Chapter 27
SEBASTIAN
Once the paparazzi had served their purpose, I quietly signaled to the guards.
They shoved the photographers aside to clear a path to the motorcade of black, bulletproof Range Rovers waiting for us.
The first car would run point.
The second would carry Sabrina and me.
The third, our luggage.
The fourth would carry the money and diamonds I’d brought on the plane, with a fifth guarding the rear.
With my body, I shielded her from possible harm as I escorted her to the waiting vehicles. “Come, Sabrina.”
It was difficult not to notice the floral hints of her perfume when I tucked her beneath my arm. That scent had already been burned into my memory. It was the scent of her warm skin.
“Why are the paparazzi here, Sebastian?”
I made a mental note to have Oliver fired.
Anything less than complete discretion and loyalty was not tolerated.
I pressed my mouth to her ear. To the casual observer, it would look like a lover’s kiss. “Keep your mouth shut until we are in the car.”
I tightened my grasp around her waist to emphasize my subtle threat.
My public relations team would guarantee these photographs graced the front pages of Italy's primary publications, causing a sensation.
Not only because I never allowed my photograph to be taken on the tarmac arriving in my private plane, but because of Sabrina—the mysterious woman who had been with me at the Parisian fashion show.
After our departure, my loyal security guards would allow themselves to be bribed by the photographers to give up Sabrina’s name.
I'd orchestrated the entire thing.
Judge Delluci had declared all-out war against the House of Diamanti, initiating the investigation into our business.
By being photographed with me, Sabrina would become a person of interest to him.
It wouldn’t take the judge long to learn that she was born in New York to an Italian mother.
By this time tomorrow, the judge would know that his underage mistress and her unborn child had survived his assassination order twenty-five years ago.
And that his bastard daughter was in my possession.
Her surname, Badalamenti, would also cause problems for the judge.
For a man with aspirations to the highest court, any attachment to someone named Badalamenti would prove problematic.
The Badalamenti were among the Sicilian mafia’s original families, deeply rooted in its legacy.
Her mother’s secret wealth and survival were no doubt due to her family’s connections.
Although the Badalamenti influence had waned over the generations, rendering them unable or unwilling to challenge the judge when he ordered one of their own—Sabrina’s mother—killed, it did not change the fact that they were deeply associated with the Cosa Nostra, the Sicilian mob.
I was certain Sabrina was completely unaware of her Sicilian mafia connection. My close friends, the Cavalieris, were now equally married into the Sicilian mafia web, through both Benedict's and Matteo’s recent marriages.
And Dante Agnello, the current boss of the strongest Sicilian mafia, while not a friend, was someone who had proved useful recently.
Everything was falling into place.
Everything except for Sabrina.
I had not planned on my growing obsession with her.
She was turning out to be far more fascinating and engaging than I'd anticipated.
It would prove more difficult than I cared to admit to keep my hands off her.
Unfortunately, I had no choice—at least for now.
As much as I would have preferred to simply tie her to a bed, it was essential that Sabrina not only stayed in Italy but appeared in public associated with me and the House of Diamanti.
In order for that to happen, she would have to believe—at least at first—that our relationship had shifted to a business one.
So I was forced to play the strictly professional boss…for now.
As I hustled her forward, one photographer broke free of my guards and blocked our path.
“Is she your latest pussy, Sebastian? Hey, beautiful, smile for me.”
I grabbed the man by the collar and wrenched him off his feet. “Attento a come parli!”
The man’s eyes widened as his camera crashed onto the asphalt. “What the hell? I didn’t mean it.”
Cameras continued to flash.
Without taking my eyes off the rude photographer, I let the pack behind us know, “Anyone who photographs this will find themselves working the tourist traps in the Piazza Navona by the end of the week, understood?”
The photographers fell silent.
With slumped postures, they stopped jockeying over my guards’ shoulders for a final photo and attempted to slink away.
They wouldn’t get far.
My guards would now have to confiscate all the cameras.
So much for my plan.
I yanked the unfortunate photographer close as I twisted my fist into his collar, pressing my knuckles into his throat to cut off his air. “If I ever set eyes on you again, I’ll break your neck with my bare hands.”
The man gurgled his response before I tossed him to the ground.
Taking Sabrina’s hand, I pulled her forward to the open Range Rover door.
She looked back. “Was that really necessary?”
No. It wasn’t.
I’d been dealing with obnoxious bullshit shouted at me my whole damn life.
Control.
That was always the answer.
Respond, don’t react.
And yet, this was the third time I’d reacted first when there was even a hint of a threat against Sabrina.
I stared down at her. Without her platform shoes or heels, she seemed as tiny as a bird—a bird whose fragile wings I would break.
“I will not tolerate disrespect—from anyone.”
“Part of living in New York is ignoring unwanted catcalls from strange men.”
The idea of her enduring such treatment as she walked the filthy streets of that city, without a man to protect her, bothered me more than I would admit.
I cupped her chin. “Not if I’d been there with you.”
She rolled her eyes. “What would you do? Beat up every man who looked at me sideways or shouted an obscene comment?”
The wind whipped across the bare tarmac, lashing a curl that had escaped her ponytail across her cheek.
