Page 7

“Yeah, because it’s the perfect excuse to hook up with that guy again,” I say, and he simply holds a finger up to his lips in response.

“Okay, I’ll be ready in about two hours, so pick up Noelle first.” I chuckle.

“Two hours? What do you do in there?” He furrows his brows as I get out.

“Make the Auclair name proud and trade cocaine,” I deadpan. “I read, you idiot.” I roll my eyes and slam the door shut.

I stare at the large face brick building.Les Feuilles d’Oris my favourite bookstore. Mainly because it has a cute little café owned by this elderly couple, not to mention a library section where you can just sit and read for hours. Then there’s the reason I’m here. They have one of the largest romance sections in all of France. All from young, up-and-coming authors, both self-published and traditionally published. A little bit of everything for everyone.

I walk in and the small bell rings, announcing my entrance. The café is busy as usual, and I’m able to slip in unnoticed.

That’s what I love about coming here. Aside from the large man who will follow me through the front doors in about four seconds, nothing else makes me feel like Gabriel Auclair’s daughter. I feel like me, I feel like Theá.

I make a beeline for the new release section, and scan the shelf for a cover that catches my eye. Numerous books do—as they usually do—and I grab them, ready to read the blurbs and decide which ones I’ll be adding to my never-ending pile of books that I want to read.

The crackle of a nearby TV draws my eyes up.

Breaking Newsflashes along the bottom, and the smallest gasp leaves my lips when I see a picture of the pretty, green-eyed stranger from earlier.

ANTONIO VITALE CFO OF VITALE HOLDINGS DECLARED MISSING.

Fuck.

My father didn’t just kidnap any handsome, green-eyed stranger. He kidnappedthegreen-eyed stranger. Antonio Vitale is Italy’s golden child, the angel of all angels. And somehow, Mr. Perfect has managed to land himself on the devil’s doorstep.

Chapter three

Antonio

I’mtossedintoasurprisingly comfortable chair, arms still bound in front of me with the thickest zip ties I’ve ever seen.

“Apologies, if I had known about this meeting, I would’ve put on my designer swim shorts,” I comment sarcastically. I’ve been in these stupid shorts for the entire eleven-hour flight. To say Marseille is cold compared to Mauritius would be an understatement. “At least this chair is more comfortable than the flight over,” I grumble.

“My apologies that our jet isn’t up to your billionaire standards. You must share your charter company with me and I’ll make sure to upgrade ours accordingly.” I hear a voice speak up. My eyes trace around the room to find its origin to be the large chair behind an equally large desk in the centre of the room.

The chair spins comically slow mimicking something out ofThe Godfather. But instead of Al Pacino I’m met with a face eerily similar to Mattheo’s, and a chill runs down my spine. Suddenly, even the ability to swallow is lost as my mouth dries up. It looks exactly like him—

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” the man taunts with a sly smirk on his lips. “I have always been told my younger brother looks almost identical to me.”

“Yeah, you both have the same dick head air to you,” I spit, regaining my composure. “What am I doing here? Who are you?”

A light chuckle passes his lips. “You don’t even know who I am, yet you insult me? I brought you here to offer you a deal for your safety.”

My brows furrow before I even have the chance to control my reaction.

“I should have had my men kill you on the spot for murdering my brother, but instead I chose to give you the option of life.”

“Am I supposed to say thank you?”

“That’s one place to start, especially since I’m not only sparing your life, but the lives of everyone in your family.”

“You leave them out of this!” I bark, rising to my feet, but a strong hand grips my shoulder and slams me back into the chair.

“Do not confuse me for a nice man, Mr. Vitale. I can, and will, have you executed if you speak to me in that tone again.” He picks up a cigarette and lights it, releasing its all-too-familiar scent into the room.

My father smoked. It’s a horrible habit Adriano inherited, and for a brief time, so did Valerie. It’s the kind of smell that sits with you for years, and it’s enough to stir up even the most suppressed memories

A beat of silence passes and I use it to try and survey my surroundings while simultaneously trying to get my rapid heartbeat to calm down.