Page 54 of Her Dark Salvation

I could get used to this.

“Let’s get to business,” Siobhán said, switching into general-manager mode. “Do you have any questions about what needs to be done?”

We spent the next hour talking charity gala logistics. She assigned me a list of odds and ends—confirm the florist, coordinate day-of installation, pick up the engraved guest nameplates. Siobhán was no-nonsense when it came to her job.

“I can’t believe I haven’t asked this yet, but what does the DeVita Foundation do?”

“Marco and his sister started it about ten years ago. They fund employment and language services for immigrants living in Boston. English as a Second Language, skills development, job placement. I think they wanted to provide the types of services their family didn’t have when they moved to this country.”

Warmth spread across my chest. I wanted so badly to believe in Mr. DeVita’s virtue, and this act of charity was a huge point in his favor. “That’s incredible. And he holds this event every year?”

She nodded. “Last year, they raised over a million dollars. The DeVitas are dedicated to helping immigrants. Marco told me once they think of all immigrants as part of their community.”

I sipped my wine, hoping the alcohol would steady me since I was practically swooning. Benevolence on top of what I’d seen in the spa? It was too much!

Siobhán’s eyes widened, and her lips turned up in a playful smile. “Oh my God. You have a thing for Marco.”

“I do not!” I yelped. Mr. DeVita’s naked body appeared in my mind, and my cheeks flared to match my drink. “Absolutely not!”

I hid my face behind my wine glass and bit the inside of my cheek to prevent the guilty smile attempting to break free. Once composed, I set the wine back on the bar and turned to face my accuser.

“You totally have a thing for Marco,” she said with a knowing smirk. “I don’t blame you. He’s a good-looking man. He’s generous and protective. Rich. Powerful. But…” She sighed, and her mouth bent into something just short of a frown.

“But…”

“Look, I love Marco like an uncle, but I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again—he’s the type of man you want on your side, but not the type of man you want to date. The machismo in and of itself is…” She fake-shuddered.

I chuckled even though Mr. DeVita’s unbridled masculinity was one of the things that turned me on about him. Much to my own mortification.

“Not to mention, those men don’t understand the concept of fidelity.” Her tone took a bitter turn. “They have theirgoomars”—she rolled her eyes through the Italian-American slang—“and don’t give cheating a second thought.”

She paused to drink her wine, and a new source of misgiving wedged itself between all the warm feelings I was developing for Mr. DeVita.

“Sorry,” she said with a wave of her hand. She placed it atop mine, and her face softened, concern touching her pale blue eyes. “Just be careful, okay? In the years I’ve worked at Terme, I’ve never known Marco to date. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

I sipped my wine and considered that surprising tidbit. “Well,” I said with finality, “you absolutely do not need to worry about that. Absolutely nothing is going to happen between me andmy boss. Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely,” she teased, eyes sparkling with delight. “Got it.”

I scowled, and she laughed.

“Speaking of good-looking, you weren’t kidding about Luca Moretti. Jesus.” I fanned myself. “Talk about intense.”

Siobhán’s eyebrows shot to her hairline, but she quickly reined in her reaction and shifted her focus to where her fingertip traced the rim of her wine glass. “Luca’s in town?” There was more than passing interest in her question; it leaked through the nonchalance I wasn’t buying.

“For the financial quarterly. He stopped by to see Mr. DeVita on Tuesday.”

She lifted her eyes as if waiting for me to say more, but I was distracted by the front door. It swung open behind her and let in a gust of cold air that whipped through the warm space like an icy fanfare heralding the man who followed behind it—Luca Moretti.

He glanced around the room, hands shoved into the pockets of his long wool coat, cashmere scarf hanging loosely in front of his unbuttoned suit jacket. His searching eyes landed on me, and after a beat, recognition snapped into place, and he donned his flashy smile.

“Speak of the devil,” I mumbled.

Siobhán frowned and followed my gaze over her shoulder. Luca strode toward us with the effortless superiority of a model. His eyes shifted to Siobhán, who was fixated on his approach, and his dark stare turned predatory, his wide, inviting smile hungry and menacing.

She spun back to face me, swallowed a huge gulp of wine, and carefully curated her posture and face into a mask of casual indifference despite giving off an energy like she was preparing for battle.

Luca stopped behind Siobhán and rested a hand on the back of her chair. “Anna, right?” he asked over her shoulder. “Marco’s new assistant?”

---