by Mason, V. F.
Besides, absolute trust toward those around you based on their word alone is a privilege not everyone in this world has, especially the likes of me. “No tengo idea de lo que estás hablando.”
“No idea what I’m talking about? Let me refresh your memory then. I asked you to invest in her scholarship program a few weeks ago, and you insisted on meeting her.”
Everything inside me goes still while the conversation flashes in my head, reminding me about the name Rebecca coming up as my friend convinced me to believe she worked for the greater good and sponsor a few of her projects while he’d be away on his long honeymoon, as he planned to travel the world with Lila.
Art and the bohemian world never interested me much. Their rose-colored-glasses view on things amuse me; however, listening to their idealistic hopes and dreams bores me more than my victims begging for salvation.
That being said, giving an opportunity to a child in need sparked my interest, although once again very mildly.
“Rebecca Esmeralda Hugh.” I taste her name on my lips,. “A gallery owner.”
“The one and only. She’s agreed to meet you, so when do you want to do this?”
Glancing at the clock hanging on the wall, I reply, “Hoy.”
Eugene stays silent for a moment, and then asks, “Today?” I hear some rustling on the other side. “Aren’t you in Chicago?”
Why would this fact stop me? I own enough private planes to fly whenever I wish.
Why prolong the inevitable?
If destiny has granted me an opportunity to meet my bait without having to fabricate anything, I should welcome this gift with open arms.
Besides, me investing in her gallery already warms her up to me, adding to the whole charming persona women love to claim I possess.
If they really knew me, their sentiment would be vastly different, but then again, I don’t care what they think.
“Sí. Tell her to be at Cosa N at six o’clock.” The restaurant would be a perfect place where no one would dare interrupt us, and it would provide us much-needed privacy without stumbling on someone we might know.
Before Eugene can object or say any other shit that would annoy me, I hang up on him and head toward the bar. Pouring myself a glassful of whiskey, and I raise it high in the air.
Let the games begin.
The victory shall be mine.
And so will she.
For a moment in time anyway.
Chapter Four
“When two hunters engage in a fight destined to destroy each other, they know one golden rule.
The one who catches the most precious prey wins.
Because a hunter who lost is no longer invincible.
And as such, his loss is the beginning of his downfall.
Sometimes though, the prey is so irresistible…
a hunter doesn’t wish to let it go.
These are the most dangerous situations of all.
For when prey becomes an obsession, another game begins.
Where a hunter has a weakness, it’s so easy to take away.
Vulnerability is a weapon in the hands of other monsters.”
Lucian
Esmeralda
The cab stops abruptly, sending me flying forward. I manage to place my palm on the front seat before my forehead smacks it.
Pushing my hair out of my face, I glare at the cabbie, who mutters, “Sorry, miss,” and then takes a rough turn to the right, avoiding the nearby traffic and speedily moving, hopefully, toward the restaurant, because I have no freaking idea where it’s located.
It’s probably something fancy where all the important people mingle, conducting business deals. I tug at my summer dress, hoping it will work for the restaurant.
I huff in exasperation. They can damn well blame this man who demanded that we meet right away, and even though Eugene was apologetic on the phone, it does little to settle the fury brewing inside me.
The only reason I agreed to go now is to tell him what I think about his methods and belief that he can order people around, because I sure as hell don’t need him as an investor or future benefactor.
He probably spends his free time coming up with ways to make someone’s life miserable, and no one needs a man like that in charge of anything.
The cabbie appears to take my frustration personally. He catches my gaze in the rearview mirror and grins at me, although worry still crosses his face. “Don’t worry, miss. We’ll make it on time. Just one more turn, and we’ll be there.”
I muster up a smile for his sake, because this man can’t be on the receiving end of my temper as he tries to help me. It’s not his fault I’m meeting a charming asshole in a few minutes. “It’s okay. I’m not in a hurry,” I mutter under my breath; the damn man can wait.
Bet no one ever made him to do that before!
I roll the window down, sighing when the light breeze brushes my cheek, bringing much-needed relief to my heated skin, and billows my hair back, instantly calming me.
Enclosed spaces always pull up old fears. This is one of the reasons I prefer to walk everywhere, which works splendidly most of the time and saves me from attending all the useless parties filled with people who love to give me advice on how to live my life when their own are on fire.
“Are you an artist?” he asks, turning to the left and heading along the narrow, empty road leading to a massive, lit-up building in the distance.
“Yes. What gave me away?”
He glances at me over his shoulder. “My niece loves to draw all the time. Her fingertips are always colored, just like yours.” Instinctively, I clench my fists, hiding my paint-smeared fingers that I didn’t have time to thoroughly scrub.
When Eugene called me, I was in the middle of smearing blue paint over the ocean, creating waves, and since the brushes weren’t delivering the vision I wanted, I had to use my fingers.
It took him five calls to get me, and seriously, someone needs to tell the future Harrison couple to stop harassing me during my creation time. I had thirty minutes to take a quick shower, put on clean clothes, and hop into a cab to make it on time.
