Page 1 of The Kiss that Captured a Billionaire
One
Palermo, Sicily
The scent of blooming gardenias and citrus drifted through the open doors of the grand palazzo, carried on a cool Mediterranean breeze. Laughter mingled with the delicate clink of champagne flutes and the soft notes of a string quartet playing from a vine-draped terrace. Golden light from wrought-iron sconces spilled across marble floors, casting long shadows, and highlighting the centuries-old grandeur of the Alliata family estate.
Theo Kallistratos adjusted the cuff of his tuxedo jacket, his gaze sweeping over the crowd of European royalty, business moguls, and political heavyweights who filled the opulent ballroom.
Beneath the sophistication pulsed raw power—Sicilian influence wrapped in silk.
His companion for the evening, Allegra Rossi, was striking in crimson silk that clung to every curve. She leaned in with practiced grace.
“Dance with me, Theo,” she purred, her fingers lightly brushing his wrist.
He offered a tight smile. “Not right now.”
Truthfully, he was relieved when a liveried attendant approached with a discreet bow. “Signor Kallistratos, Don Alliata requests your company in his study.”
Theo turned to Allegra. “Excuse me. Lorenzo wants a word.”
She huffed, but pasted on a smile. “Tell Papà Alliata I send my love.”
As he stepped away, Theo exhaled, loosening the tension in his shoulders. Bringing Allegra had been a mistake. Not because she lacked beauty or poise—far from it—but because lately, her half-sister Gina had been stirring up trouble, and Allegra, in her desire to outshine her sister, had grown more demanding by the day.
Still, when his mother had casually mentioned that Lucinda, Lorenzo’s daughter, commented in passing that Allegra didn’t have a date for the anniversary party, he’d agreed out of misplaced chivalry—and an even bigger dose of guilt—to escort her.
Now, he regretted it.
The corridor beyond the ballroom was quieter, the air cooler. Ornate frescoes and centuries-old oil paintings lined the hallway, silent witnesses to the history of an Italian dynasty.
A footman opened the carved mahogany door to Lorenzo’s private den. Theo stepped into a world of masculine opulence.
Dark wood shelves groaned under the weight of leather-bound tomes and ancient manuscripts. A gilded globe stood near the fireplace, its edges worn from decades of touch.
Italian masterpieces adorned the walls, their moody brushstrokes heavy with legacy. The scent of aged paper, sandalwood, and fine scotch enveloped him.
Lorenzo Alliata stood behind a bar cart, pouring two fingers of whisky into crystal tumblers. At seventy-two, the Don of Palermo retained the stature and presence of a man half his age. His silver hair was neatly combed, his tailored suit immaculate.
“Theo,” he said warmly, holding out a glass.
Theo took it with a nod. “Lorenzo. It’s unlike you to abandon your own celebration.”
Lorenzo chuckled, the sound low and full of history. “Even a Sicilian must take a breath between dances.” He raised his glass. “To family.”
“To family,” Theo echoed.
They settled into leather club chairs near the hearth. The fire had been banked low, casting a gentle glow. Lorenzo studied him with eyes sharp as ever. “How is Alexandros? And your parents?”
Theo smiled. “Good. Alexandros and Dani are happy—expecting their first. My parents are already fighting over who gets to spoil the baby.”
Lorenzo blinked in surprise. “I heard Dani is Stuart Bouras’s granddaughter.”
Theo’s mouth quirked. “That was a surprise to all of us.”
“They make a beautiful couple—and the merger between Kallistratos and Bouras will be good for business,” Lorenzo stated.
Silence settled briefly, broken only by the distant strains of music from the party and the soft crackle of the fire.
Then Lorenzo leaned forward, swirling the amber liquor in his glass. “I need to ask a favor, Theo. One I would prefer remain between us.”
