Page 49 of My Dark Fairy Tale
I watched as she walked ahead of me down the row of vines with Imelda, her face animated with enthusiasm as she listened to the history of the vineyard and its wine-making process. Imelda seemed just as taken with Guinevere, touching her arm, encouraging her to pluck a grape from the vine and cut it open with her teeth to see its insides.
They didn’t need my interaction, but it was obvious Guinevere was still highly aware of me. Her gaze seemed to slide to mine like a magnet meeting another, our eyes locking together for long moments before she refocused on Imelda.
I wondered what she might look like wandering the vines on my family’s land near Montepulciano.
“Raffa? He is an investor,” Imelda caught my attention by explaining. “We wanted to expand to meet the increasing international demand for our wines, and Raffa was there with the money. A godsend.”
My old friend grinned at me, swarthy face creasing into folds. She had been a friend of my mother’s since I was a boy and had watched me grow, and while she had always rejected offers of investment from my father, she was eager to work with me when I took over the business. In fact, investing and laundering through Fattoria Casa Luna had been the first deal I’d made as capo.
“You were doing just fine without me,” I reminded her. “Winning a gold medal at the IWSC awards was only the beginning.”
“True,” she agreed. “But I was facing pressure from other potential investors, and you cannot imagine my relief when they fled at the sight of Raffa coming into play.”
She laughed lightly, but I only glowered at her, and Guinevere looked thoughtful as she gazed between the two of us.
“Is his reputation for being a grump so well renowned?” she asked laconically.
Imelda laughed, this time from the belly. “Something like that. He is a wolf in business. Always getting what he wants, always making money. His mother always said he was touched by fortune.”
Guinevere grinned, an edge of self-deprecation in her expression, and I was reminded that her own family called her Jinx for being so unlucky in life.
Well, that had changed since she ran into the side of my car. I had more than enough fortune to share with her.
“Perhaps that is why I am so impatient with the product that has been misplaced this month,” I suggested smoothly, the very casualness of my tone relaying to Imelda that I wasnotimpressed with her new manager, Wyatt.
He was Imelda’s sister’s boy, born and raised in England but in love with Italian wine. When she offered him the job, it was made explicitly clear that he would be reporting to both of us. It was easy enough to keep higher management out of the loop about our money-laundering activities, so he wasn’t made aware and he would never be, given he seemed to have some innate problem with me. Whenever I visited, he took umbrage at something I suggested for the company, and his latest rebellion had resulted in three shipments being lost en route to China, one of our biggest markets.
Imelda looked at me sidelong, the irritation in her gaze not directed at me. “You and me both, Raffa, I assure you.”
Guinevere looked between us with a little crease between her brows. “What’s the problem?”
I hesitated but decided being honest was the least suspicious course of action. Beside the fact that our issue stemmed from gross negligence and not Mafia-related activities.
“It seems there has been a mix-up with shipments of fourteen crates of our premium wine to Shanghai. Our Chinese business associates are not pleased, obviously, and if we cannot find the product, we will effectively be out tens of thousands of euros,” I explained dryly.
“Yikes,” Guinevere murmured, and a flare of warmth lit inside my chest at her adorable sincerity. “Well, I’m sure you have people looking into it, but I have an MBA with a concentration in finance, and I have kind of a knack for pattern recognition if you want me to take a peek at the manifests?”
I blinked at her, surprised by her audacity but also unwittingly entranced by it. This young woman really thought she could make a difference in a mess Imelda’s very expensive accountants and managers could not put to rights.
Something perverse in me liked the idea of testing her. If she failed, as I believed she would, the exercise would still give her insight into my work in a way that wouldn’t lead to uncomfortable questions, and it would give me some peace in my own mind.
That she was just a girl, however beguiling, and nothing to be overconcerned about.
If she succeeded, well, it would be impossible not to admire her even more than I already did, which would be alarming, but it would also solve this multi-thousand-euro issue.
“Fine,” I decided. “If you think you can handle it.”
She tucked a dark lock of hair behind her ear and shot me a withering look. “Just because I’m younger than you, Raffa, does not mean I’m not capable.”
A reluctant grin tugged my mouth before I looked over at Imelda, who was watching us with knowing, sparkling eyes. My expression flatlined at her expression.
“Lead on, Imelda,” I requested flatly, indicating she should lead us to her office. “Let us see what the American girl can make of things.”
As it turned out, the American girl could do a lot.
I left her with Imelda’s shipping manager and accountant, confident that she would be preoccupied while I dealt with the rest of my businessat the estate, but I was not expecting to return over an hour later to any kind of breakthrough.
Let alone a complete rundown of the issue.