The cabbie continues to talk as he adjusts the cap on his head before placing both of his hands back on the steering wheel. “We signed her up for a competition this summer.” I freeze, the air sticking in my throat, while he adds, “They say she might be the new ‘it’ person in art.”
“You won ten competitions out of eleven. Do you know what it means, Rebecca?” Grandmother asks, and I shake my head, knowing full well she expects an answer. “It means you are a failure.”
Shifting on my seat, I almost stick my head out the window to gulp fresh air while wrapping my hands around my throat, urging myself to forget all the words spoken to me by the vicious woman.
“That’s great,” I finally manage to croak, swallowing hard. “Best of luck to her.”
He straightens up, his mouth widens in a brighter smile, and he says, “Thank you. We love her so much. As long as she’s happy, you know?”
Warmth fills my chest at the affection lacing his tone, easing my earlier reaction. I nod before noticing we’ve reached the wide building located in an otherwise empty area with green grass covering the ground and several security lights spread around the perimeter.
The café has a shining red sign that says Cosa N, and jazz music streams through speakers on the outside of the building. Several valets stand by the entrance ready to assist newcomers.
A car honks behind us, urging us to move, and the cabbie drives farther, rounding the building before pulling up by the massive double doors.
Digging out money, I hand it to him without counting, and say, “Thank you,” before getting out quickly. My wedges sound loud as I move across the parquet past the security guard and enter a spacious hallway, at the end of which stands a woman.
The air conditioning stirs the air, raising goose bumps on my arms. Murmured conversations merge with the music coming from behind a wall.
“Welcome
to Cosa N. Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asks cheerfully, scanning me from head to toe and lingering a little bit on my fingers before she raises her gaze back to me and pastes on a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m afraid we have a full house today.”
“It should be under the name of Lucian Cortez.” At least Eugene mentioned his surname, which suddenly hits me with the realization of why it sounded so familiar.
He is the heir to a multibillion-dollar empire, owning more land and corporations than some of the elite families combined, which makes him almost invincible, according to the various rumors permanently glued to him. It seems no one has much information about his mother since he was thirteen, when he was found by his father. Despite him being illegitimate, he inherited the dynasty throne, being the only child of Juan Cortez.
While I’ve never personally crossed paths with him, according to people uttering his name in hushed whispers, he is powerful, dominating, confident, and people flock to him. No one ever goes against his word, not if they want to survive in this world.
He’s one of the most powerful and dangerous men in the country, and there isn’t a woman in this town who doesn’t want to be his.
Why though is beyond me.
Even without meeting him, I agree with Lila.
He’s a charming asshole indeed, which explains why he felt I would dance to his tune with the wiggle of his finger, but the joke is going to be on him, because he can shove his money and dominating tendencies down his throat.
The hostess types something on the computer; her eyes widen at whatever she reads there, and then she grabs a menu, motioning toward the small opening leading into the restaurant. “Please, follow me.”
The minute we step inside, it feels as if I’ve traveled to Florence or Rome. I’m filled with a familiar excitement from my love for the magnificent old cities.
The spacious restaurant teems with life as old Italian music streams from the sound system. People are chatting loudly around their wooden tables, eagerly munching on their food and laughing. The musicians are gathered on the stage, checking their equipment before they grace us with their talent.
The dishes clatter against each other as the servers pass them around so quickly I barely have time to blink or admire the waitstaff’s black pants, shirts, and vivid red aprons.
Red, black, and gold dominate the color scheme, drawing you into the glamorous atmosphere that leans toward exclusive and luxurious, as if giving you a little peek into another world but not truly welcoming you in it.
The walls are dotted with pictures of famous Italian cities and places, showcasing them in the best light, and almost making one wish to be there to experience the gorgeous views firsthand.
The smells of pizza and pasta fill my nostrils, making my mouth water and reminding me that the last time I ate was yesterday.
Watching people’s tables heavy with different foods that look amazing, I ask the hostess, “Can I order everything on the menu? I’ll take home whatever I don’t finish.”
She laughs. “We have some of the best chefs in town.” She saunters through the tables to a secluded area on the right that has several booths with curtains to provide privacy if one so wishes, it would seem. “You have the best table in the VIP section,” she says. “Nothing but the best for the Cortezes.”
Well then, it will be extra pleasurable to put him on his ass in the best section of the restaurant.
She points to the booth, puts the menus on the table, and tells me, “Lucian is at the bar right now. Is it okay if I leave you here?”
“Of course.” She sends a grin my way before rushing toward the entrance that has several people already waiting for her.
Dropping my bag on the booth seat, I slide my fingers over the wooden table before sitting down, noticing the exquisite artwork done by the designer who engraved symbols on the edges.
“Esme?” I groan inwardly when I spot a man moving toward me from a far table, a wide grin on his mouth while he rakes his gaze over me, making me want to hide under a rock so his penetrating stare won’t give me hives. “I’m so surprised to see you here.”
