Page 12 of Deception

“I'm sure she's lovely, Beto. How old is she?” I try to keep my voice casual, almost disinterested.

“She has but 20 years, but that is abeneficio! That many more years of her staying like a pretty jewel, and so many years to give you heirs.” He winks conspiratorially.

“Hmm. You make a good point.” The same point every one of my potential brides’ families try to hammer home.

“You must make sons, daughters, a family of your own, then you will understand! Grow the family, enjoy it. It’s the lifeblood, nephew, the joy of the world.

I keep my expression schooled, as pleasant as possible.

The thought of kids makes me want to toss Beto out the fucking window into the canal. Raising my three brothers was a trial; one I didn’t take lightly or refuse. But it changed me. Aged me inside.

Not to mention the horrible things I’ve done contrasted with the idea of a baby, that innocence tarnished by my blood-stained hands.

It’s my duty, though.

“I would be honored for you to introduce me to your daughter.”

We both stand as he hollers for one of his men to see her in. Beto has always been laid back on rules and hierarchy, much to Giancarlo’s dismay. It doesn’t bother me, the way he dismisses protocol and defers to me.

He’s my elder after all.

Even if I am his don, it pays to show respect, especially since he’s essentially trying to marry off his daughter to me. Better to behave as if he’s already my father-in-law.

Hell, who knows? Maybe I’ll settle for this one and be done with it.

She's exactly what I expected. Same as so many others.

Slender, generous curves complimented in current fashion—high-waisted dress pants and a top that shows off her midriff. She clearly cares about her appearance more than anything, her long black hair done up professionally for the occasion.

“Tesoro!” Beto hugs her as if they didn’t arrive together. He leans in close and I catch him muttering to her, “You really should have worn the dress.”

“Daddy, I’m a modern woman. Stop embarrassing me,” she hisses under her breath, preening under my gaze.

She is beautiful. Full lips. Long lashes. And a “fuck me” stare that has my cock hardening in my pants. She’s exactly the type of woman I’d take home from the club for a night of fun.

Which is about all I've been able to manage in the last twenty or so years since I lost Cata. One-night stands. Flirting and fucking and getting the hell out in the morning.

I enjoy a beautiful woman's presence. But it's always short lived.

I get sick of them. I have too much to do, and none of them are worth letting in.

“Veronica Salvatori, may introduce you to the infamous Don Alessandro Diamante.” He tilts his head meaningfully, as if to make the introduction official, to seal the deal.

Veronica looks me up and down, blatantly checking me out, lingering on my tight slacks, my crotch. Checking to see if Beto is watching, I flick my eyebrows up once, taunting.

Her lips curl ever so slightly, sensual and alluring. More likely ambitious for power and money hungry.

Veronica’s eyes flare as I stare her down. She likes what she sees.

“Don Diamante, it is so very nice to meet you.” Her every move is coy, smooth. As well as overly practiced and utterly vacant. Just like her stare. “I've heard so much about you. I'm very honored to meet you.”

She kisses my hand, lingering with her lips over my knuckles, dragging the bottom lip over my skin. It’s an invitation for later, the look in her eyes.

Tempting. At least for a night.

A smile pulls at those dark red lips as I look down her shirt, the edges of her nipples just barely showing over her push-up bra. She slowly raises back up, trying hard to catch my attention with her eyes.

We exchanged pleasantries for a while. I have some food brought up. Tea, espresso. She knows all the routines, the rituals, the proper seating posture. Which is a lot better than some of the women I've met with.

---