by Eva Charles
“We should be absolutely sure,” Cristiano says, staring straight ahead, elbows on the table and hands steepled near his chin. “That team was carefully curated. If we let them loose, we might not be able to pull them together quickly, if something happens.”
“I’m absolutely sure. Daniela’s here. We have no reason to keep tabs on the maid or the kid. I’m certainly not going to risk our people to protect them. They’re not my responsibility.”
“Do you care who we leave behind?” Lucas asks.
Someone with a fucking brain. “Use your judgment. But make it someone with a strong stomach. Isabel has a young daughter, but if she becomes too big of a problem and we have to get rid of her, we will. The kid too.”
12
Antonio
The silence in the room is so thick it could choke a horse.
I’m sure Lucas is steaming, although his head is down, but I feel the sear of Cristiano’s eyes on me.
“You have something to say?”
He doesn’t respond.
I very rarely go after a woman, and I have never touched a hair on a child’s head, but Daniela has me so out of sorts, so pissed off, that I’m willing to take my revenge wherever I can find it.
“You have something to fucking say?” I bark at Cristiano like an irascible prick.
Without thinking, I slam my fist on the table, sending everything flying, nearly toppling Lucas’s open water bottle onto his keyboard.
I need to calm the fuck down before I do something stupid that can’t be cleaned up with a few paper towels.
I roll back my chair and go to the bank of windows that overlooks the Douro River and the city beyond.
Running the region takes a clear head. Decisions made in anger are often bad decisions. I can’t let her get to me, or everything I care about will end up in rubble.
I rub circles over my eyes before turning to my two friends, the closest thing I have to brothers. “How can we reassure the maid so that there are no problems?”
The cords in Cristiano’s neck soften.
Lucas is dark like me, not just his hair and eyes, but in all ways. Cristiano is blond, with clear blue eyes, and a true sense of humanity. Although when the occasion calls for it, he can be ruthless too.
I’ve seen him plunge a knife into a man’s stomach without batting an eyelash, even knowing it would be a slow, painful death. But unlike me, he carries those sins with him. It’s a luxury I can’t afford.
“We might want to have Daniela call to reassure her that everything is fine,” he replies. “Lucas can put a time delay on this end, and we’ll monitor the call and shut it down if Daniela says too much. But I agree with you. We shouldn’t make the situation with Isabel bigger than it needs to be.”
He agrees with me. I almost laugh.
“I’ll think about it.” She’s going to have to earn a phone call, and right now the only thing she’s earned is my belt on her gorgeous ass. “In the meantime, get Daniela a new phone. Without internet access. We’ll hold on to it until the time is right.”
This is the clusterfuck of all clusterfucks. I’d kill D’Sousa myself if he wasn’t already dead.
Why didn’t I just tell him no, I don’t want to marry your daughter? Why?
Because I wanted those vineyards, and everything they represent, that’s why. And more than that, I owed him. I owed him big.
I turn to Cristiano. “Tell the foreman at the docks I want a meeting tonight.”
“Are you sure you don’t want us to handle it?”
“This is my city. I won’t be sidelined. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a capable soldier.”
“I haven’t forgotten. But it’s not just that—”
“What is it, then?”
“I’m in no position to give out relationship advice, Antonio.” He shakes his head. “But you have a woman at your house who we lured across the Atlantic under false pretenses. She believes she’s a prisoner, and in many ways, she is. A few times today she appeared to be on the verge of a spectacular meltdown. Tough way to start a marriage.”
Lucas snickers from behind the monitor, but I ignore him.
Cristiano knows a turbulent, drama-filled marriage is the very last thing I want. My days are hell. I don’t want to go home to hell every night too. That’s the reason she’s at the house in the valley, while I’m staying at my place in the city. It’ll be that way until she adjusts to the idea of becoming my wife.
But just because I don’t want to live in turmoil doesn’t mean I won’t. I’ll have the fight every night for the rest of my days, if necessary. But if she makes my life hell, her life is going to be hell too.
“You think it’ll make her feel better if I go to the house tonight? Maybe I’ll grab a nice bottle of wine from the cellar and pick up a big bouquet of flowers on my way home. What kind of flowers do you think she likes? Roses? Camellias?” I turn toward Lucas. “What do you think?” The sarcasm is more scathing than the situation warrants. But I can’t stop myself—or at least I don’t want to stop.
“If I go tonight, it’ll make things worse.” Although it’s hard to believe that’s even possible.
“Daniela’s jet-lagged, and she needs a good night’s sleep and a few days to come to grips with her new life.” And if we’re under the same roof, neither of us is sleeping. She has a hot little body, and she knows how to push my buttons. I don’t trust myself when it comes to her.
“I don’t know, Antonio. I spent an hour with her, and I don’t think coming to grips with her new life is in the cards. Not without—”
I swivel to face him. “Not without what?”
“Effort. It’s going to require some effort if you don’t want your life to be one drama after another. She’s different than the women you’re used to. Some of those women would do anything to marry you. She’s not like that. And she’s been away a long time, living in a place where the customs are dramatically different from ours. Daniela’s tough.”
