Chapter 3
JOSEPH
Ihave no desire to entertain my captive and spend the entire flight with Spencer going over the plan. We eat while conducting the meeting, and I freshen up in my bedroom before landing.
The attendant was instructed to provide Tiffany with everything she requires, and as the plane touches down in London, I breathe a sigh of relief.
I’m home.
Unlike my brothers, I prefer to live abroad.
Our family business is in New York and Washington, but I prefer to head up the international side of our business.
London is perfect for me because it maintains distance from my family.
I’m only required to travel home on occasion, and that suits me perfectly.
I have carved out a new life for myself here, and I love the freedom it gives me. Now I must take a wife, and I have no reason to believe that freedom will change.
She will exist in my home like a ghost, and I will bring her out when required and ignore her the rest of the time.
Her one job is to provide me with a child before she turns twenty-five, so I’m hoping that once will be enough to seal the deal, while leaving me to carry on using and abusing the women who flock to my side.
They love the intrigue, and the sense of danger that being with me brings.
Heiresses, actresses, and models all desire my particular brand of attention, believing they are the one to tame the beast inside me.
They are wrong. I have never met a woman I enjoy the company of and that will never change.
Impartiality, cool reserve, and a closed mind have protected me from emotion all of these years.
A woman’s touch, her attention, is all that I enjoy.
My main passion is way darker than sex, and I’m impatient to get back to it because this life ruins souls and requires a strong resolve to deal with that.
The jet taxis to the stand, and I note the line of black cars already lining the tarmac as they wait for us.
Spencer will deal with the legalities of our arrival before we disembark, and if my guest decides to object to anyone who will listen, she will be angry to discover they are all on my payroll.
Money buys a lot when you don’t have much, and turning a blind eye costs thousands in the right hands.
She is in the car when I make my way off the plane, and I do a double take because, fuck me, what happened?
The nun has gone, and in her place is an attractive woman who has surprised me.
“I see you’ve changed.”
She shrugs.
“State the obvious, Mr. Ravera. I thought you were better than that.”
“Obviously, your personality could still use some work.”
“Why change something I’m comfortable with? You of all people should understand that.”
She turns away and studies the scene outside, leaving me to disguise a small chuckle behind my usual blank facade.
The car moves off, and she pointedly ignores me, which is good as it happens because I’m not interested in hearing what a prick I am.
As we join the traffic outside the airfield, she shivers beside me.
“Why is it so cold here?”
I note her summer dress and the way her chestnut-colored hair dusts her shoulders, the slight curl giving it bounce. Her huge green eyes appear heightened by the makeup she is wearing, and the dash of perfume is pleasant.
“Because it’s England and still winter.”
The fact I’m wearing an overcoat should tell her that, and she shivers beside me.
“Can you turn up the heating, please?”
“It is the required temperature.”
“You really are an asshole.”
Her anger is not undeserved, but I couldn’t give a fuck. She is not my concern. I didn’t ask her to change; only her vanity decided that, and she must live with the consequences.
I study the texts raining down on my phone, mainly concerning business, only one from my father requiring immediate attention.
Was your journey satisfactory?
With a sigh, I answer his enquiry.
As planned. I’m heading home now.
Home. I should have replaced that word with hell because it’s as if I live there twenty-four seven.
I’ve been away too long; I’m on edge and only my usual routine can soothe my troubled soul.
I’m surprised when Tiffany shifts closer, and I glance in her direction and note her teeth chattering.
Goosebumps are raised on her arms, and her bare legs are turning blue.
I don’t hesitate and rap on the partition between us and the driver.
“Turn the heat up.”
Then I shrug out of my coat and wrap it around her, noting the grateful spark enter her eyes as she nods her thanks.
“You need clothes. I’ll arrange it.”
“You’ll arrange it. Why can’t I?”
I resist rolling my eyes. Of course she’s still sniping at me.
“Because I like to control, Tiffany, and like it or not, you will wear what I want you to wear.”
Her mouth drops open, and her stunned expression is much deserved before she finds her voice.
“I really am your prisoner then.”
I say nothing, and she shakes her head.
“I mean, what are you, a machine? Why does it matter to you what I wear?”
“Because my wife will be a reflection of me. My tastes, my expectations, and my desires. If I don’t like your hair, I will arrange for it to be styled in the way I want it.
Your clothes must reflect mine and your appearance, one I deserve.
When you speak, you will be respectful and keep any comments to polite conversation, and you will eat and drink what I tell you to. ”
“Fuck you, asshole. I’ll do what the fuck I want.”
I slap my hand hard against her mouth, and my eyes narrow to slits as I hiss, “If you curse, you will be punished. If you speak back to me, you will be reprimanded, and if I have any cause to be disappointed in you, you will regret it.”
Her eyes widen, but not with the usual terror I’m used to. They are filled with fury, and I take a moment to admire that.
She bites down hard on my hand, and I merely increase the pressure, relishing the pain as it slides through my body like a welcome friend.
I press her back against the leather and lean closer, my breath dusting her cheeks as I hiss, “Do not make an enemy of me, Tiffany. Do as I say, and we will get on just fine.”
The tears that fill her eyes are angry ones, and I stare as if mesmerized. She is stunning. Like a beautiful Botticelli. Unspoiled, innocent, virginal, and untouched. The perfect canvas on which to paint my blend of madness, and something stirs inside me. Possibility.
Her chest is heaving; I sense it under my thick coat, and her breath is hot against my fingers. How easy it would be to crush this butterfly, to destroy, imprison, and dance to my tune.
Many people believe me to be the quiet one in the family. Not aggressive, merely cold and calculating. Outward appearances are deceptive because carve back the skin and the monster reveals itself, because I have been balancing on the edge of madness for years.
Concluding for the millionth time that I should really engage a professional shrink, I release her and turn my attention back to the endless texts that flood my phone, happy in the knowledge that I made my point, and if Tiffany Zaferelli thinks she has the measure of me, she is more deluded than she looks.