Chapter 22
SEBASTIAN
Impatient to conclude my business and return to Sabrina, I pushed the door shut with deliberate force, the click of the latch cutting through the stale tension in the room.
Sabrina’s scent, rose with a hint of clove, still lingered on my skin, a constant, maddening distraction.
I was so close to seeing my plan come together I could taste it.
I could taste her.
Fucking her at the hotel was not enough.
I had an unsettling idea that I would never get enough of her.
She was just so beautiful and sweet.
It made me want to corrupt her in dark and twisted ways. I wanted to watch as that naive innocence left her eyes with each thrust of my cock inside her tight body.
I turned to the assembled men, their polished exteriors unable to mask the sweat glistening on their brows.
Power hung thick in the air, but so did the unmistakable tang of desperation.
I leaned back against the door, arms crossed, letting the silence stretch until it scraped raw against their nerves.
“Gentlemen, do you have the money?”
Each man placed a silver briefcase on the polished cherrywood table. After removing the handcuffs, they opened the cases and turned them toward me.
Their leader spoke. “Ten million in U.S. dollars, as requested.”
Maintaining an air of calm, I flipped a gold frame containing a charcoal sketch of Agnolo Bronzino’s An Allegory with Venus and Cupid to reveal a concealed safe.
Entering the fifteen-digit code, I retrieved a black velvet bag filled with cut diamonds.
After restoring the frame, I poured the contents onto a cobalt-blue pad and pushed it to the center of the table.
One man took out a jeweler’s loupe.
I raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean to insult me?”
The men exchanged nervous looks. “No, sir, our apologies. The diamonds are surely of the finest quality.”
One man pointed to the gems. “There are only fifty.”
I sat and threaded my fingers in front of me. “And?”
“The other guy offered us one hundred diamonds for our money.”
I shrugged, adjusting my cuff. “Then you were being cheated.” I nodded toward the diamonds. “Those are five-carat diamonds of the highest quality. If you wanted stones with lower clarity, you should have bothered one of the mid-range dealers and not wasted my time.”
The man who first spoke placed a restraining hand on the other man’s chest. “We meant no insult, sir. We’ll take the diamonds.”
I rose and stepped toward the door. “Very good. Our business is now concluded. One of my guards will show you off the plane.”
The man frowned. “Don’t you want to count the money?”
I turned my head. “Do I need to?”
His chest pushed out. “No, it’s all there.”
“Then no.” I nodded. “Gentlemen.”
As the door closed behind them, I allowed myself a brief exhale before heading to the lounge.
* * *
I found Sabrina sitting ramrod straight on the edge of the sofa with an empty glass and a full tray of food before her.
Sitting, I draped an arm over the sofa behind her. “Do I need to start hand-feeding you?”
She stared straight ahead. “Are you taking me back to the main terminal now?”
I ran my hand along her back in soothing circles. “Not yet. We haven’t talked.”
Her shoulders tightened, but she didn’t move away. “So talk.”
I rose and held out my hand. “Over lunch. I’m starved.”
Her gaze moved from my face to my hand and back. “And if I say I’m not hungry?”
“If you weren’t interested in having lunch with me…I’d be forced to assume you were interested in a different…activity.”
At my insinuation, she shot out of her seat. “My appetite has suddenly returned.”
Escorting her to the dining area, I chuckled. “I thought it might.”
As expected, the table was set with pressed white linen, delicate china plates with the Diamanti family crest in gold at their center, and crystal glasses. I pulled Sabrina’s chair out for her before taking my seat at the head of the table.
She folded her hands primly in her lap. “Once I eat lunch, I’m leaving.”
I lifted one eyebrow. “Don’t you want to hear my job proposal?”
She mimicked my facial expression and lowered her voice to match my pitch. “I’ve heard your job”—she lifted her hands and made air quotes around the word job—“proposal.”
I leaned my elbow on the back of my chair and turned to face her. “Cute. You know you have the distinction of being the very first person to not jump at the opportunity to work for the House of Diamanti.”
