Page 71 of Seduced by Her Billionaire Fake Fiancé

At the mention of her brother, she was more inclined to accept whatever Max was proffering. She took the envelope and slid her finger underneath the tab, her eyes landing and stilling momentarily on her mother’s ring.

She slipped out several pieces of white paper with computer print on them, frowning.

“These are Acto shares,” she murmured.

“I made an arrangement with Leandro and Emme. Valentino Investments will retain a forty-five percent share. You, Carlton and Carlisle will jointly own the controlling amount.”

Her eyes swept shut but that didn’t stop the sting of tears. “You definitely didn’t need to do that.”

“I know I didn’t. I truly believe we are one family now, for all time. But it was nonetheless important to me to right something I considered, even at the time, to be wrong. This is your legacy. Your father’s, Carlisle’s, yours. We can build our own legacy from all that we have, butthis, should always be within your family’s control.”

What more could she say, but “I love you”? It was so simple, but so honest, and so right.

* * *

When the driverwho’d hit Andie went to court, to answer for what he’d done that day, Max wondered if he’d feel as he had towards Antonio’s killer. But this was no young, silly kid who’d made a mistake. It was a belligerent, wealthy man in his forties who’d hired a top defense attorney to try to fight his way out of the facts: that he’d been on his phone, typing a text message, rather than looking at the traffic lights. A traffic expert had given testimony that the saving grace was that the driver had been travelling slowly owing to the thickness of traffic. “Another five miles an hour, would have meant the victim travelling exponentially further, landing harder, and I suspect not having a meaningful recovery.” They were words Max couldn’t erase from his mind, and when the man was sentenced to prison, Max felt only a groundswell of relief and vindication. For Max, he would have liked it to be a longer sentence, but Andie reminded him—often—that she was okay. That the best thing either of them could do was live a long and meaningful life together. And that was just what she intended to do.

THE END

I hope you loved the second book in my Italian Rivals series! Book Three, ACCIDENTALLY PREGNANT TO THE ITALIAN TYCOON will hit shelve in March. If you want to keep reading this compelling family saga, enjoy the following excerpt from the first book in the series, TEMPTED TO THE BILLIONAIRE’S BED.

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Tempted to the Billionaire’s Bed

One

THIS WAS NOT THE FIRST time Portia had let herself into the wayward Marco Santoro’s penthouse apartment, but experience didn’t make it any easier. In fact, it was ten thousand times worse, because each of the three times she’d had to do this had been confronting in a new and different way.

First was the time she’d walked in to find him standing in the kitchen wearing only a pair of boxer shorts that left very, very little to the imagination. Then there was the time she’d arrived while he was in the middle of a poker game with friends and the testosterone in the room had almost made her vomit. But by far the worst was a month ago when her boss Dante Santoro had asked her to go to his debauched younger brother’s apartment to get the password for some protected documents and she’d found Marco in the spa with a woman Portia was pretty sure she recognized from a Leicester Square billboard that her running route took her past most mornings. They’d both been naked, she presumed, though she didn’t get close enough to ascertain that for a fact.

So it was with a degree of trepidation that she knocked, waited, hoping against hope that this would be the day he actually answered the door, dressed in something more than boxer shorts, signed the bloody documents he’d been supposed to look at earlier in the week, and she could be on her way.

Except…nothing.

She knocked again, harder, louder, muttered under her breath, “Oh, come on, you lazy son of a bitch,” ground her teeth, then reluctantly reached into her bag and removed the key her boss had given her the first time he’d sent her here, as he offered a sheepish apology.

Dante Santoro, CEO of Santoro Enterprises, ruthless billionaire, was rarely sheepish. In fact, he was rarely anything other than arrogantly brilliant, except when he had to ask Portia to have anything to do with Marco Santoro.

She’d met all the Santoro siblings, and the parents, and cousins. In a family-run business like this, it was impossible to avoid, and she’d been Dante’s executive assistant for eighteen months now, which gave her plenty of time to have been exposed to all manner of Santoro family members. They were all alike, with their dark hair, dark eyes, swarthy skin, strong bodies, confident, charming personalities.

All except Marco, who routinely arrived late to board meetings, if he even bothered to come at all. And instead of the bespoke suits the rest of the family wore as a matter of course, Marco, she was pretty sure, didn’t own anything even remotely as restrictive as a tailored garment. He was more of a ripped jeans and t-shirt kind of guy. A perennial five-o’clock shadow the perfect foil to his often slightly too long hair.

She let out an impatient sigh as she unlocked the door, stepped just inside and called out, “Hello?”

No answer.

Great.

He was probably off sunning himself with whichever supermodel had caught his eye recently in Ibiza. Just the thought made Portia’s spine straighten.

Men sucked.

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