Page 38 of Isle of Beauty

I remain turned to face the window to collect myself. I have a measure of training when it comes to composure but she’s about to eradicate all my self control. Even her fucking perfume drifts to my nostrils when she’s barely set foot in the room like she possesses anything she touches. Including me. I almost groan in Pavlovian response. Jasmine and saffron permeate the air around her and I want to gravitate in her orbit. I have enough sense to stay planted right where I am.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say our guest is a bearer of bad news. Dad, Alessio, zio, cuginu, Jules, always a pleasure to see you start a meeting without me.” Her throaty voice comes out as alluring as it did three years ago. Time had no influence on her as it did on me.

I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.

I repeat it like a mantra, like I can convince my heart and my cock to be in tune with my brain.

Even before I see her, she has power over me. I can’t allow it. I squash any physical reactions my body has to the luminous woman who’s haunted my dreams and thoughts and driven me to this madness.

When I turn around to take her in, there’s nothing to see on my face, nothing for her to decipher but indifference.

It’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told.

Lana’s wearing a white three piece suit, the waistcoat low with a perfect cut to show enough cleavage and my mouth waters. She’s magnificent, a goddess amongst the men surrounding her in my father’s office. I already know by observing their body language that if I were to make one wrong move, I’d end up beaten up on the floor. Or dead.

She is a Queen in her Queendom.

I’m the one who’ll make it fall like a house of cards. I’ll protect Julian but everyone else will end behind bars, including her. So why does the thought of her in jail make me clench my fists in the pockets of my pants until half-moon shapes indent my palms?

Alessio introduces me.

“Hello, Lana.” Her nickname is poison and remedy on my lips. She’s standing tall and proud, so fucking beautiful it hurts, even though I just cornered her with information that fucks up all her plans. Surprise fleets across her lovely hazel eyes and she’s too slow to hide it.

She can’t hide from me. Not anymore. Not ever again.

“What the fuck is this?” She challenges.

When her mask comes back in place, the harshness of her tone reminds me that I can’t forget what all of the people in this room are. What she is. They’re pretending to be a fucking normal family with Friday dinner but there isn’t anything normal about crime.

They’re psychos who kill for a living, who sell drugs to kids, who enrich themselves on the backs of others and dine finely at the end of the week to celebrate their victory over others.

Disgust tastes like ash in my mouth, a rictus forming at the corners of my mouth.

Conversations start about practicalities but I barely hear Alessio ramble about mafia law and how I’m his Heir.

All my focus is on Lana.

She averts my gaze, shying away from me. Her arms are crossed against her chest, making her breasts perk up even more and I want nothing more than to bite into them. She used to like a bite of pain with pleasure after all. She runs her nails from her right hand on her left arm, touching the fabric of her suit in a soothing circle. Does she know she’s fucking transparent? I’m sure that’s not good for her business.

The idea of an enemy of hers knowing her tell and using it against her causes my pulse to hike up and I have to clench my jaw and root my feet in place to avoid going to her and soothing her with my own hands. Or worse, using my fists to beat into whoever would threaten her.

The violence coursing through my blood is a toxin. A result of being in this room, with him. My father. He corrupts everything he touches and I’m not immune to his noxious energy. How else would I explain this fit of rage that’s slowly taking over me? This isn’t me. This is all him and this place, this entire fucking island.

Before I know it, papers are shoved in front of me to take to my lawyer and I scoff internally. As if my British lawyer would know what to do with a contract of marriage that’s probably not even legal and succession law that’s not written in any book.

Lana rolls her eyes, full of contempt. “We’ll take this to Maitre Duomo, in the morning. He’s the family lawyer and can answer any questions you might have. I’m sure there are many.”

I want to take her over my knee for her arrogance.

Her father sets a heavy hand on my shoulder and stares at me with an unwavering focus that talks of retribution and pain. I’d expect nothing else from a man who just got a surprise new ghjenneru, son-in-law, when he was just supposed to have a home-cooked dinner with his family. “Tomorrow, we talk.”

A man of a few words, Lana described him to me once. I can read his thinly veiled threat clearly enough even as his words give nothing away. Respect blooms in my chest and I hate myself for it.

“Now that this nasty business is out of the way, we need to talk.” Lana speaks and looks in my direction, waiting. I sit down on the club chair and raise an eyebrow, challenging her to dismiss me.

She clicks her tongue but continues. “Tino’s Pizzeria burned down today and I don’t think it’s an accident. Giulia’s down at the fire station to know more.”

I don’t want to feel the giddiness in my belly at the name of the restaurant. Somehow, I doubt it’s a coincidence one of her establishments has the same name of the place I took her on our first date.

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