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Nearing the end of his life, my ancestor lost his wealth and power. All his friends betrayed him, and most of his cousins could no longer be trusted because their spouses came from traitorous parents or were traitors themselves.
To save his immediate family who were still innocent and young, my ancestor fled Italy for Switzerland, and after he died, his son followed the formula for wealth and formed another investment bank.
Since his son learned the lessons from his father, the new bank could only be used by members who swore their allegiance to our family. And this wealth management bank, unlike the one before it, operated in secret. Today, the members who receive our services enter the Serpentine Order of which my brother, sister, and I are called the Head. The members make up the Body.
The Trentino family isn’t in the Body and never has been, so I’m certain Michela’s a bird. And that’s not the only refreshing thing about her. She seems uninterested in power. Or money, for that matter, which puts me at ease when I’m with her.
Most of the power struggles in the Order happen over money, and most times when families from the Body seek out a marriage with someone from the Head family, it’s because of cash. Since I found a woman who wants neither and is willing to fake the marriage with me, I feel like I’ve been given an angel, and there’s no way I’m giving her up without making her an offer she can’t refuse.
Everyone wants something.
If not money, she’ll want something.
I just have to figure out what that is.
There’s my angel now. Descending the steps of the pathetic building in which she lives. Michela wears a bright red dress and fiddles with a leopard-print purse as her high black heels stomp down the steps. All I can think about is her not paying attention to where she’s stepping. While I’ve seen women run in six-inch heels, I would still prefer Michela watch where she steps for fear she’ll tumble down the stairs.
When she reaches the ground and her ankle wobbles, I tense. Michela doesn’t even flinch. Smiling, she stops before me. “Hi, Corrado.” She openly checks me out. “You look nice.”
“Not as nice as you,” I say, even though a warmer shade of red would suit her even better.
When we get into the back of the car, she turns her knees toward me, not away from me. Instead of looking out the window, she looks at me, eyes bright and excited. “Where are we going?”
“The Icon.”
She whistles. “Same as last night, then.”
“Different. There’s a restaurant on the roof of this hotel.”
“I mean, we’re going to a super-nice place, same as last night.”
“You’ll like this one more,” I tell her.
“I’m sure I will.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because you chose it.”
I chuckle. “What’s that say about me choosing you?”
Eyebrows drawn down, she thinks about the answer. “I don’t know. What does it say?”
“That I have excellent taste.”
“Are you complimenting me or yourself on your good taste?”
“Both.”
She swallows. “Thank you.”
“Welcome.” The soft perfume she’s wearing, along with the way the little dress rides her thigh, makes my gaze linger on her bare skin. I want to touch her, and so I do.
While watching her for reaction, I rest my palm on her thigh and run it down to her knee, where I hold firmly, waiting to see if she’ll protest. Red colors her cheeks, and her chest rises and falls as Michela ever so slightly parts her legs.
I look down at the see-through red panties covering a bare mound.
Lazily, I lift my gaze. “Cute.” I pinch her cheek. “You’re cute, you know that?”
