Page 24 of Rio (Knight Empire #3)

RAQUEL

I want to see how the charming Knight heir performs when he hasn’t bought the audience.

In the sweltering heat of the community town hall, Rio sits at the front, facing the crowd, along with some people I recognize from the construction site. They huddle together, and it seems like they’re trying to decide who gets up first.

Then, Rio gets up. He looks reluctant, but in a split second, his demeanor changes, and he’s polished and confident.

He walks up to the front and stands to face the audiences.

He’s wearing a white shirt and tie, dark trousers, and carries plenty of attitude.

No blazer, but his signature shades dangle from the pocket of his shirt.

Hands on hips, he welcomes everyone and thanks them for being here.

Then he makes a joke about the sweltering heat.

I don’t expect anyone to laugh, but to my complete shock, some people do. Looking around, I’m not surprised to find that it’s mainly the female contingent. The moms and grandmas who are here.

Caraca.

I was hoping they wouldn’t be taken in by his good looks and charm, like I was, unfortunately. I blame the rum punch for that.

“I’m Rio Knight, here on behalf of Knight Enterprises, Delport Realty’s parent company. I’m not a spokesperson. I’m here to listen.”

He’s about to return to the side, when I stand up. I’m not going to let him get away with that.

“As the parent company, can you enlighten us as to your mission for the eco resort?”

He blinks, before giving me the death stare. I press my lips together, to stop them from flashing a smug smile.

“And, who are you?” he asks.

He’s playing that game, is he? “Raquel Monteiro here, with Alma Flores, to record testimony. Let’s stay on track, Mr. Knight. I’m still waiting for an answer.”

He shoots me a what-the-fuck look. Like he can’t believe I’ve had the balls to stand up and ask him.

I almost didn’t. I almost stayed seated, but maybe that’s what he wants.

Maybe he’s trying his best to quieten me, and using his good looks and charm to do it.

It’s not going to work. I mean business, even if, deep down inside, I feel he’s doing his best to make this difficult for me.

Last night was a bad mistake. I’m starting to believe that he engineered it, right from the start when he turned up, leaning against the tree looking like someone out of a Condé Nast magazine. These Knights play dirty. I must never forget that.

“Speaking on behalf of Delport Realty, we believe that sustainability and progress can exist together. We’re bringing jobs, infrastructure, and eco-conscious tourism to a region that deserves visibility and investment.”

I give him a pointed stare. Did I hear correctly? Visibility and investment? Is that what they’re calling mangrove destruction these days? To my dismay I note that a few people are nodding in agreement. A journalist next to me scribbles in her notebook. No one questions a word he’s saying.

“Are you planning to disclose that the resort sits on land previously designated as being protected under the 2008 Coastal Conservation Agreement?” I throw back. Sweat trickles down my neck as all eyes turn to me.

To my satisfaction, I notice his Adam’s apple bobbing, as a hush descends. The only sound I hear is that of the whirring fans. Rio’s eyes lock with mine. “The agreement expired in 2018 and was renegotiated in 2019. Those terms were reviewed by the Ministry of Natural Resources.”

“Renegotiated? How convenient.” He’s implying that nothing shady happened, but he’s also not denying it either.

A vein along his forehead pops. He slicks his hair back, and my attention fixates on that bold, brash watch of his.

How cool, smug and self-assured he is. It’s a trait baked into the Knight DNA.

“I can assure you that all of our permits are above board, and we followed every legal procedure.”

“Hmmmm.” I put on my most serious face, and nod, as if I’m thinking about something. “But legal doesn’t always mean it’s ethical, Mr. Knight.”

“And unethical doesn’t always mean illegal, Ms. Monteiro.” His tone is sharp again, like he’s been wounded. Like when I mentioned him having an escort.

Something hits hard and my spine stiffens. This man isn’t only defending the eco resort; he’s defending himself.

My blood boils. “A resort, an eco resort , no less, built over bulldozed coastline, a waterway blocked, mangrove trees destroyed. Communities affected. You call this sustainable? ”

The crowd’s murmur turns louder. Someone stands behind me. I turn to see a local elder. “They promised we would have better access to water, but they lied! We’re forced to buy bottled or get sick.”

