Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 93347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
The moment the plane door opened, chaos descended.
A wall of sound hit me first—shouts, rapid-fire questions in a cacophony of accents, and the sharp pop of cameras clicking in unison.
Bright flashes of light erupted, blinding in their intensity, each burst chasing away the shadows, only to leave me blinking in their wake. The air was crisp but carried a tang of jet fuel lingering from our landing.
Figures surged forward, a blur of motion that resolved into sharp-edged bodies jostling for position, cameras raised like weapons. The glassy lenses obscured their faces, but their voices pierced through the frenzy:
"Sebastian, over here!"
"Are you two together?"
"Sebastian, guardaci qui!"
"One shot for the cover, please!"
"È vero che state pianificando un viaggio insieme?"
"Is this the diamond girl from the party?"
"What’s your name, honey?"
"Puoi sorridere per noi?"
"Lei è il tuo nuovo amore?"
I instinctively shrank back, my shoulder brushing against Sebastian’s chest as I moved closer to his reassuring presence.
His hand tightened subtly at my back, a silent promise of protection amidst the storm.
The cameras tracked us relentlessly, capturing every nuance, every flinch. I could feel their gazes like a tangible weight, the intensity pressing against my skin, prickling my nerves.
I’d arrived in Italy.
The country I had sworn to my mother I would never, ever set foot in.
She had left this land under the shadow of fear, fleeing when she was pregnant with me, her life threatened by enemies she would never fully explain.
I grew up knowing Italy only through her stories—dark, chilling tales of betrayal, danger, and a past she had buried deep.
She was terrified of ever returning, and she made me promise I wouldn’t either.
Her voice echoed in my mind, sharp and certain: Promise me, no matter what, you’ll stay away. It’s not safe.
I’d meant it when I swore I would never go to Italy.
And yet, here I was, stepping onto the soil she had run from.
She would be furious.
But with Sebastian’s steady hand at my back, I couldn’t bring myself to regret it.
Not yet.
CHAPTER 27
SEBASTIAN
Once the paparazzi had served their purpose, I quietly signaled to the guards.
They shoved the photographers aside to clear a path to the motorcade of black, bulletproof Range Rovers waiting for us.
The first car would run point.
The second would carry Sabrina and me.
The third, our luggage.
The fourth would carry the money and diamonds I’d brought on the plane, with a fifth guarding the rear.
With my body, I shielded her from possible harm as I escorted her to the waiting vehicles. “Come, Sabrina.”
It was difficult not to notice the floral hints of her perfume when I tucked her beneath my arm. That scent had already been burned into my memory. It was the scent of her warm skin.
“Why are the paparazzi here, Sebastian?”
I made a mental note to have Oliver fired.
Anything less than complete discretion and loyalty was not tolerated.
I pressed my mouth to her ear. To the casual observer, it would look like a lover’s kiss. “Keep your mouth shut until we are in the car.”
I tightened my grasp around her waist to emphasize my subtle threat.
My public relations team would guarantee these photographs graced the front pages of Italy's primary publications, causing a sensation.
Not only because I never allowed my photograph to be taken on the tarmac arriving in my private plane, but because of Sabrina—the mysterious woman who had been with me at the Parisian fashion show.
After our departure, my loyal security guards would allow themselves to be bribed by the photographers to give up Sabrina’s name.
I'd orchestrated the entire thing.
Judge Delluci had declared all-out war against the House of Diamanti, initiating the investigation into our business.
By being photographed with me, Sabrina would become a person of interest to him.
It wouldn’t take the judge long to learn that she was born in New York to an Italian mother.
By this time tomorrow, the judge would know that his underage mistress and her unborn child had survived his assassination order twenty-five years ago.
And that his bastard daughter was in my possession.
Her surname, Badalamenti, would also cause problems for the judge.
For a man with aspirations to the highest court, any attachment to someone named Badalamenti would prove problematic.
The Badalamenti were among the Sicilian mafia’s original families, deeply rooted in its legacy.
Her mother’s secret wealth and survival were no doubt due to her family’s connections.
Although the Badalamenti influence had waned over the generations, rendering them unable or unwilling to challenge the judge when he ordered one of their own—Sabrina’s mother—killed, it did not change the fact that they were deeply associated with the Cosa Nostra, the Sicilian mob.
I was certain Sabrina was completely unaware of her Sicilian mafia connection. My close friends, the Cavalieris, were now equally married into the Sicilian mafia web, through both Benedict's and Matteo’s recent marriages.
And Dante Agnello, the current boss of the strongest Sicilian mafia, while not a friend, was someone who had proved useful recently.