Page 59 of My Dark Ever After
There was a flush in Guinevere’s cheeks that spoke of her excitement. There was no doubt she was sapiosexual, aroused by intelligence just as much as she was by my good looks or edge of menace.
“My ‘shady business’ is conducted by a number of different companies. It was foolish of my father to have so many interests under one umbrella. The companies that remain under that corporation are now mostly legal enterprises because I do not need the headache of an audit or investigation leading like one toppled domino into more.”
“Smart,” she said, leaning forward in her seat like an eager student.
I rolled my grinning lips between my teeth so that she would not think I was making fun of her eagerness. Though this was exactly what I had hoped for, that her big, beautiful brain might latch on to the complexities of running a multimillion-euro business and find endless interest there.
I knew I did.
“What is it, Martina?” I asked my right-hand woman. “About three hundred twenty different companies?”
“About,” she agreed, fingers flying over her phone as she worked in the seat across from us while Renzo drove us through town.
“How can you possibly manage so many?” Guinevere asked. “My father and I run one of the biggest investment firms in the Midwest, and we have just under two hundred high-grossing households, with eight staff working more than full time. That’s just to manage themoney, not the companies that gross it.”
“Well, to put it into perspective, I have approximately six hundred staff between Lupo Nero Investments and my other, more clandestine companies. Most I have no contact with, as they are not even aware for whom they work. Laborers in our textile factories, engineers involved in our green tech projects, and the like. Renzo takes care of the larger grossing companies, and Martina has oversight of the rest. I have managers, usually one for two or three companies because they are not all always in play or very labor intensive. For example, Imelda, whom you met at Fattoria Casa Luna, manages her business and two other small vineyards in the region. I have three other managers of top-grossing wineries in the country, and they all report to Delfina, who also runs Tenuta Romano, as you know. Though our family winery is completely legal.”
Guinevere’s eyes were wide and bright, thoseocchi di cerbiattathat had first drawn me to her. “Delfina works for you too.”
“You mean she knowingly commits fraud for me?” I teased. “Yes. My father would roll over in his grave to know one of his daughters was in the life, but Delfina insisted that being born the wrong gender did not mean she should be cut out of the family business.” I shrugged. “I agreed. The capos at the head of each clan or family in the north report to me as well and run their own businesses. They give us a cut of the profits, while we often provide infrastructure and protection for them.”
“Like a tithe to the church?”
“An ill-begotten tithe to a church filled with sinners, but yes, that is a good comparison.”
“Wow,” she breathed. “So what do you do most days, then?”
“What doesn’t he do?” Martina muttered. “Sticks his hand in everything.”
“I do,” I said, baring my teeth at my friend and colleague. This was an old argument. “Not because I do not trust my team, but because in this life, if you do not keep tabs on everything, one little problem can slip by unnoticed, and next thing you know, you are incarcerated or dead.”
“So you’re a workaholic,” Guinevere sighed. “I mean, I knew that. My dad is too. I was when I went back home, and even as a student I worked long hours.”
“Cerbiatta mia, you sound jealous,” I declared, watching a warm blush spill from her cheeks to her clavicles. It hurt to flirt with her, so I was not sure why I continued to do it. Sobering my voice, I added, “I am the King Below, so I make my own rules and my own hours. I have been known to take time off.”
“What do you do when you aren’t working?” she asked, and I heard the unspokenor when you’re with meas clearly as if she had said the words.
“I collect cars, as you know, and travel to watch Formula 1 races. One of my very good friends is Leandro Volta,” I said, flippantly mentioning the race-driving legend. “And I own many,manyproperties that I like to visit now and again.”
“How many?”
“Twelve. In Lago di Como, Capri, Roma, and Venezia, and outside of Italia, in Mallorca, Seville, Geneva, Nice, Sarandë, Tahiti, and London.”
“You should really consider starting a charitable organization,” she said in that prim voice she used to reprimand me, which should not have made my dick twitch but did. “I think you have more money than is sensible.”
I laughed, bright and bursting. “Dio mio, sei una bella persona.”
My God, you are a beautiful human.
She turned toward the window to hide her smile, but I caught sight of it before she did.
I did not know what her play was in asking such questions and asking to spend the day in the city, but even though I was slowly,painfully coming to terms with the fact that she would never truly be my woman, I would also take whatever time with her I had left.
The Albanians were like vampires and did not like to meet during the day. When they did, it was always in basements or sewers, places that rarely saw the light. It was an idiosyncrasy of working with the Mafia Shqiptarë that I was used to. The earliest they ever agreed to meet was five o’clock, and after an hour’s journey in the car, we had most of the afternoon to kill.
I should have headed to the office per my original plan, but watching Guinevere as she gazed out the window at the passing streets of Firenze like a warrior returned home after a long period abroad made something in my chest flip and catch.
“Drop us at La Chiesa,” I told Renzo.