The silence is deafening, and only the scrape of a chair breaks it. The men from the construction site, sitting next to Rio look sheepish. One of them, the foreman, stares down at his shoes. I wonder if he’s wishing the floor would swallow him up. Tomas, the guy Alma knows, nods in approval.

My eyes fix on Rio. “Do you still insist on calling this sustainable?”

His jaw flexes. I’ve put him in a tight spot and he doesn’t like it. “We’re working on it, Ms. Monteiro. I didn’t design this resort, I didn’t approve the plans, but I’m here now, representing the parent company, and aiming to put things right.”

A couple of people get up and take photos of us. We’re only a few feet away from each other, in a fiery standoff. Faces twisted in anger, nothing like how we were last night in the lagoon.

Alma gives a discreet tug of my skirt. “Calm down,” she whispers. “Not like this.”

I should have backed off, but I wanted to dig the knife in. Still, I don’t regret it. I sit down.

Rio looks at the elder. “If the resort caused this, I’ll make it right. But I want facts—not rumors.”

A roar of disapproval erupts.

“These aren’t rumors. They are facts.” Another elderly man stands up.

“That’s all I said I wanted. I will check it out and I will make it right,” Rio says smoothly. The crowd murmurs quietly. People are nodding. They seem to like him. They’re being duped by what they think is his honesty. His charm.

Maybe I was, too, last night.

I should know better. I know the Knights, these people don’t.

Rio mutters something about handing it over to the foreman for questions about marine safety or environmental compliance.

The man sitting beside him gets up. He looks awkward and clears his throat, looking at the audience in trepidation.

Then he starts talking about responsible development and coastal monitoring.

Sounds to me like he learned that little spiel off by heart.

“What about the reef? It’s already turning white. My son can’t even fish where we used to,” someone from the audience shouts out.

He stammers, says something about “future impact assessments” but disapproval flows around the crowd like a wave.

Then Tomas gets up. I like him. I feel he’s more trustworthy than the others, even if he works for the other side. He looks calm, and assured.

“I’ve lived here all my life. I was born here, raised here, and I will die here. I know this land. I know the ocean. Growing up I’ve seen the changes. Yes, the reef is hurting. Yes, the mangroves are thinner. We’d be lying if we said otherwise.”

This catches everyone’s attention. The crowd sit taller, necks craned, eyes on Tomas. The mood in the room shifts. Everyone waits for him to continue.

“But screaming at each other won’t fix this.

Neither will ignoring it. We need accountability, and not just empty promises.

I’ve seen the site plans. I’ve worked with the engineers.

I know exactly what’s being built, and what’s already been lost.” His scans the crowd, his voice turning lower, graver.

“But the project isn’t yet finished. There’s still time to make it better—”

“It opens in a month!” someone shouts.

“It does, and there is still some time to fix things, to make improvements. I don’t have the power to make promises, but I’ll keep pushing from the inside, because I live here, too, and it matters to me, to my children, and to my grandchildren, and it does for most of you here.”

The last line skims like a stone on water. It hits hard, causing ripples of a promise fan outward. It seems to quieten the crowd. He’s good. He’s better than the foreman.

More questions follow, about the opening, and expected tourist numbers, about jobs for the locals and expected revenue. My thoughts turn inward, flitting between last night, and the distraction, and temptation that Rio Knight is, and the job at hand.

As soon as the meeting ends, I rush outside to get some air. The humidity hits me like a wall and I’m halfway down the steps when I hear footsteps behind me.

“Raquel.”

I stop and turn, even though a warning in my head tells me not to. Rio catches up, his tone low and controlled.

“You could’ve come to me first.”

“What? Why? This was a community hall, you called the meeting. I turned up and asked questions.”

“Like this?” He looks at me in disbelief. “You put me on the spot back there.” He’s standing on the same step as me, so close that I feel the heat rolling off him in waves. Doesn’t help that every last detail from last night floods back in vibrant technicolor.

“I asked questions. I’m here for a reason.” My attempt to make this professional, instead of personal only results in pissing him off.

“It satisfied you, making me look small?”

I make to move, but he grabs my wrist. Heat engulfs me as his fingers wrap around my skin, gently, though. His thumb sweeps across my pulse point, eliciting a wave of something warm and fluttering inside me. Something which could easily turn weightier, heated. Something that could lead to …