.

I do a double take. Van Wyk is staring at me intently, but I dismiss him and focus back on Serranto, the real threat.

“Or what?” Serranto laughs. “What do you think you can do?” He takes a step closer, intruding into my space. “Look around you,” he mocks. “All these people are here through my connections. What would happen to your fledgling art gallery with the wrong word in the right ear?”

How dare he?

If he was expecting that to be intimidating, he’s going to be disappointed. My anger flares, no longer cold and controlled but surging hot and impulsive. “Is that the game you want to play?” Unlike him, I don’t try to keep my voice down. “Then what would your connections—like Mr. Van Wyk here—think of your past dealings with Natasha Rose?”

Serranto jerks like I’ve slapped him.