Chapter 5
SEBASTIAN
The weight of the gun strapped to my side reminded me how easy it would be to just kill the bastard and be done with it.
But this was Paris—not Rome.
Getting rid of the body would be a pain in the ass.
"No one touches what's mine," I said quietly, my voice barely louder than the rain pattering against the pavement.
“If you’re thinking of killing him, remember, it’s Paris—it’ll be a bitch dealing with the body.”
I didn’t glance at Rafaello, who had just joined me.
My lips curved into a faint smirk. “My thoughts exactly. Doesn’t mean I’m not still considering it. Find out who he is.”
None of my investigation reports had mentioned a boyfriend—not that it would’ve mattered.
So who the fuck was that guy?
Rafaello pulled out his sterling silver cigarette case, flipping it open with a snap while his eyes scanned the street with the thoroughness of a bored assassin, then offered me one.
I shook my head, distracted by a man lingering under a nearby awning.
There was something off about his stance and the way he stared at the door Sabrina had just walked through.
Shrugging, Rafaello selected a hand-rolled cigarette and snapped the case shut before reaching into his coat pocket for a lighter.
After he took a long drag, he gestured with his cigarette. “Not to be judgmental, brother. But she didn’t exactly fall at your feet.”
I turned and yanked the passenger door open. “Fuck off.”
He stomped out his barely lit cigarette and rounded the car.
As we settled inside, I peered through the back window.
The man under the awning was gone.
Coincidence? Maybe, but I doubted it.
I leaned back and stared at the scarred metal door she’d just disappeared through.
Sabrina Dolce Badalamenti had been a surprise—which was a problem. In my world, surprises meant you weren’t in control.
My father’s voice rasped in my head. A man controlled both his world and his woman with a fist, or he wasn’t worthy of being a man.
Violence was always his answer.
I hated how often it was mine too.
Like father, like son.
Rafaello leaned his head against the seat then rolled it to the side to study me. “Are you sure you don’t want to just kill the judge and be done with this whole fucking mess?”
I reached inside my suit jacket, pulled out my gun, and stashed it in the safe hidden in the back console. The rain hissed harder against the roof, as if to punctuate my restraint.
“We already discussed this. He’s too high profile.”
Rafaello shrugged and retrieved a crystal liquor decanter from a hidden side panel. “It was always Father’s answer…and Grandfather’s.”
I took the glass of scotch he poured. “Yeah. And that’s why we’re in this fucking mess.”
It would be so much easier if I could just have the prick killed.
But after the Sicilian mafia killings in the eighties and nineties, the scrutiny over high-profile hits made that nearly impossible—even for a man with my resources.
Worse still, the crimes the judge was accusing us of?
They were true.
My father and grandfather had been reckless in their running of the family business.
Until I buried whatever evidence the judge had uncovered, killing him posed too great a risk.
Rafaello raised his glass in a mock toast. “Can’t argue with the truth.”
The fucking irony of that.
We downed the scotch—not for the taste, but to drown out the Parisian damp.
I rubbed my eyes.
It was all bullshit.
I should be back in Rome, running the House of Diamanti, overseeing the holiday product launch.
Not scheming against a corrupt judge.
At least my revenge plan was elegant in its simple brutality.
Twenty-five years ago, Judge Marzio Delluci ordered the death of his pregnant mistress—Sabrina’s mother.
As far as he knew, she and the unborn child were six feet under.
Too bad for him, I’d gone digging.
The Badalamenti family hid their disgraced daughter in New York and severed all ties.
Their old money followed her—enough to buy silence, safety, and a polished future for the girl.
Sabrina grew up sheltered. Privileged. Invisible.
The perfect pawn.
Learning his daughter was alive—and mine to command—would be a nasty surprise for the judge.
But telling him wouldn’t be enough.
He’d try to finish what he started.
Delluci only respected force.
He needed a daily reminder that I held his precious career—and his daughter—in my hands.
Sabrina, as my wife, would deliver that beautifully.
She was leverage, nothing more.
And yet…
Her defiance could ruin everything.
My phone lit up. A message from an unknown number.
Benedict Cavalieri. He only used burners.
Careful. Judge knows you’re in Paris. Having you watched.
I replied: Already clocked one of his men.
If the judge found her before I secured her, all of this was for nothing.
I’d tried to give Sabrina the illusion of a choice.
But I was out of time.
Rafaello threw his arm over his eyes with a long, groaning sigh, interrupting the dangerous direction of my thoughts.
“I hate Paris. French women are too skinny.”
“No one told you to come.”
He gestured toward the museum. “Ma dai! Your plan’s dead in the water. She walked off with another man.”
As usual, my younger brother was annoyingly correct.
Dammit.
I rubbed my knuckle beneath my lower lip.
I needed her soft. Submissive.
I needed her begging.
What I didn’t need was a whip-smart spitfire with full lips and brilliant blue eyes.
I didn’t need to like the sound of her voice.
I didn’t need to notice the scent she left on my coat.
We sat in silence for a beat.
Rafaello drummed his fingers on the leather seat. “So what’s Plan B?”
“Plan B?”
“Obviously, your Diamanti charm didn’t work. Do we skip straight to kidnapping? Or should I take a crack at her?” He winked.
Air hissed through my teeth.
I loved my brother, but the idea of his hands on Sabrina made me want to snap his neck. “Basta.”
Enough.
I slammed my fist against the partition. “Stop the fucking car!”
Rafaello jerked upright. “What are you doing?”
I shoved the door open and stepped into the rain. Then I turned back, locking eyes with him. “Executing Plan B.”
If seductive charm didn’t work…fear would.