I reached out and tucked it behind her ear. “It’s adorable you think I’d have to beat every man. I’d just have to kill the first one. The rest would get the message.”
Her fingertips skimmed along the collar of her dress. “Is that what you were doing? Sending a message?”
“Exactly.”
She cleared her throat. “But it wasn’t a real threat, right? I mean, it’s not like you’d actually kill someone.”
I tucked her arm over my elbow as I escorted her toward the cars. “Of course not.”
Her body relaxed against mine, until I finished.
“I’m a busy man. I’d have someone kill them for me.”
She tried to pull away. “You shouldn’t tease about such things.”
I wrapped my arm around her back, securing her to my side. “Who said I was teasing?”
“You’re just trying to intimidate me. I know you’re not serious. If you made a habit of beating up every obnoxious photographer or reporter, you’d have a reputation for it.”
I didn’t respond as I handed her inside the back of the car.
After sliding across the heated leather seats, she continued. “You’re a wealthy man in the public eye. It would mean lots of bad press.”
But if she didn’t stop with the questions soon, I would have to shut her up. And there was only one way to stop a beautiful woman with plump, cherry lips from talking—by wrapping those lips around my cock.
I adjusted in my seat as my shaft stirred. With the privacy screen up, I rapped on the roof to signal for the motorcade to move forward.
“I control the press,” I responded brusquely, ending the conversation.
With a sigh, she rummaged through her purse.
Her phone screen glowed in the dim interior of the car as she scrolled through it. “Can you tell the driver to drop me off at the Piazza dell’Esquilino?”
I snatched the phone from her grasp and checked the screen. “A fucking DoubleTree? You think I’m dropping you off at a goddamn budget hotel?”
She lunged for her phone, but I held it out of her reach.
“It’s a personal matter.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I only have a limited amount of euros on me. If I use my bank card, my mother will know I’m in Italy.”
I tucked her phone into the inner pocket of my suit. “You’re not staying at a hotel.”
She lunged for it again. “Give it back.”
I wrapped my fingers around her wrist and pulled her across my lap.
She squirmed as she pushed back against my chest. “I need to find a place to stay until I can rent a room for the month.”
“You’ll be staying under my roof.”
Her head tilted to the side as her lips thinned. “So do you always invite new employees to stay in your home?”
“Only the stubborn American ones.”
Her hips shifted while she again tried to get off my lap, causing my cock to stir further.
Her eyes widened. “That is not a strictly professional response.”
I winked.
She broke free and moved to the other side of the car. “I’m not staying with you. I’m getting a hotel room.”
“Agree to disagree.”
“You said if I stayed, this would be a business relationship only.”
“You will have your own room.”
“Inside your home.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“This is not up for discussion, Sabrina.”
“Finally, something we agree on.” She leaned forward and knocked on the privacy screen. “Driver? Driver! I need to go to the DoubleTree by Piazza dell’Esquilino.”
I wrapped my hand around the silky strands of her ponytail and pulled, yanking her back against her seat.
I then leaned over and wrenched on the seat belt shoulder strap.
As she sputtered and fumed, I buckled her in. “Listen, little one. There isn’t a fucking chance in hell I’m dropping you off at a hotel. So sit back and behave.”
She grasped the seat belt buckle, intent on unlatching it. “You can’t force me to stay with you.”
Keeping my gaze on her, I tapped my knuckle against the privacy screen. It immediately lowered.
Ignoring Sabrina’s snort of indignation, I said, “Take us to the DoubleTree by the Piazza dell’Esquilino.”
“Yes, boss.”
Several minutes later, the motorcade stopped in front of the hotel.
Sabrina yanked on the locked door handle. “Open the door."
I exited the Range Rover and crossed around the back to open her door.
Holding out my hand, palm up, I offered to help her alight.
She attempted to ignore it and step out on her own.
I stepped forward, blocking her path.
“Must every little thing be your way?”
Leaning my forearm on the top of the car, I bent down slightly. “What do you think?”
She placed her small hand in mine.
The moment she stepped out of the car, she breezed past me into the hotel lobby.
When I caught up to her, I leaned in close and whispered, “That exit would have been far more impressive if you’d been in heels.”
There was nothing like the sexy clack of a woman’s heels and the sway of her hips as she stormed away.
Her mouth quirked to the side as she folded her arms.
Finally, she whispered back, “I know.”
The hotel clerk greeted her in English. Most Italians could clock an American even before they spoke.
“May I help you, signorina?”
“Yes, please, I’d like to book a room.”
I crossed my arms over my chest as I stood behind her.
The moment the clerk’s gaze met mine, I subtly shook my head.
Sabrina looked sharply behind her.
I smiled.
The clerk placed his palms together. “I’m so sorry. We are fully booked.”
Her shoulders squared. “Do you have a sister hotel nearby? Or could you perhaps recommend another one?”
The clerk shook his head before grabbing the phone and pretending to answer it.
Sabrina got the same response at two more hotels.
As I knew she would.
There wasn’t a citizen in Rome who didn’t recognize a Diamanti—or our wealth and power.
She leaned her head against the car window and closed her eyes.
With a sniff, she asked, “I’m not going to find a hotel in Rome willing to give me a reservation, am I?”
In this, at least, I could be honest. “No, dolcezza, you won’t.”