Chapter 6 The Devil Is In The Details
Chapter six
The Devil Is In The Details
Marco
Sophia’s right. I had to deliver an Academy Award-winning performance to ensure Seb believed the story I had spun so I could attend the Princis’ New Year’s Eve event—the one I wasn’t invited to—instead of the club I co-own for the biggest calendar event of the year.
It involved me promising to be there in time for my highly anticipated DJ set, a very expensive bottle of scotch, and a few little white lies, because I haven’t quite found the right way to say to my best friend, “Hey! You know your ‘annoying’ little sister we used to get a kick out of teasing endlessly. Yeah. Not so little anymore. Not annoying. Very much back to stay. Very much mine—even if she doesn’t know it yet. ”
“What can I say, what type of mama’s boy would I be if I wasn’t here to support and congratulate Elena for organizing one of the biggest events on the social calendar.” I tell Sophia now. “Sophia Rose Princi’s debut to the law society.”
“Oh, fuck off! You know this is the last place I want to be. But it’s not like I have a choice.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart. We all have choices,” I clap back. Pushing Sophia’s buttons has always been one of my favorite pastimes. Quite the problem seeing as I dream about all the other ways I want to push them.
She pins me with a glare that speaks volumes. Yeah, like the time I wanted you to tell me to stay, but you told me to go.
I catalogue the purse of her plump, rose-bud lips. The same ones I’ve imagined kissing again for the last six months. The arch of her perfectly shaped eyebrows framing her gleaming almond-shaped eyes. The little slant of her head as she shoots that glare into me like a laser-beam.
Fuck. Me.
I’m going to go right ahead and add “watching Sophia activate brat mode” to my favorites. My dick’s, too, if the twitch he gave me is anything to go by. Down boy.
She may have left as a naive eighteen-year-old girl, but this woman is all grown up and can hold her own.
She’s sex on legs. The very same ones my eyes travel up all the way to the cleavage peeking out from the little black dress hanging off her curves like a lifeline.
Her eyes shine under the smokey gold shadow she’s applied to her lids, and she’s darkened the small beauty spot that sits just above her full lips.
Those fucking lips. Staring closer, I stifle a groan.
They’ve always been inviting, but tonight they look like they’ve been lacquered in something that makes me imagine what they would look like dripping in my cum. Fuck. Get it together.
As I drink her in, a pang of regret hits for the years we’ve wasted not being together.
The years I’m solely responsible for denying us, even if it was a decision forced by her father’s hand and my misdirected desire to win his approval and respect.
When she looked at me in the car that night, and asked me to tell her to stay, all I wanted to do was grab onto her and never let her go.
Making a deal with the devil wasn’t my finest decision.
I squeeze the back of my neck and give her a sheepish look, trying to think of a quick comeback, but words escape me.
“Just like I thought,” she snips before going back to stand in front of the grand mirror taking up most of the wall, making final checks to her outfit and makeup.
She looks like a god-damn temptress. One that is so far under my skin that I can’t promise I won’t do anything reckless to claim her tonight—like stalk right up behind her, wrap my hand around her throat and take her from behind while I watch her fall apart in our reflection.
A visceral urge that is doing absolutely nothing for the boner I’m fighting very hard to keep from springing to life behind my zipper.
Enjoying the sparring match a little too much, I can’t help but tease. “Ready to prove you are good wifey material, Kitten?”
She fluffs her wavy, dark hair one last time, and tucks one side behind her ear before pinning me with a defiant smirk.
“I may have left here a good girl, but I’m all grown up now, hotshot. Maybe it’s time I find myself Prince Charming, or at the very least, a good time.”
Hindsight is a beautiful thing but so is witnessing the confidence radiating from this bolder, more confident woman before me. Maybe something positive did come from clipping my own wings so she could spread hers—because regret for the lost time aside, independence looks fucking magical on her.
Catching her off guard, I pull her into me and hold eye contact as I tuck the piece of hair that’s come free behind her ear, stroking my thumb across her cheekbone in the process. Any excuse to touch her.