She reached for a bread roll. Tearing off a piece, she shrugged. “I’m not saying I don’t want to work for the House of Diamanti. I mean, obviously, it would be a dream job. I’m saying I don’t want to work for you.”
I pointed to my chest. “Moi? I’m a delight to work for.”
She ticked items off on her fingers. “Micromanages, impossibly high standards, icy demeanor, zero tolerance for mistakes, manipulative—”
“I thought you were going to list my bad qualities,” I quipped as I snatched the roll out of her hand and tore a bite off with my teeth.
She snatched the roll back. “Is Diamanti your real name?”
I selected my own roll and split it open to spread it with butter. “What is that supposed to mean?”
After swallowing her bite, she said, “It’s a little on the nose. Diamanti is Italian for diamond, isn’t it? Or is that why your family went into the diamond business? It was fate.”
I caught her eye. “There is no such thing as fate. Things happen through careful planning and organization.”
Her bright eyes studied me from under her lashes. “So us meeting wasn’t fate?”
“I’m named after my grandfather, Sebastian Rafaello Diamanti.
He is the one who founded our company. He was the bastard son of Prince Aemillio Donatus of the House of Umbria and Maria Fiametta Doncaster.
Left on the doorstep of a convent, like trash.
The nuns named him Sebastian D’Ignoto—the unknown. ”
She placed a hand over her chest. “That’s so sad.”
“If fate were in charge, then the discarded bastard named the unknown would have probably slipped into obscurity. But my grandfather wanted more out of his life. So through micromanagement, impossibly high standards, an icy demeanor, zero tolerance for mistakes, and more than a little manipulation, my grandfather returned from the diamond mines of Africa with a fortune and a plan.”
“So, he changed your name to Diamanti?”
I nodded. “And named the company the House of Diamanti as a fuck you to the House of Umbria and the father who never wanted him.”
“Wow.”
I pierced her with a sharp look. “So the moral of the story is never stand in the way of something a Diamanti wants.”
Her full lips fell open as she caught the full weight of my veiled threat.
Chef Conti approached, his crisp white coat spotless, exuding an air of practiced calm. “Good afternoon, Signore.”
As I unfolded my linen napkin, I asked, “What have you prepared for us today, Chef?”
He folded his hands before him and rocked back on his heels. “For your primi, I have a delicate ravioli in a brown butter sage sauce, topped with shaved black truffle and Parmigiano-Reggiano.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“For the secondi, I have a choice of either a seared Chilean sea bass served on a bed of sautéed Tuscan kale with a silky lemon-caper beurre blanc sauce or a slow-braised veal shank in a white wine and saffron-infused sauce, served with a side of creamy polenta.”
Sabrina kept her head lowered as she adjusted the napkin on her lap.
I placed my hand over hers to still them, then I turned to the chef. “I’ll have the veal, and Sabrina will have the sea bass. Thank you, Alessio.”
He nodded and left.
We sat in silence as Oliver came in and poured us both a glass of Poggio al Tesoro Solosole Vermentino.
When he departed, Sabrina turned to me. “What if I wanted the veal?”
I raised my glass and inhaled the bright, citrusy scent of the white wine, complemented by hints of green herbs, before taking a sip.
Leaning back in my chair, I asked, “Did you want the veal?”
Her full lower lip protruded in the cutest pout. “No, but you didn’t know that.”
I took another sip of my wine. “Yes, I did.”
She turned in her seat to face me. “How do you know so much about me? Were you sent by my father? Is that what all this is about?”
Her eyes widened as she pushed her chair back and rose.
Tossing her napkin on the table, she stretched her arm out and pointed at me. “That’s what I couldn’t remember about last night. There was something about my father.”
Fuck me.
It wasn’t like me to let my anger get the best of me, as it had last night.
It was cocky and stupid to tell her the truth, assuming she’d forget.
It was my own damn fault she was now not only suspicious, but on the right track in thinking I had a relationship with her father, albeit making the wrong assumption about that relationship.
She obviously assumed I was in league with him instead of trying to destroy him.
I would need to be more careful in the future.
Setting my glass down, I stood and stepped toward her. Before she could get too far, I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her against me.
