His Two Hidden Masks: Steamy International Billionaire Romance

Chapter 12

Itook all my worries about Roberto and the security video with Dylan and stuffed them deep down inside a chocolate box in my mind. I closed the lid.

I realized compartmentalizing my feelings was not a great long-term strategy, but I also needed to focus on things I could control. I did the most obvious thing in the world. I made boxes and boxes and boxes of caramels.

Pink salted caramels. Black salted caramels. Lavender rosemary caramels. Jalape?o caramels. Raspberry caramels. Black currant caramels. Gold leaf caramels. Roberto’s attack unleashed a confidence and a creative fire inside me that shut down my tendency to over-think or hesitate. I was bold and I liked it.

I poured candies into molds like a machine. My body moved with a meditative rhythm and focus. Standing beside the thick marble countertops in the kitchen, all my worries and concerns evaporated.

I inhaled the magical scent of melting sugar mix with the more complex aroma of chocolate. This was still my heaven and I refused to allow Roberto to tarnish it.

I dipped squares of hardened caramel into creamy chocolate, filling tray after tray with cooling candies. I moved quickly, sprinkling toppings across the wet chocolate, dashes of sea salt, edible dried lavender, and flakes of gold leaf.

Next, I boxed the candies, nestling each Bella Baci in folded paper, adding a thin sheet of gold tissue paper just under the lid. I planned to deliver dozens of these new flavors to the glass factory, to Andiamo, and to the Mia Sorella per my regular delivery schedule. The new boxes would have to wait. For now, my Bella Baci remained in simple white boxes tied with elegant gold ribbons.

It was close to ten a.m. when the door to the restaurant opened with a whoosh. I had almost forgotten all my worries when Lissa walked into the kitchen, carrying a tray.

“I brought you a cappuccino and a brioche,” she said, placing a tray on the crowded counter beside my caramel assembly line.

“Thank you,” I said, aware of my growling stomach. I had worked for five hours straight and was famished.

Lissa smiled and leaned against the counter. “I know you get up early, and I assumed you got straight to work and probably gave no thought to taking a break.”

“I didn’t,” I said, taking a bite of the buttery and flaky brioche. “I just can’t quit this, Lissa. Not yet.”

“I know.” She sighed and looked at the ceiling. “Which is why I feel terrible about my next request.”

“Just tell me,” I said, wiping the sweat off my brow with the sleeve of my chef’s coat. “It can’t be any worse than my conversation with Roberto this morning.”

“I don’t know, it might be.” She grimaced. “Your father wants to see you in his office.”

My heart seized. This was most likely worse than Roberto. My father had avoided extraneous one-on-one conversation with me for six months.

I banished the thought that Roberto had shared with my father a video of Dylan fucking me on a marble countertop at the Lido Glass Factory. Why hadn’t I thought about security cameras last night?

“Did he say about what?” I finished my brioche and walked to the sink to wash my hands. Lissa followed me.

“I didn’t ask,” she said, “not that he would have told me, anyway.” She stopped and inhaled. “It smells so delicious in here, Bella. You know your chocolates are ridiculously good.”

“Try one,” I said, pointing to a tray of the Black Sea salt caramels.

“Really?” She picked up one of the dark chocolates. The salt glittered when she held it up to the light. “It’s gorgeous.”

“They are gorgeous,” I said, allowing myself a moment of pride. “Never regret chocolate for breakfast.” I bit into the caramel, the glorious pop and crunch of salt melting in my mouth. It was the perfect contrast to the sweet. “This will probably be the best part of my day.”

“Mine, too.” Lissa closed her eyes and exhaled, as if she never wanted to wake.

We finished our chocolate and looked at each other like friends stalling with a long goodbye at the train station.

“Well, I know I shouldn’t keep him waiting.” I glanced around the kitchen. It wasn’t a terrible time to break. “Can you please help me move these trays into the walk-in so they don’t disappear? I’ll come back and box up the rest of them later.”

“Love to,” Lissa said. “But once again, I demand payment in chocolate for my time.”

“Deal,” I said, laughing. Together, we placed all the trays on the cool, silver shelves of the walk-in. I negotiated with Auntie Aurora for shelf space, which I hoped she wouldn’t regret after she saw my fifteen trays crowd out her tomato sauce.

“One sec,” I said, unbuttoning my chef’s coat and hanging it on a hook by the back door. I checked my reflection in the window and unraveled my messy bun, deciding to redo my hair into a high ponytail. It wasn’t easy without a brush. My father did not like untidiness.

“I’ll tell him that being late is my fault,” I said over my shoulder.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Let them both wait.”

“Both?” I rolled my head back and groaned. “Is Roberto there, too?”