“Not tougher than I am.”
“No. But if that’s how you play it, it’s going to be hard on the staff. Holding Manuel and Maria Rosa’s daughter against her wishes will be brutal on them. She’s already won Victor over.”
Christ. “How?”
“Just by being herself.”
“I won’t tolerate disloyalty from anyone. I don’t give a shit who it is. Trust me, with the right incentive, she’ll fall into line.” And I’m just the man to provide that incentive. “Once she’s had a taste of my wrath, she’s not going to want to incur it again.”
There’s a gleam in Cristiano’s eyes as he places a cup at the base of the espresso machine. He doesn’t believe a goddamn word of it.
13
Antonio
The evening at the docks proved useful. Not only did it take my mind off Daniela, but we got some answers.
Two assholes who work for me sold the missing cargo to a Russian oligarch with ties to the Bratva.
Most of the people who work for us are loyal. They keep their mouths shut and their hands out of the coffers. But the Huntsman organization is large, and while we make every effort to ferret out the bad seed, every now and then someone slips through the rigorous vetting. It can’t be helped.
Those two thieves were publicly punished. When I finished interrogating them, we stuffed their dicks in their mouths and strung them up on lampposts outside the warehouse. It was gruesome, even by my standards, but it had to be done. There won’t likely be another diversion for a long time.
After that, you think I would have slept the minute my head hit the pillow, but I was up half the night thinking about the princesa tucked away in the valley. Neither my mind nor my body gave me a moment’s peace—not even after I jacked off, twice, imagining Daniela naked and on her knees, milking my cock with her sassy mouth. It’s become my favorite fantasy.
I glance at the time and curse softly before calling Victor.
He answers on the second ring. “Good morning, Antonio.”
“I haven’t seen her since she arrived. I sent up a tray for lunch, but she didn’t eat a morsel. And for dinner I sent her a wide variety of food, hoping something might appeal to her. But she didn’t touch it. Paula finally persuaded her to have a biscuit and a cup of tea. She hasn’t left her room.”
“She had a long trip. I’m sure she’s tired.” And stubborn.
He’s uncharacteristically quiet before clearing his throat. “Last night, when the tray came back to the kitchen untouched, I sent Paula back upstairs to see if Senhora Daniela would prefer something lighter. When she returned, she told me Daniela appeared to have been crying.”
I’m not surprised to hear it. I expect there to be lots of tears shed before we reach an understanding. Maybe after, too. I’m not entirely immune to Daniela’s suffering, but I’ve found the best way to get people in line quickly is to instill a little fear in them—or a lot. It almost always works.
“I don’t want to speak out of turn,” Victor continues. “But I have the company of those who work on the estate. We share meals together, and we talk and laugh. I can come and go as I please. But if it were not for that, it would be lonely here without you and Rafael, now that he’s in London. I don’t know the circumstances of her visit, nor do I need to know. But if she’s a friend, and not an enemy, perhaps you might allow her some company. It would be good for her.”
Like Cristiano and Lucas, Victor and I go back a long way, and he rarely feels the need to keep his opinions to himself.
Victor was my parents’ butler. Growing up, he saved me from more than one of Hugo Huntsman’s beatings. It was Victor who contacted me when my father was spinning out of control. He was afraid my mother would wind up dead. She almost did. His phone call saved her life. For that reason alone, he gets the privilege of sharing his opinions with me—up to a point.
“She’s been there less than twenty-four hours. I doubt she’s lonely yet.”
“I’m sure you’re right. But women aren’t like us.”
I could ignore him, but he’s like a dog with a bone when he gets something in his head. “What about Paula? I thought that’s why we brought her up from the caves.”
“Paula,” he huffs. “I’m not sure she has the brains to be a personal maid, let alone a friend to someone like Daniela D’Sousa. She comes from a dignified family. Paula doesn’t know the difference between a soup spoon and a dessert fork. I don’t know who recommended her for the position.”
My head is starting to throb. “Let’s see how today goes.”
“The thing about women is life’s much easier when they’re happy. Senhora Daniela doesn’t seem like someone who is so hard to make happy.”
“I’m done with this, Victor, and I strongly suggest that you be done with it too. What else is happening at the house?”
“Nothing to speak of,” he replies with a resigned sigh. Clearly he wasn’t ready to stop nagging me about Daniela. “The crew is gearing up for the planting,” he continues. “I’m preparing their breakfast now.”
When my mother’s cook Alma started working full time at my apartment at Huntsman Lodge, Victor took over the kitchen while still running the household. He loves being in control of everything, and he’s resisted hiring a new cook. At some point, I’m going to force the issue.
“With Daniela staying at the house, will you have time to oversee the staff and feed the crew, especially once the season is in full swing?”
“My hair is graying, but I’m not an old man,” he replies with some indignation. “Besides, Daniela doesn’t seem as though she eats very much. I can manage. Should we expect you this evening?”