“Charming they may be, but believe me, Soph, there are no princes worthy of you here tonight.” I carry on with the joke, but my tone is far from joking.
Sophia’s breath hitches, but she holds my gaze. My jaw is clenched, and the longer our eyes remain locked the more the tension around us simmers. Running her hands down the front of my sweater, she leans forward, her lips millimeters from mine.
“Easy there, smooth talker. Someone might get the wrong idea and think you want me all for yourself.”
“So what if I do?”
She turns out of my arms and saunters towards the door, the sway of her tight curves hypnotizing.
She pauses in the doorway, careful to withhold eye contact but giving enough of her side profile that I can see the steely determination on her pretty features.
“Prove it,” she tosses out before heading straight into the viper’s den.
Believe me, she doesn’t need to tell me twice. One wrong move from any of those pompous bastards out there and the jig is up. Fuck Patrick’s terms and conditions. I’d happily give it all up and die trying so she’d agree to be the one on my arm and the queen of my heart.
For years I watched Sophia like a hawk under the guise of brotherly protection.
But somewhere along the way, the childish teasing and taunting her with fake spiders in her shoes gave way to a fierce need to protect her, especially from the wandering eyes and hands of other guys, who like me couldn’t help but notice her effortless beauty.
That fateful summer in the Hamptons was when I finally realized I didn’t look at Sophia like a little sister at all.
I wanted more. I wanted her for keeps. Smart and sassy with a tight body, curves in all the right places, she was hard to miss in any room.
I wanted to be the reason for the twinkle in her soulful eyes.
For the smile on her face and so much more.
Except when I had her in my arms, wearing the skimpiest bikini I’d ever seen, pressing her body against my hard-on, imploring me to follow through on the first move she was brave enough to take, I fucking blew it.
Before I could pull my head out of my ass and admit what I felt for her, Patrick gave me an ultimatum that left me with little choice but to convince her I wasn’t the man for her.
It feels like history repeating. I wish I knew then what I know now. Money can be made in many other ways. Contracts can be torn up and new contracts can be drawn up. I don’t need Patrick’s fucking money or blessing to try and earn Sophia’s love.
Tonight, it’s abundantly clear that my resolve to call her anything less than mine is almost rubble, and when I walk out of this door, I want everyone to know it. Especially her.
Prove it. Those two words, the ones that fell from her glossy lips, play on repeat, getting louder and louder with every second I watch her move around the room bathed in the glow of hundreds of candles and grand low-lit chandeliers.
She’s like some kind of magical snake charmer, capturing the attention of every hot-blooded man as she confidently chats with this “important person” and the next.
It’s clear from the shit-eating grin on Patrick’s face he’s pleased with Sophia’s performance.
Playing the part expected of her. She’s all fake smiles.
Talking animatedly and making a show of exposing the column of her delectable neck with each rehearsed laugh she gives away to each undeserving fuckwit.
I know the difference because I’ve been lucky enough to experience the warmth of the real deal.
The glass of champagne she’s holding hangs from her delicate fingertips, painted the same shade of blood red currently clouding my vision as I watch Arthur “Arty” Bartholomew Jones, the son of one of New York’s most revered entertainment lawyers, lean in and whisper in her ear.
Like a well-rehearsed play, he places a hand to the small of her back like he has the intention of leading her away.
These days my role with Bella Donna is less hands-on, given I’m also a partner in my family’s elite security business, Vault Enterprises, where it’s literally our business to keep close watch over the offspring of powerful families.
So, I know what these entitled, power-hungry pricks are about.
The same urge to spread Arty’s nose across his face like I should have done six years ago resurfaces, particularly with the intel I now have on his dirty secrets.
Yeah. Not. Fucking. Happening. Ever. Snap.
There goes my sanity. Leaving my perch at the bar in the far corner I stalk towards the pair like a panther on the prowl.
I spot Patrick in my peripheral, the furrow between his brows deepening the closer I get to them.
