Chapter 2
CRISTIAN
“Can I get you anything, Mr. Vitale?”
The doorman eyes me with a wary expression as I lean against the exterior of the house and pull out a piece of gum. My presence seems to unsettle him, which isn’t a surprise. I have that effect on people, and he’s probably wondering why the fuck I’m lurking outside.
That makes two of us.
“No.” I tip my head back against the brick wall, loosening the tie around my throat as I breathe in the cold evening air.
He doesn’t say anything else, and I check the time on my watch. It’s just after nine, and I have no interest in dealing with Marco or any other headaches.
Restless energy has been building inside me all night, and when I get like this, distance and distraction are the only things that work.
Most of the complications in my life can be handled one of two ways. Money, or a bullet. I’m known for being strategic and logical rather than emotional, so decisions have always come easily to me. When I encounter a situation that disrupts that balance, it makes me fucking itchy.
Right now, I don’t know what I need, except to get the fuck out of here. But before I can execute my plan to leave, the front door opens, and a warm, accented voice fills the silence.
“There you are. I was hoping you hadn’t left.”
I turn to see Jolie emerging from the shadows, her heels tapping out a soft staccato as she approaches.
She’s the daughter of Bastien Charbonneau, a major player in the Corsican syndicate.
My family has been in negotiations with his for some time, working on an alliance that would benefit us both.
He wants access to a major Pacific port, and in exchange, he can offer us Customs influence in Marseille.
It would be a mutually beneficial arrangement that would expand both empires, with one caveat.
The French are still rather fond of making alliances through marriage contracts.
Bastien has made it known that he believes his daughter would be the ideal match for me.
On the surface, she’s everything most men in my position could want in a bride.
Beautiful, charming, and sophisticated, she would blend seamlessly into my life.
Bastien insists she knows what this world entails, and she’s not na?ve about how these contracts work.
It would be a business arrangement without the complicated emotions most relationships involve.
Considering I have no aspirations of a love match, it would be an ideal fit for me. Jolie would kill two birds with one stone, and she’d never ask me for more than I’m willing to give.
I have no logical reason to reject the proposition, and in fact, it would uncomplicate my life. Because when I give my word, I don’t deviate.
The problem is that logic doesn’t seem to be factoring into this decision. Because when I try to imagine a life with her…I can’t.
“My father was hoping you’d have another drink with him,” she informs me with a hopeful smile.
A Mafia princess through and through, Jolie wants to please her father, who has undoubtedly been her sole source of approval for the majority of her life. I don’t doubt that if I were to walk back in there, he’d corner me with the intention of signing an agreement tonight.
It would solve a lot of our current problems with collapsing shipping routes and Customs scrutiny.
More importantly, it would secure our future in the European market and prevent the Greeks from gaining leverage over us.
With our volatile history, this alliance isn’t optional, and my family is relying on me to lock it down.
It shouldn’t even be a question, but instead of giving Jolie the answer she wants, I latch onto the distraction when the front door opens again.
As a familiar figure steps outside, my gaze drifts over her, observing the way the moonlight reflects off her dark hair, creating a soft halo around her.
It’s an ironic depiction, considering there wasn’t a red-blooded male in attendance tonight who didn’t eye-fuck her from across the room.
The doorman also takes the opportunity, letting his eyes roam over her curves before they pause to linger on the soft swells of her breasts.
Chantel St. James has an hourglass figure and striking features that captivate attention in any setting. Her eyes are a hypnotic shade of emerald green that make men abandon reason. They shift depending on her mood, reflecting light like sea glass or darkening at the edges like a turbulent ocean.
Framed by long, dramatic lashes, high cheekbones, and full lips, she’s used to people staring.
Marco invites her to these parties among a select group of his colleagues and friends, showing her off like a trophy in his collection.
He wants them to envy him, and that’s why men like the one ogling her now think they can get away with it.
The doorman bids her goodnight, his eyes carving over her ass as she steps forward, peering into the darkness as she checks her surroundings.
It’s a familiar ritual for her, something she does when she thinks nobody’s paying attention. I’ve often wondered what kind of monster she’s looking for around every corner, or why she feels the need to arm herself in subtle ways.