I want to give her another day or two—give myself another day or two. But a part of me knows he’s right. I can’t leave her languishing forever. I need to deal with her.
There’s also another part of me that wants to see her, that burns to see her, although that part can’t be trusted to make good decisions. Not when it comes to her.
“I’ll be there by eight.”
14
Daniela
I’ve been locked in my suite for more than twenty-four hours. There’s no actual lock. I can come and go as I please. Victor made that clear when he gave me a tour of the house. But I haven’t found the gumption to venture much beyond the bed.
You need to do better if you expect to get your hands on a phone to call Isabel.
A shower might make me feel better, but I suspect there are cameras hidden in the suite, and I’m not letting them see me naked. I’ve used the toilet, because there was no choice, but each time I tented myself with a sheet so that no one watching could see anything. They know what I’m doing, but I’ll be damned if I allow them to strip me of all my dignity.
I’ve searched the room carefully, and I haven’t found any cameras. That doesn’t mean there are none. They can be difficult to find. My father was experienced at spotting a plant, but even he used trained men to sweep our house regularly for recording devices.
As I skim the room, a knock on the door startles me. I glance at the clock on the bedside table. One o’clock. Relax. It’s just Paula with lunch.
I open the door to the hall.
“Good afternoon,” she says shyly, glancing at my unkempt clothes.
“Come in. Please.”
“Victor made fresh bread to go with your soup,” she says, placing the tray on a table in the sitting room. “It’s still warm.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll straighten your bedroom and bath while you’re having lunch.”
“You don’t need to clean up after me. I’m happy to do it.”
The young maid looks confused and more than a little flustered, and I remember: This is her job. I’m her job.
None of this is her doing, and I won’t make her life more difficult. It’s not fair, and I need her help—although not with cleaning.
“But if you have time to straighten the room, that would be lovely.”
She smiles as though she won a prize and turns to go into the bedroom.
“Paula, is there a flashlight on your cell phone?”
She nods.
“May I borrow it?” I can barely keep the excitement from my voice. “I dropped an earring near the bed, and I can’t find it. It might have rolled into a dark corner under the frame.”
“I don’t have it with me. We’re not permitted to have our cell phones while we’re on the property. Security holds them. But I’ll look for the earring while I’m straightening your room. If I don’t find it, I’ll bring up a flashlight later.”
We’re not permitted to have our cell phones while we’re on the property. The words are crushing, but I manage to keep it together.
“Thank you. How long have you worked here?”
“In the house?” she asks.
I nod.
“Two weeks.”
“Do you know if there are cameras in this suite?”
Her eyes dart around the room, and she takes two steps back away from me.
She’s paler than the cream wainscoting, and her eyes are wide, darting around the room like a scared rabbit. I suppose that’s my answer.
“I worked in the caves, putting labels on Port bottles,” she says, a bit out of breath. “And I helped clean up after meals during harvest, and washed glasses in the tasting room. Then Jacinto picked me to work in the house. I-I don’t know about cameras.”
“That’s okay, Paula,” I say, as gently as possible. “Please don’t worry. I was just curious.” I smile at her. “I’m happy you’re here to help me.”
She nods and gives me a small smile, but she’s still a bit gray. I’m sure she’s worried about being caught talking about surveillance. That’s the kind of thing that can get someone fired, or worse.
“Oh,” she says. “I almost forgot to tell you. Senhor Huntsman will be joining you for dinner this evening.”
<
br /> My heart pumps harder, but a sense of relief settles over me. It’s as if my body is engaged in a tug-of-war with itself, a push and pull, like all things with Antonio.
But there’s no doubt—the news lifts my spirits. Not because I’m dying to see him, but because right now my fate rests in his hands.
I look down at my dingy, wrinkled shirt and my faded pants that could use a good scrub. I’ve been wearing these clothes since I left for the airport two days ago. I slept in them on the plane, and then again last night. I’ve washed my face and brushed my teeth, and although my hair is combed, it’s greasy. Oh, and I stink.
I need to figure out a way to ensure some privacy so I can shower. I can’t go to dinner like this.
15
Daniela
I don’t know where dinner is being served, so I follow the voices to the kitchen, where someone can point me in the right direction.
The moment I set foot in the room, the conversation stops.
Victor goes back to the pot on the stove, while Antonio glares at me.
“Hello,” I say casually. “It’s nice to see you.”
He doesn’t reply, but there’s a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. He stalks toward me, and when he stops a foot away, he wrinkles his nose.
I stink. I’m well aware of it. And now he is too. It’s humiliating.
“I changed my plans for the evening to come to the valley and have dinner with you so you wouldn’t have to eat alone.”
I hope he’s not looking for gratitude, because I’m fresh out of thank-yous for assholes.
He gestures to my clothes. “You have a closet filled with clean clothes. Is this some kind of statement?”
I shake my head, feeling like a child who has come directly to the table after making mud pies in the garden.
“We dress for dinner here,” he instructs in a tight voice. “Just like your father’s house. Some meals are more formal than others, but they all require bathing.”