“Well, he was.” Lissa picked up another caramel from the one sample tray I’d left to share with Auntie Aurora and the rest of the dinner staff. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to tell you that, either.” She popped another candy in her mouth. “Look at me, can’t control myself. You are a master chocolatier and I have a problem.”

“You’re hilarious and thank you,” I said. As my world continued to crumble around me, the idea that Lissa could not resist my candies brought me so much joy. Just like Dylan. I smiled remembering how good he made me feel.

Specifically, his lips, his tongue, his perfectly fuckable cock. My body flushed at the memory of him parting my legs and pushing himself deep inside me. The way he had rocked back and forth. My temperature rose as I replayed the memory in my mind.

I took a deep breath. Naked daydreams of Dylan were fun, but not a real solution to any of my problems. Plus, I knew our time would end. He would leave Venice and our time together would be over.

I was a grown woman, having grown up sex with a beautiful man. I could do as I pleased. If my father knew of our rendezvous last night, what would he do, ground me? Take away my allowance?

Would it be mortifying to discuss my night of passion with Dylan at the glass studio? Absolutely. It would be unbearably embarrassing. The only good news was that I had lots of practice enduring embarrassment. I would survive this too.

I wove through the Andiamo dining room into the lobby of the Mia Sorella. I headed straight to the grand staircase. My father’s office was three floors up.

With every step, I reminded myself that I was not going to let anyone, including my father, make me feel bad for feeling good. Still, I hated feeling like a child being called to the principal’s office.

I knocked on the office door. No answer. I knocked again, annoyed. It was bad enough to be summoned, and now I felt ignored.

“Come in. Come in,” my father said, his deep voice muffled by the door.

Inside my father sat behind his heavy mahogany desk with Roberto at his side. They were hunched over, Roberto’s phone. My body tensed, fingernails curling into the palm of my hand.

How dare he? How dare Roberto show my father one of my most intimate moments? My pulse roared.

“Roberto.” I strode across the faded oriental carpet. “Put the phone down. Now.”

My father’s head snapped up, his blue eyes sparking, “Bella, what is wrong with you? Enough.”

Roberto looked up at me with sleepy, judgmental eyes. He shook his head.

“Relax. I am reviewing financials with your father. My laptop was acting up.” He sighed and put his phone in his suit coat pocket. My body pulsed with every heartbeat. Roberto was fucking with me, enjoying this slow torture.

“As I was explaining, Umberto,” Roberto said, moving to the other side of the desk, “I made modifications to the legal agreement that gives you more oversight after the acquisition. The legal team will have papers prepared for you to sign tonight.”

My father nodded.

“What kind of changes?” I asked, my rage bubbling very close to the surface. At least, I had stopped short of knocking the cell phone out of Roberto’s hands.

“This is none of your concern,” my father said, every word a slap. He stood. “Bella, please wait here for a moment.”

Roberto gave me a side-eye smile as he and my father stepped into the hall and closed the door behind them. Asshole, I thought, dropping into a red velvet chair across from my father’s desk. I picked at the fabric on the arm just as I had when I was a child.

Growing up, I was summoned to this room for a scolding or for weekly English lessons with my revolving team of American nannies. My father demanded private tutoring for us both. My mother refused, although her English was quite good.

The dark forest-green walls in my father’s office felt even more claustrophobic than I remembered. The room was large with shuttered windows that looked out into the campo.

My father demanded the windows stay closed at all times to protect his collection of old books and treasured artwork. There was a time when my family commissioned portraits from the finest Venetian painters. We weren’t loyal to any one artist, so the paintings all had slightly different styles, but they were all focused on one thing, our family.

Thinking about how my family was choosing Roberto over me, it seemed fucking ironic that some of my father’s treasured possessions were images of the people that he now seemed to value least.

The collection began with a portrait my father commissioned for my mother as an engagement gift. My parents stood on the veranda of our palazzo, side by side. My father stared into the distance, his blue eyes bright, his expression focused and strong.

My mother gazed up at him, her cheeks full and round, her lips curled in a sweet smile. She looked so young, so beautiful, so happy. I had never seen my mother look at my father like this. I wondered if the feeling had faded over time or if something had shifted between them. I assumed it was losing Sara.

After the engagement painting, my parents commissioned family portraits to mark every stage of my sister’s childhood. My mother cradled Sara, first as a newborn, and next as a chubby toddler on her lap. I liked watching Sara grow in these paintings until she was a pre-teen at thirteen and I showed up.

I was the surprise child. The baby girl that nobody expected. Sara died five years later. Our time together was tragically brief. The last family portrait hung in an enormous gold frame behind my father’s desk.