The logical part of my brain is screaming at me to avoid making a scene, but the reckless part of me is vibrating with a need to show everyone that she’s mine.
I’ll claw out the eyes of any asshole who even dares to look in her direction let alone place a finger on her perfect body.
A body that looks like pure sin in that little black dress. A body I want to do wicked things to.
Taking the champagne glass from her hand, I replace it with my hand, tugging her closer so I can bring my mouth to her ear, putting more space between her and fuckface Arty.
“Just follow my lead and do not let go of my hand. Do you understand, Kitten?” She sucks in a surprised breath, then slowly lifts her head up to look at me, her eyes full of questions.
I hope her acting skills hold up now, because the alternative is to haul her over my shoulder and carry her out of here, fireman-style.
“Hey, baby, ready to go? We promised Sebastian we’d ring in the new year at Bella Donna,” I say as I affectionately tuck her hair behind her ear.
Arty’s eyes flare in confusion at the term of endearment before he fixes his fake polite mask in place.
“Marco, I didn’t realize you made the guest list. What a surprise.”
“Perks of being this exquisite woman’s plus one,” I drawl, the raw need to punch him in his stupid mouth clawing at me.
“Oh yes, look at the time. Sorry, I didn’t realize. Good catching up, Arty,” Sophia says, genuinely sounding apologetic, even though he doesn’t deserve any of the good this woman has to offer.
With Sophia’s hand clasped in mine, I guide us towards the double doors of the grand entertaining area in the Princi mansion.
I’d prefer to make an exit before Patrick has a chance to try and stop me from leaving with his daughter.
There’s absolutely no way I’m backing down this time, and I’d like not to cause a scene, both for my mom’s sake and Sophia’s.
Unfortunately, it’s too much to ask, because Patrick’s low growl brings us to a stop.
“Marco, where the hell do you think you’re going with my daughter?
This is an event in her honor. She needs to be here.
I warned you about what would happen if you didn’t choose your friends more wisely.
And I sure as hell don’t want my daughter anywhere near that shit.
” He’s referring to my friendship with AJ and his threats to pull his backing if I didn’t heed his warning.
Stepping into my personal space, he delivers his final blow with a lethal low snarl. “Samuel is like a brother to me, but unlike your father, you’ve proven you don’t heed good advice. Don’t think for one second, I won’t do whatever it takes to put a stop to whatever this game is you’re playing.”
I may have let Patrick use me as a pawn to get his way once before but there’s no way I’ll stand by and let him do the same to his daughter. He just met his match in this fucked-up game of chess.
I close what little space is left between us.
Our shoes toe to toe. Our noses almost touching.
I want to take him by the lapels of his jacket and shake some sense into him, but I refrain.
“Threaten me all you want, but I am not leaving here without her,” I hiss so only he can hear.
“You fooled me into helping you manipulate her decisions once before. I won’t make the same mistake twice.
Sophia is intelligent, powerful and capable of making her own decisions.
Give her the god damn respect she deserves. ”
I don’t need to look around; I know we’ve suddenly become the source of entertainment.
Patrick’s wife Sienna comes to stand at his side, putting a hand on his chest to encourage him to take a step back.
I feel a hand on my shoulder, lightly pulling me back too, but I keep my eyes trained on Patrick.
I realize it’s my mother when I hear her calm voice. “Patrick, we’ve got everything we need from a media perspective. Let them go ring in the new year together with the other kids at Bella Donna.”
“Marco,” my dad’s sharper voice cuts through my fury. “Your mother and I are about to head out for that job in Mexico. Is everything good here?”
Turning to meet his eye, I give him a reassuring nod to alleviate his concern about what has led to this very public display of defiance. “Yes, all good. We were just leaving. Safe travels.”
“Talk soon, son. Be safe.”
All eyes are glued to us, but I couldn’t care less. I throw one final “don’t fuck with me” glare at Patrick before we make a very dramatic exit. Sophia might be the belle of the ball, but I’m the mother-fucking beast. Checkmate.