“Close. I said you lacked discipline and needed a daddy to keep you in line.”
Her skin warmed under my touch at my salacious lie.
I brushed her lips with mine as I moved my hand over her hip to caress her ass. “Is that what you need, mia piccola? Do you need a daddy to tell you what a bad girl you’ve been?”
I squeezed her ass cheek for emphasis.
She breathed in my exhale.
My cock hardened as I shifted my hips against hers. “Answer me.”
“I don’t need a sugar daddy.”
I swiped my thumb over her lower lip. “Who says I was offering something sweet?”
She was saved by Chef Conti and Oliver entering with our first-course plates.
“Buon appetito!”
Seeing how Sabrina and I were standing, they immediately apologized for the intrusion.
Sabrina used the moment to slip out of my grasp and back into her seat.
Clearing my throat, I waved the staff’s apologies off. “It’s fine. Please serve.”
Without another word, they set the plates before us and left.
The creamy richness of the butter blended with the earthy fragrance of sage, wafting through the room. I waited for Sabrina to pick up her fork.
Her beautiful hair cascaded in a thick wave, partially obscuring her face as she sat silently before her plate.
“Contrary to popular belief, men far prefer a woman to have an appetite. Nothing would kill my enjoyment of a meal more than to watch a beautiful woman pick around the edges of the plate, eating nothing.”
She picked up her fork but still did not eat.
I sighed. “Do I need to take you on my lap and feed you, little one?”
I skimmed the metal buckle of my belt before I adjusted my still-hard cock.
Spanking her to get her to obey also had its appeal.
Her eyes widened. “I’m eating!”
She pierced a ravioli with her fork and took a bite.
Satisfied, I finally picked up my fork and ate.
Truly concerned that she’d barely eaten since yesterday, I watched her closely as we ate in silence. The first course was cleared. Oliver brought out fresh wineglasses and poured me a Roagna Barbaresco Crichet Pajé to go with the veal and Sabrina a Quintarelli Bianco Secco to pair with her fish.
When Chef Conti placed the sea bass in front of her, I didn’t miss the quick side-eye she gave me. My mouth quirked at the corner as I raised my glass in a toast.
After we clinked glasses, I leaned in. “At édouard’s party, you grimaced when presented with the Rillettes de Veau hors d’oeuvres. That’s how I know you don’t like veal.”
She gave me a shy smile. “Okay, fine. I admit I detest veal and would’ve ordered the sea bass anyway.” She gestured with her wineglass. “But that doesn’t give you the right to order for me.”
“In Italy, a man takes care of his woman. Part of that is knowing what she’d most like to eat.”
She toyed with the stem of her wineglass. “But I’m not your woman,” she whispered.
“I believe I’ve made it clear I want to change that.”
She pierced a piece of charred radicchio with her fork but didn’t raise it to her mouth. “You’ve also offered me a job.”
“And?”
“And…you can’t have it all.”
I winked. “All evidence to the contrary.”
She tilted her head and sighed. “You know what I mean. I don’t know how they do things in Italy, but in America, it’s frowned upon to fuck your way to the top.”
I furrowed my brow. “Really? It sounds like a very American thing to do to me.”
“Very funny. That still doesn’t mean I’m okay with it.”
I waved Oliver away as he approached, ensuring our privacy. “So what you’re saying is I can either have you on my staff or in my bed—but not both?”
She crossed her arms and leaned back, clearly pleased with herself. “That’s right. Time to prove if you truly want me for my stylist skills.”
It was adorable how she thought she had me cornered.
There was no difficulty in my choice.
My primary aim was to get her to Italy. I needed a home territory advantage for the things I had planned for her.
“Does this mean you’re considering the position?”
She paused as she lifted her fork to her lips. “It’s not as if you’ve given me much of a choice. My EU work permit requires I have full-time employment. If I stay, I need a job. And since you’re the reason I don’t have one…”
The corner of my mouth lifted as I pushed my plate aside and leaned my forearms on the table. “Sabrina Badalamenti, are you trying to blackmail me?”