Page 31 of Wicked Rivals

Doc needed to get the wound patched up, and soon.

Still, being cared for by my physician in my home didn’t seem as important as the other pressing matters I needed to handle immediately.

That included making sure Val and the boy made it safely inside my home and then remained safe.

I waited until they climbed out of the car before heading for the front door.

“Both of you, follow me,” I ordered.

The maid greeted us first, just inside the door. Pretty little thing, quiet as a mouse, obedient to a fault. She’d proven to be one of a kind, which allowed me to trust her.

She held her eyes downcast, stepped aside, and gestured to the staircase.

“The doctor’s waiting for you, sir.”

“Thank you, Bella. Show my guests up to their suite.”

“Yes, sir. Right away.”

The girl said this every time I asked her to do something, but now with Val and the boy behind me, Bella’s answer caught my attention differently.

What would it feel like if Val called me sir?

The alluring thought didn’t come as any surprise.

I looked over my shoulder at Val.

The corner of my mouth twitched. I frowned to suppress the smirk and to stop my cock from getting hard.

As if she could read my mind, she shot back a spiteful glare before following my maid up the staircase and down the main hallway.

The guest suite and my suite were at opposite ends of the house, and for the first time, I realized the inconvenience.

I didn’t like that she would be so far away.

After Bella, Val, and the boy disappeared, I headed up, going right instead of left. The doors lining the hallway all remained shut. I passed by them and went into my office.

The doctor waited there for me.

And with him… Benedetta's father. Benedict Capaldo.

Fuck. The night just kept getting better and better.

“You have some explaining to do, son,” he said.

He’d already helped himself to my whiskey and stood at the bar to fill his glass again. Then he sat his fat ass in my father’s chair, his impeccable Brioni suit and perfect posture the embodiment of good health.

But I knew better.

He’d failed to hide the smear of makeup on his collar, the makeup he used to cover up the pale gray pallor of his skin.

It hadn’t helped alleviate the dark circles under his eyes.

The antiseptic they used to prep his skin for the chemo he received in the privacy of his home burned the lining of my nose.

Images of things I’d seen—like the young nurse sneaking into his house dressed as his favorite prostitute to hide the fact that he needed medical intervention—wormed their way into my mind with the acrid odor.

If he had been anyone else, I wouldn’t have allowed him to sit behind my desk. Such a blatant challenge of my authority and the lack of respect wouldn’t have gone unpunished otherwise.

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