My father and mother stood beside each other. Sara and I sat in front on them on the turquoise bench that was now in the lobby. I was only five. I don’t remember sitting for the painting, but I remember when they hung it in my father’s office after Sara’s funeral. It was painted months before she died.

Sara looked so vibrant, so alive. There was no trace of the signs of anemia that eventually revealed her swift blood cancer. She was months from death, but in my father’s office, Sara looked immortal, never growing old, never changing.

The door opened and my father strode across the room, sitting down at his desk.

“Papa,” I said, nodding at him in greeting.

“Let’s make this simple, Bella,” my father said, leaning forward on his desk. “The Uzano family is going into business with Street Entertainment. The last thing I need you to do is create distractions with your business ideas or, with Dylan Street.”

Well, fuck. Hearing my father say Dylan’s name was embarrassing. Hot and uncomfortable feelings coursed through my veins. At his icy tone, I regressed to feeling like a teenage girl being scolded for breaking curfew. “Papa, I don’t see how what I do matters…”

“I know you had dinner with Dylan last night,” my father said. “James told me everything, because like me, he wants this deal to go through. He does not want my daughter becoming a problem.”

“How am I a problem?” I asked, unable to stay silent. “And Dylan is not even a part of this acquisition. He runs Creative Development for the company. He wasn’t even supposed to be here.”

“So, now you know everything about him. I see you continue to prioritize your needs above your family. I don’t know what is more troubling to me,” my father said “your lack of judgment or your self-absorption.”

My father did not raise his voice. Like the night we’d spoken in the kitchen after I ran from the church, I wished he’d just yell at me.

“I have thought of nothing but this family for six months,” I said, my voice rising despite my every effort to mirror his controlled tone. My hands shook, so I balled them into fists at my side.

“I barely know Dylan, and you are acting like I’ve committed a crime with him. I am a grown woman, Papa. I can see whom I please. Can you just be honest with me? You are still angry about Roberto.”

“Yes, I’m angry,” he said, losing control of his tone for a split second. “You have always known that being a part of this family requires you to put the business first.”

“How can I put the business first, when you won’t even listen to my ideas about how to evolve? If you even bothered to look at the numbers, you would know that Bella Baci will be profitable.”

“You and your little candies,” my father said. “Total lack of judgement.”

I leaned forward onto his desk, stretching my hands across his leather writing pad as if I were reaching across an impassable crevasse. I knew my relationship with my father was damaged. I now feared there was no going back.

“Papa, please listen to me,” I said. “I am sorry I could not marry Roberto. I know you may not understand me, but I am a part of this family. I want us to succeed.” I took a breath.

My father rocked back in his chair, arms crossed.

“My cooking is how I express myself. It’s my art. Bella Baci will help us spread the word about our properties in every city. With volume sales, we will do more than just make money.”

I couldn’t read his face. His lips were drawn in a thin line, but at least he was still listening. “Since I left Roberto, you have cut me out of all decisions. You dismissed me in front of the board, in front of everyone.”

“Bella, please.” My father rolled his eyes.

“I am not putting anything at risk with Dylan. I am building a brand with Bella Baci that matters. People love my work, Papa. When they eat my candies, the taste, the texture, the aroma of the chocolate, they all come together to form memories.”

“Bella, if we don’t have a family business, there will be no memories for you to capture. Please, stop.” He put both his hands on the edge of his desk.

I clamped my mouth shut. I understood know that I had been foolish to think that my father wanted to engage in a conversation. He had something he needed. I was here to follow orders.

“What do you want from me?” I asked.

“You and Roberto were meant to take the helm of this business.”

“Papa, please. Not this again.”

“I did not call you here to command you to marry him,” he said., “Although if you had, we wouldn’t be facing any of these problems right now.”

Command me to marry Roberto? I repeated his words inside my head. My heart pounded. My palms were sweating. Just when I thought I understood the depth of my father’s anger at me, he revealed more. Did he really think it was his right to control me forever?

“Starting right now, you stop talking about Bella Baci. It is over. It is done. Also, you stay away from Dylan Street.”

I stared at my father, all of my optimism and hope from the morning faded with his every word.

“You walked away from a marriage that would not only have been good for you, it would have been good for our family.”

Rooted in my seat, I could not speak. Grief and shame over my father’s disappointment in me cut deeply.

“We are now in a weakened position,” he said. “The investment of Street Entertainment will allow our family to continue living the lifestyle we, the lifestyle you, have become accustomed to.”

Here was the truth, unfiltered and blinding. My father blamed me for not saving our family with a loveless marriage. I wanted to tell him how much it hurt, to tell him how wrong it was to ask me to give up happiness for money.

