Page 9 of Wicked Bloodlines

Cesare rose first, buttoning his jacket with the measured movements of a man who’d orchestrated exactly the outcome he wanted. He turned to his daughter, and what passed between them might have been mistaken for tenderness by someone who didn’t know better. He cupped her face, kissed her cheek. His thumb lingered on her jaw for a fraction longer, and I caught the pressure he applied. Not enough to hurt. Enough to remind.

“Make me proud, my dear,” he said, and the possessiveness in those words landed like a slap disguised as affection.

Sofia’s expression didn’t change. “Of course, Father.”

Cesare turned away from her without another word, crossing to Dario. They shook hands. The casualness of it turned my stomach. Cesare’s cane tapped its measured rhythm across the marble as he headed for the door, flanked by two of his own security. He didn’t look back at his daughter. Not once.

Something ugly turned in my gut. Whatever my feelings about this arrangement, whatever resentment I harbored toward Dario for engineering it, at least my brother had the decency to explain his reasoning. To look me in the eye when he asked me to sacrifice. Cesare Marchesi had just sold his only daughter and walked out like he was leaving a restaurant.

Sofia stood, smoothing the front of her dress. She picked up the small clutch she’d set beside her chair and turned toward the door, preparing to follow her father out. Something in the way she moved triggered every instinct I had. I had no idea why or what, but something wasn’t right.

I moved before I consciously decided to. My hand closed around her wrist, my fingers wrapping easily around the fine bones beneath her skin. The grip was firm enough to stop her but not enough to bruise. She stiffened when I pulled her toward me, not roughly, but with enough authority to close the distance between us until my mouth was inches from her ear.

My God, she smelled good, better than the brief whiff I’d gotten before. This close, that tempting scent tantalized me, teasing me with what could be if I could bend her to my will. I could see the fine hairs at her temple, the rapid flutter of her pulse in the hollow of her throat.

“Whatever game you’re playing,” I murmured, my lips close enough to brush the shell of her ear, “I’ll figure it out.”

She sucked in a breath. But when she turned her head bringing her face close enough that I could count the amber flecks in her irises. She held my gaze for a long, loaded moment, the kind of silence that said more than words ever could, then pulled her wrist free with a smooth motion that didn’t acknowledge the threat. Didn’t dignify it with a response. She simply walked toward the door.

I fell into step beside her, my hand finding the small of her back. The gesture was possessive and I meant it to be. A statement to anyone watching that this woman now fell under Luca protection, which also meant Luca authority. Through the thin fabric of her dress, I felt the tension in her spine, but she didn’t pull away. Didn’t stiffen further. She accepted the touch with the same controlled neutrality she’d applied to everything else this evening, and that pissed me off more than resistance would have.

We moved through High Tower’s lobby and through the executive exit in silence. The sky had gone dark while we’d been inside, clouds the color of bruises pressing low over the city. Rain slicked the pavement and turned the streetlights into smeared halos of amber and white.

The driver of the lead vehicle stepped out to open the rear door. Sofia paused under the awning, and I dropped my hand from her back. For a moment, we stood facing each other in the rain-dampened air.

“Welcome to the family,” I offered, the words rougher than I’d intended.

She blinked rapidly up at me and sucked in a small breath. Then she dropped her gaze before lowering herself into the back seat with the grace of someone accustomed to being watched. As the driver moved to close the door, her gaze found mine through the narrowing gap holding something fierce and private that she’d guard with her life.

As the door closed, I saw her lift her hand to her chest. Then the door shut and she was gone.

I stood in the rain for three seconds too long before stalking to the second vehicle, yanking the door open, and dropping into the driver’s seat. The engine was already running, the heater pushing warm air against the windshield where rain crawled in crooked lines. I pulled out behind the lead SUV, following its taillights through the wet streets.

My hands gripped the steering wheel hard enough to reopen the splits across my knuckles. Fresh pain blossomed across both hands, sharp and clarifying, but for once it didn’t help. This was bad. This was so fucking bad. Not only couldn’t I trust the woman, but she stirred every fucking protective instinct I had when no woman ever had. I needed to take a step back and didn’t know if I could.

The convoy wound through rain-slicked streets, past the financial district’s glass towers and into the stretches of highway that led toward the estate.

I flexed my bleeding knuckles on the wheel and tried to untangle the knot in my chest. Suspicion, I understood. It was my job, my default setting, the thing that kept me and my brothers alive. But the heat arching between us had nothing to do with anger. The pull I’d felt when her face was inches from mine had less to do with intimidating her than needing to kiss her.

Dario had promised this could be a marriage in name only as long as we both maintained appearances. Simple. Clean. But nothing about the woman in the car ahead of me suggested simple or clean. She was a locked room with something ticking behind the door, and every instinct told me that when it finally opened, the blast radius would be considerable.

The rain hammered harder against the windshield as the city fell away behind us, replaced by the dark stretch of road leading to Villa Luca. I followed the red glow of her taillights through the storm and promised I would figure out Sofia Marchesi before she figured out how to use me. Before this arrangement turned into something I couldn’t control. Before she became the one threat I couldn’t easily kill.

Chapter Four

Sofia

The rain had softened to a steady murmur by the time the luxury car turned through the wrought-iron gates, their elaborate crests gleaming wet under floodlights. I pressed my palm flat against the cold leather of the seat beside me and watched Villa Luca appear through the fog. Stone walls rising from manicured darkness, century-old olive trees lining the drive gave the place a regal, old-world feel. The atmosphere felt at once nostalgic and threatening. By all accounts, the Lucas were as ruthless as my father and, like my father, I knew many people had lost their life at the hands of the men who haunted this estate. Security cameras were out in plain sight, which meant there were many more I didn’t see. If nothing else, at least my father wouldn’t have access to me. Unless the Lucas allowed him access to me.

My suitcase had been placed in the trunk. Along with the flash drive in its hidden zippered pocket, tucked into the lining where no casual search would find it. I’d stashed my laptop beneath a layer of neatly folded cashmere. My father had no idea I had the laptop and would never allow me to keep it if he knew. The rest — my clothes, my books, the few sentimental objects I’d allowed myself to accumulate — Fillipa would send later. If my father didn’t stop her.

The circular driveway curved toward the main house, and I saw him before the vehicle fully stopped. Matteo Luca stood in the entrance like the dark don of the villa itself, adjusting expensive cuff links at his wrists as we stopped next to him. The light from the foyer behind him threw his features into sharp relief, the hard line of his jaw betraying his displeasure.

A man standing next to Matteo stepped to the car to open my door, but I was already reaching for the handle. I didn’t need anyone opening doors for me.

“Stop!” The man at the door barked out his command, not allowing me to open the door. When I looked up in confusion, I saw he faced away from the car. Another man stayed close to Matteo but looked just as alert as the man blocking the door of the car.

A moment later, he turned and opened the door. Instead of the guard who spoke next, it was Matteo. He didn’t look at me. “You never open your own door. Your guard will open the door when he determines it’s safe to do so and not before. Do you understand?” He didn’t raise his voice.