“Hi, Jacob.” Happiness crosses his face at my greeting, and he rolls his shoulders back, bringing attention to his lean physique wrapped in a three-piece suit. “I’m having a… meeting here.” I prefer to be vague about the purpose of this dinner so he won’t get any ideas about pursuing me after or, God forbid, offering to take me home.
The man has been relentless in his pursuit, although I think he tried going for subtle with all the flowers during my shows or hints about going out with me, but he never flat-out asked. He couldn’t have made his intentions clearer if he wrote it on his forehead. “I thought you didn’t like crowds.” He looks over his shoulder at his table, where a gorgeous woman sits, watching us angrily while tapping on her wine glass to the passing server.
“Well, certain situations require exceptions.”
He chuckles at my reply, hooking his thumbs inside his pockets. “Ain’t that the truth. Listen, would you like to go out with me next week?”
Is he seriously asking me on a date when he is on one right now?
“I think the lady at the table would mind,” I reply dryly, which fills his eyes with amusement.
He shrugs. “That’s my cousin.” He leans closer to me. “So? I promise you I’m good company.” He laughs. “Ask the ladies.”
Right.
His reputation precedes him wherever he goes. Sometimes, I wonder if he wants me just because compared to his other conquests, I’m not so easy to catch.
Licking my lips, I open my mouth to refuse and put his hopes, or hunting instincts, to rest since Jacob is a good-natured guy most of the time.
Funny, irresponsible, and talented?
Yes.
Straight-up asshole?
No.
The strap of my dress slides off my shoulder though, and Jacob reaches toward it, ready to put it back in place, but before his hand can touch me, another one wraps around his wrist, stopping him.
At once, a strong masculine scent mixed with whiskey and tobacco envelops me, penetrating my nostrils and blocking out the outside world. The stranger stands with his back to me. “No. La. Toques.” His deep, husky voice sends shivers through my body, awakening every hair on it and somehow feeling like silk gliding over my most sensitive flesh, urging me to listen to him. Such a voice should be forbidden, for it has the power to strip women of any coherent thoughts.
I blink in confusion at the authority lacing his tone as he warns Jacob to not touch me, and peeking my head to the side, I see Jacob raise both of his hands before winking at me. “I didn’t know she was yours, man.” His? I shake my head, ready to protest, when Jacob addresses me, provoking the stranger’s growl. “Have a nice evening, darling.” He slaps the man on his arm and races back to his seat, where the woman now gapes at the stranger, her mouth wide open as she scans him from head to toe, too mesmerized it seems to peel her eyes away from him.
Irrational jealousy flashes through me, almost demanding I drag this stranger inside the booth and shut the curtains so she can’t study him like the most delicious candy in a store.
I’ve lost my mind. What else explains this insanity?
“Excuse me?” I finally push the words out, too confused with the situation, because his face is still hidden from me. “Who are you?”
Finally, he turns around, and this time, the world truly ceases to exist. I’ve been dumped at the edge of the ocean, where only this male and his masculine beauty remains, blinding me to anyone or anything ever again.
The impact of it crashes into me like waves during a storm, ready to swallow the ship whole. The way my current painting serves as destiny’s way of warning me about this meeting and experiencing firsthand what those hopeless humans felt. The air hitches in my throat while electricity travels from the top of my head to the tip of my toes, sending unfamiliar longing into my cells that crave to step closer to th
is man.
His dark hair, falling just below his ears, accentuates his tan skin and high cheekbones, bringing attention to the perfect symmetry of his face and making all the sculptors in the world jealous that such perfection already exists.
Except his nose.
It has two small bumps indicating it has been broken a few times, but it only adds to the alluring darkness hovering over him and whispering at me to touch it and get burned.
His mouth shapes into a smile, his full lips begging for me to sink my teeth into them and leave my imprint on him. Although the grin encourages me to speak to him, the coldness filling his brown orbs warns me about the thousands of weapons this man possesses.
Weapons that might be deadly and send me into the abyss if I’m not careful enough.
He towers over me; he must be around six foot five. The red shirt he wears with the sleeves rolled to his elbows stretches around his shoulders while the black jeans and leather shoes finish, emphasizing his muscled form. Various scars on his neck mar his skin, visible under the harsh light streaming from above, yet he does nothing to cover them up.
He wears them as a badge of honor, daring anyone to question him about them.
We stare at one another for what seems like forever before he finally speaks up, answering my question, his chest vibrating with words that only intensify the fire slowly spreading in my soul. “Lucian Cortez.”
I should have known, shouldn’t I?
Everything about him screams power, charisma, and status, while danger is wrapped around it all, indicating there is a high price to pay to unlock the secrets hiding in his eyes.
And passion.
Passion so strong it wraps around me and pulls me toward him, almost shouting at me to go down the abyss and discover all the things I have denied myself.
Things that have the most tragic consequences, and although my instincts urge me to run far, far away from this man who threatens my carefully put-together world, my heart… my heart already knows there will be no reprieve, no matter where I go.
Because love and desire in my family are a curse.
