Page 47 of The Deal

If there’s one thing I remember about my culture, it’s that we don’t do things by halves. Everything is done in full force, with passion, flair and no expense spared.

I’m wearing a light-cream silk pantsuit, the perfect mix of elegance and understated sophistication. The soft hue gives it a fresh, airy vibe, while the silk fabric catches the light with a subtle sheen.

The straight-leg pants drape smoothly, creating a clean, streamlined, chic, comfortable silhouette. The matching sleeveless top adds a modern, delicate touch, revealing a hint of olive skin across my torso for a daring edge. It’s ideal for any upscale event … I hope Alexander feels the same.

I paired the pantsuit with chunky gold bracelets on both wrists, adding a touch of luxe to the otherwise neutral look. A few long gold chain necklaces drape elegantly around my neck. The soft gleam of gold against the cream silk creates a striking contrast.

To complete the look, my feet are adorned with cream, wedged, strappy heels, which add height while keeping everything grounded and comfortable.

My long, dark hair is down, falling in soft waves around my shoulders. I’ve added a few loose curls to my otherwise straight locks, giving it a natural, effortless look.

I don’t usually wear much makeup, so I’ve kept it simple today. A touch of bronzer on my cheeks gives me a subtle warmth, while the mascara I’ve applied to my already long, thick lashes makes my eyes pop with definition. It’s just enough to highlight my features without feeling overdone.

I pop the gloss I put onto my lips into the cream clutchpurse and feel silly that, along with my ID, it’s the only thing I have in there. I don’t have anything else, like house keys or money. That thought is sobering, reminding me that my situation isn’t all it seems. At the end of the day, I’m still Alexander Mancini’s prisoner.

Chapter 17

Alexander

Itake a sip of the scotch in my hand, its warmth settling in as I glance down at my watch. I’m waiting in the foyer because I told Chloe to meet me down here no later than two—she still has fifteen minutes.

The woman I first met didn’t seem like the type to take hours getting ready, but the truth is, I barely know her.

Despite her assurances that she’ll behave, I’m still on the fence about bringing her along with me. I met with my men earlier just in case she has something planned. We’re all still on edge after her escape attempt, and I’m not about to let my guard down.

Trust is earned in my world, not given freely. Not even with her, and certainly not after everything that’s happened since her arrival.

When I catch movement out of my peripheral vision, I glance towards the staircase and have to do a double take. The world around me seems to slow down, and for a moment, I forget to breathe as the vision of effortless grace and beauty descends the stairs. Everything about her seems to command my attention, and I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from her.

She looks like a damn supermodel.

My brother, Dante, once dragged me to a fashion show in Milan—he was dating one of the models walking the runway at the time—but this woman before me now? Chloe would run circles around all of them—she’s absolutely stunning.

There’s something about the quiet elegance in every movement, the subtle sway of her hips and the confidence she exudes with each step. Beauty isn’t just in how someone looks, but in the way they carry themselves, and fuck me, if the woman before me doesn’t have all of that in spades. It’s magnetic, the kind of allure that pulls at something deep inside me, something I didn’t expect to feel.

“I’m not late, am I?” she asks when she sees me standing at the base of the stairs.

“No,” I reply, unable to give her more.

“Is what I’m wearing okay? I can quickly change if it’s not.”

“You look lovely.”

Lovelydoesn’t even begin to capture how she looks.A fucking goddess would be a more adequate description.But even as I take in the sight of her, I’m still grappling with the whirlwind of emotions she’s stirred up inside me. I can’t quite process what I’m feeling—too overwhelmed by how she affects me.

“You look nice too,” she says, and damn, she smells so good.

For a moment, I have a sudden urge to throw her over my shoulder and take her back upstairs to my bedroom, strip her naked, devour every inch of her luscious body, and then fuck her into next week. But I can’t do that. I doubt she’d let me anyway.

“You ready?” I ask as my gaze moves down to her plump, glossy lips.Fuck, now I want to kiss her.

Get your shit together, Mancini.

“I am.”

This time, I don’t even have to offer my arm. She reaches out and wraps her delicate fingers around my elbow. Even through the fabric of my shirt, her touch feels like fire, searing into my skin with a heat I wasn’t prepared for.

I force myself to focus, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, but it’s almost impossible to think of anything but this woman. Every fibre of her being—her touch, her scent, the way she moves—pulls my attention in, a constant distraction … a temptation I can’t ignore.

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