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)
But telling him wouldn’t be enough.
He’d try to finish what he started.
Delluci only respected force.
He needed a daily reminder that I held his precious career—and his daughter—in my hands.
Sabrina, as my wife, would deliver that beautifully.
She was leverage, nothing more.
And yet…
Her defiance could ruin everything.
My phone lit up. A message from an unknown number.
Benedict Cavalieri. He only used burners.
Careful. Judge knows you’re in Paris. Having you watched.
I replied: Already clocked one of his men.
If the judge found her before I secured her, all of this was for nothing.
I’d tried to give Sabrina the illusion of a choice.
But I was out of time.
Rafaello threw his arm over his eyes with a long, groaning sigh, interrupting the dangerous direction of my thoughts.
“I hate Paris. French women are too skinny.”
“No one told you to come.”
He gestured toward the museum. “Ma dai! Your plan’s dead in the water. She walked off with another man.”
As usual, my younger brother was annoyingly correct.
Dammit.
I rubbed my knuckle beneath my lower lip.
I needed her soft. Submissive.
I needed her begging.
What I didn’t need was a whip-smart spitfire with full lips and brilliant blue eyes.
I didn’t need to like the sound of her voice.
I didn’t need to notice the scent she left on my coat.
We sat in silence for a beat.
Rafaello drummed his fingers on the leather seat. “So what’s Plan B?”
“Plan B?”
“Obviously, your Diamanti charm didn’t work. Do we skip straight to kidnapping? Or should I take a crack at her?” He winked.
Air hissed through my teeth.
I loved my brother, but the idea of his hands on Sabrina made me want to snap his neck. “Basta.”
Enough.
I slammed my fist against the partition. “Stop the fucking car!”
Rafaello jerked upright. “What are you doing?”
I shoved the door open and stepped into the rain. Then I turned back, locking eyes with him. “Executing Plan B.”
If seductive charm didn’t work…fear would.
CHAPTER 6
SABRINA
“You expect me to eat this garbage?”
Édouard threw the crumpled, wet pastry bag at my face. It bounced off my chest and fell to the floor, scattering greasy croissant crumbs over my gold heels. If the rain hadn’t already ruined them, they definitely were now.
My cheeks burned with humiliation as the weight of everyone’s shocked stares settled over me.
He flicked a hand in my face. “And look at you. My show is not your American Les Miz. You look like a gutter rat.”
My hand trembled as I pulled on the wrinkled silk of my vest.
After glimpsing my reflection in one of the hundred thousand mirrors that seemed to cover the walls backstage, I had to agree with the odious man.
The black ostrich-feathered collar which surrounded his head in a macabre halo quivered in indignation. Even in his pointed-toe boots of crocodile skin, dyed a deep, iridescent shade of midnight purple, he barely stood at eye level with me.
The selection of small, planet-sized rings encircling each finger glinted under the vanity mirror lights when he raised his hand.
My shoulders rolled forward in a flinch, my body already bracing for the pain of his strike, especially from those heavy rings.
Before I could even react, Yelena Ivanova called across the room, “Édouard. The iridescent blue is ready for Sabrina.”
His pink, ChapStick’d lips turned down at the corners.
With another flick of his wrist and a disdainful once-over, he said, “Get out of my sight.”
I’d watched him bitch-slap a male intern two days earlier for accidentally stepping on a silk dress train, ruining it with a muddy boot print.
I had stepped forward to intervene, but Mark held me back.
He warned me that the intern would be perfectly fine, but my career prospects would not be.
Grateful for the horrible confrontation to be over, I weaved in between the various models, makeup artists, and stage technicians to make my way to Yelena. A famous wedding dress designer in her own right, she’d collaborated with Édouard on several pieces for his show.
“Thanks for the save.”
She shrugged. “Little Dick is a talented designer but a shit human being. He’s a total Aries. Everyone knows that’s one of the meanest zodiac signs.”
I bit my lip and looked behind me at her casual use of Mark’s derogatory nickname for Édouard.
She laughed. “Relax. He’s off torturing someone else. He can’t hear me.” She then tilted her head back and raised her voice as if daring Édouard. “Not that I would care if he did.”
Easy for her to say.
Rumor had it she was married to an incredibly wealthy and insanely dangerous Russian mafia boss.
People knew not to fuck with her. And if they didn’t know, the terrifying bodyguard who was never more than a few feet away silently sent the message loud and clear.
God, what would it feel like to be untouchable? To have people actively afraid to anger you for fear of pissing off your dangerous, overly protective man. I’d never even had a proper boyfriend.