Page 15 of Dangerous Deception

6

RAFFAELE

Adelina is more interesting than I expected.

Given what I know about her family, I expected her to be cut from the same cloth as her father, but the fire in her intrigues me. Beyond the investment in Pascal’s business and the injection of income I’ll receive from becoming what is essentially a shareholder, I didn’t factor in much interaction with Adelina other than the wedding and then a few requests to make her life here easier. And now here I am with her lipstick lingering on my lips and an unexpected want sizzling in my gut.

What a woman.

She lingers on my mind for the rest of the night even though her reappearance in the banquet hall is merely for show. She refuses to interact with me and spends the rest of the night with her friend, Marie. Not that it matters to me. I don’t need her approval, but despite my attempts to bury myself in business, I can’t look away from her for long. Thankfully, she finally has something to eat and the rest of the evening passes without incident.

We cut the cake, although Adelina remains distant. Vito gives a short speech about the wedding and thanks all the guests forattending, and the night finally draws to a close. Once all the guests have left, I find Adelina at the front door saying goodbye to her friend. Marie has clearly had too much to drink, so I task some of my security to ensure she gets home safely.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Adelina murmurs as she stands at my side watching Marie clamber into a limo.

“Do what?”

“Send security with her.”

“And risk your adding another thing to that ever-growing list of hatred?” I remark. “No thanks. Besides, everyone else has some kind of escort home, so it wouldn’t make sense to send the civilian back into the city alone.”

Adelina looks at me with narrowed eyes, and I suspect a sharp remark is on the tip of her tongue. She chooses to say nothing, though, and instead stifles a yawn. “I’m tired.”

I motion to the nearest guard. “Can you escort Adelina upstairs to the bedroom?”

“I don’t need an escort to find a bedroom,” she mutters.

“Just go. I will be back shortly.”

“Where are you going?” Tiredness seems to vanish as my words pique her interest.

“I have a few things to attend to, and you have that impossible dress to get out of.”

“Whatever.” Sullen at my refusal to answer her, Adelina turns away from me and strides toward the stairs.

I watch her for a few minutes, then head in the other direction down a hallway adjacent to the kitchen until I reach my office at the end of the hall. Vito stands outside and raises his brow slightly as I approach, but he says nothing. Instead, he opens the door and sidesteps to allow me to enter.

Inside, Pascal Castiglioni sits on the leather couch with a fat cigar hanging from his lips.

“Smoking kills,” I say as I enter. “Put that shit out.”

“You were giving them out as a party favor,” Pascal replies. “But they aren’t to be smoked?”

“Not in here.” I cast him a withering glance, but he doesn’t seem to notice, becoming focused on stamping out the cigar. I walk behind my large desk and immediately open two windows to get rid of the small. “What are you doing here?”

“Well.” Pascal huffs as he climbs out of his seat. “I came to make sure you will be taking care of my daughter.”

“You should have thought of that before you sold her to me.” I face him, my expression as neutral as possible. “Now is not the time for a change in terms.”

“What do you mean?”

“You want to make sure I’m going to take care of your daughter? You should have put that in the terms to be agreed upon before we made this deal. But you didn’t.”

“It was implied, surely,” Pascal says with a huff. He frowns deeply and his mouth disappears up into his mustache. “I want her safe. That’s why I did this.”

“I understand that,” I reply. “But at the time, all you cared about was my money. My money for your daughter, to save your business, allow you a portion of the Pharmaceutical drug market for your business with the hospitals, and keep your family name relevant in these ever-changing times. Isn’t that how you put it?”

“More or less,” Pascal mutters.

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