I said none of these things. I sat in silence knowing that arguing with my father would do nothing but make things worse.

“Stop causing trouble, Bella,” my father said. “For once, focus on what this family needs from you, so we can close this deal. And after Carnival,” his tone changed, and he smiled, “I think you should spend time in Milan.”

“Milan? Why?” I found my voice, confused by this turn in the conversation.

“Once you stop wasting your time on this Bella Baci dream, you can refocus your energy on our hospitality business. We will be completing renovations in Milan at the end of this year, and James is recommending we invest more.

It is poised to be a new crown jewel in our portfolio, and I want you there. You start in Milan, then you will spend three months in each of our properties. I want you to understand our business inside and out.”

“What about Roberto?” I asked.

“He will stay in Venice, and you will go to Milan.”

“I see,” I said, realizing that the future my family had mapped out for me was so different from my dreams.

My father’s smile widened. “You see, I just want you to focus on the right things, Bella.”

In his twisted way, he thought this was how we made amends. This was Umberto Uzano’s version of an apology. I nodded and stood. “Anything else?” I asked, my mind spinning.

What was I going to do? He was dangling a carrot in front of me that I supposed would motivate someone else, but I knew better. This was a jail sentence and not a reward.

“No more business proposals,” he said. “I want no more stories of conflict between you and Roberto.”

“I understand,” I said, wanting to run out of his office.

There was a soft rap at the door.

Lissa poked her head in. “Signor Uzano? Roberto asked me to bring you a hard copy of the legal amendment.”

My father nodded. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Lissa. I’ll take them now.”

Over my father’s shoulder, my focus landed again on the painting behind his desk. We looked like a happy family. Would we have stayed happy if Sara hadn’t died?

In the painting, my father’s smile looked warm and joyful. My mother’s eyes were not haunted. I held the hand of my beloved sister. I wasn’t alone.

And now, I stood in front of a man who held the title of my father, but who looked nothing like the happy man captured in that canvas.

“Hello, Bella.” Lissa glanced at me as she rounded the desk to hand my father the updated paperwork, her eyes sorrowful. She encouraged me in the kitchen, and now she was a witness to my total humiliation. She didn’t need to hear the conversation. I knew she sensed my ruin.

My legs wobbled as I left the room. I saw no way out. There was nothing more to say, nothing more to do, other than accept the role my father offered. I walked down the marble staircase toward the front door on auto-pilot.

The idea that Roberto would expose my sex-capades in the glass factory paled in comparison to my father’s admission that he blamed me for not solving his financial problems. He wanted me to give up on Dylan, and even worse, my dreams.

I walked outside into the crisp January air. Carnival decorations were installed across all the storefronts. Colorful banners billowed from windows, and masks dangled from balcony rails.

A young man on a ladder strung colored lights from the corner of the campo to the fountain, making a tent of lights to sparkle and bathe the campo in color until Carnival ended.

Drinking, dancing, and costumes started tonight and would continue every day until the ball at Doge”s Palace. As I walked through the campo, I realized that I wanted to experience the magic of Carnival with Dylan. I wanted to feel his arm wrapped around my lower back, his body pressed up against mine. I wanted to slow dance with him under a canopy of lights.

I sat frozen on a wooden bench by the fountain and closed my eyes, fighting my rising tears. Disappointment and waves of anger mixed and moved through me. I was trapped and afraid that there was nothing I could do to change things.

My phone beeped. It was Leo.

Come out tonight.

David is being a bad boyfriend. Come cheer me up.

Affe di Baco 8:30

I messaged him back.

OK. I will meet you, but I may be terrible company.

I saw three little dots as Leo replied by sending me a series of hearts and cocktail glasses. I laughed, relieved that I still could. Leo always knew how to pull me out of a spiral.

I saw no way to continue Bella Baci after my father issued his ultimatum. In fact, my father would be furious if he knew that I’d used the kitchen at Andiamo that morning to make what now seemed like a ridiculous number of caramels.

What was I going to do with all of them now? I put my face in my hands. My other problem was Dylan.

Papa forbid me to see him, which wasn’t that difficult, since we were not in a real relationship. I didn’t even have the man’s cell number. I knew it was irrational, but the idea of losing him made me ache. His touch, his kiss, his passion had changed me. What was going to happen when I no longer stood in his glow?

I stood and sighed, walking to the kitchen door of Andiamo, when I heard the soft sound of music coming from inside. The shades were drawn, I couldn’t see inside. It was still too early for the dinner crew to be on-site, and the notes sounded different than the pop music that the kitchen crew played during prep.

I opened the door to the kitchen. Someone was playing live music. And that someone was none other than Dylan Street.