The hairpin that doubles as a stiletto, the beaded mala bracelet, a spiked ring. Those are just the ones I know of, but I suspect there are more within close proximity, either in her purse or on her body.
As if she can sense the most imminent threat in her vicinity, she turns her head, and her gaze collides with mine.
A beat passes as her eyes shift to Jolie, her brows pinching together slightly. Then, without a word, she straightens her spine and takes a few ginger steps forward, limping her way toward the front gate.
Irritation flares as I stare after her. Not only did Marco let her leave alone without a ride, he let her do it while she’s injured.
I half-expected her to be upstairs with him by now, but it appears a drunken mauling isn’t on the agenda tonight.
“Cristian?”
The sound of Jolie’s voice drags my attention back to her, and I catch a crack in her composure as displeasure tightens her features. It’s the first indication that she may not be as business-minded as her father says, and now I suspect she’s out here to fulfill her own agenda, rather than his.
“Will you stay for a drink?” she asks again.
“I can’t tonight. I’m on my way out.”
She casts another glance at Chantel and frowns.
“You should go back inside and enjoy the party,” I suggest. “Tell your father I’ll be in touch.”
She hesitates as if she wants to argue, but I don’t wait around to hear it. I head for Chantel, observing her as she stares down at her phone in frustration. As I get closer, I can see she’s waiting for a driver to accept her Uber request.
“Not likely to find one of those out here this time of night.”
She glances up at me, then behind me, where Jolie is certainly watching us.
“I’m fine. It just takes a while sometimes.” A chill runs over her, and she shivers. “You can go back to your girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Well, you might want to tell her that because she looks like she’s contemplating my murder right now.”
“I’ll give you a ride home.”
“I’m okay, but thanks.” She crosses her arms as goosebumps ripple over her skin.
I unbutton my suit jacket and hold it out in offer. She snares her lip between her teeth as she stares at it.
“Are you always this stubborn, or is this aversion reserved specifically for me?”
A soft laugh escapes her. “You give yourself too much credit. I’m notoriously difficult.”
Without letting her overthink it, I drape the jacket over her shoulders and nod at her phone.
“Cancel it.”
She peers up at me, her eyes searching mine. “Why?”
“Because I told you to.”
A crease forms between her brows as she mentally dissects this situation from every angle.
I’ve never met anyone else with such deep-seated trust issues, and it unnerves me that she still feels a need to examine my motives.
I don’t like unanswered questions, but I like it even less that I still want to know hers.
“Does everyone follow your commands when you issue them like that?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“And if they don’t?”
My lip twitches. “I get my way in the end.”
She releases a soft exhalation as her gaze drifts back to her phone. Still no ride—not that it matters. It’s late, cold, and there’s not a chance in hell I’m letting her get into a car with a stranger to drive her home.
With some lingering reluctance, she accepts her fate and cancels the ride.
“Okay, I’ll go with you, but I need to do something first.”
Her eyes dart toward the house, and I wonder if she still thinks there’s a chance Marco will do the right thing and pull his head out of his ass. Considering his behavior as of late, it’s unlikely.
She turns to limp that direction on her injured ankle, and I sigh.
“Chantel, what do you need?”
“I’m just going to ask the doorman if he can grab me something.”
“Tell me what it is, and I’ll get it. You can wait in the car.”
She pauses, knuckles whitening around the black clutch in her grasp. I’m prepared for an argument, but tonight, the thought of going back inside that house is the greater of two evils. That tells me everything I need to know.
“I have a few things upstairs in a bag,” she says quietly. “I don’t want to leave them here.”
I glance at her ankle and nod, choosing the path of least resistance to get her into the car.
“Wait here.”
She doesn’t protest as I walk to my Mercedes Maybach S600 and slip into the driver’s seat.
When I pull up beside her, she takes in the details as I come around to join her.
It’s a satin black exterior with blacked-out everything, dark tint, and smoked taillights.
I’m used to people staring, but I don’t usually give a second thought to what’s going through their minds. Chantel fills in the blanks for me.
“If Mafia was a car, this would be it.” A hint of amusement colors her voice.
“Glad to hear you approve.” I open the back door and meet her gaze.
“You don’t have to chauffeur me,” she says.
“Get in.”