Page 2 of Sweetest Sin (Tempting Love #1)

Dad always said this was a man’s world and girls like my mom and sister, Brielle, belonged at home.

I wasn’t sure if I agreed since my mom was one of the smartest women I knew—even if she preferred to act stupid around my dad—but I wouldn’t ever argue with him, not if I wanted my heart to continue beating.

“Yes,” Dad said with a grin that sent chills up my spine. “Once she’s of age, you’re going to marry her.”

“What the fuck? Why?”

“Watch your fucking tone with me, boy,” Dad warned. “Before you were born, an agreement was made between Giuseppe, Joseph, and me,” he explained. “You will marry Daniella, and your sister will marry Anthony.”

“But you don’t even like Joseph,” I accused.

I might’ve only been sixteen, but everyone knew about Joseph knocking up his now wife, Maria, when Giuseppe had been in love with her. Apparently, it was a drunken mistake, but Joseph wasn’t about to abort his own flesh and blood. So, they got married, and she had his baby.

Giuseppe and Joseph had refused to let it ruin their business partnership, but when Dad and Giuseppe were alone, they talked shit about how much they couldn’t stand Joseph and that he was untrustworthy.

“That’s neither here nor there,” Dad said, his cold gray eyes locking with mine. “We agreed that our families would come together for the sake of power, and I am nothing if not a man of my word.”

“But she’s only a baby,” I pointed out.

“She won’t always be young,” Dad deadpanned. “And once she’s old enough, you will marry her and produce an heir, forever linking our families.”

“No way!” I argued. “I’m not doing that, and you can’t fucking make me!”

I knew the grave error I’d made the second my dad stood and grabbed me by my throat, shoving me against the wall.

“Yes, you will, Dominick,” he said, his voice menacing yet unbothered. “You will marry Daniella, just like your sister will marry Anthony. And you want to know why?”

He didn’t wait for me to answer.

“You both will do as you’re told because if you don’t, then you’re no good to me, and what do I do to people I have no use for?”

When I didn’t answer him quick enough, he tightened his hold on my throat, cutting off the air supply to my lungs.

“What do I do?” he demanded.

“You kill them,” I choked out.

After Dad was done threatening me, he calmly explained that he, Giuseppe, and Joseph were a force to be reckoned with, but united, they would become the three most powerful families in Harbor Point—the city we live in,—and one day, if they continued down that path, they would be the most powerful families in South Florida, maybe even the East Coast.

They didn’t know how it would play out when they made the deal, but once the girls were born, they decided Brielle would marry Anthony since Giuseppe and Joseph didn’t get along, and because I was the oldest, that left me with Daniella.

I would respect him if it wasn’t for the fact that he wasn’t even loyal to his own family. He cheats on Mom and is willing to sell his own flesh and blood for power, and I wouldn’t put it past him to kill us all for going against him. He takes being a psychopath to another level.

Hell, once, when Matteo was younger, he said he wanted to be a marine biologist after learning about the ocean in school, and our father tortured him for a week, saying that if he wasn’t part of the family business, he might as well be dead.

After that, Matteo never again mentioned wanting to do anything other than work for our father.

“I need to get going,” I tell Matteo, pocketing my wallet and keys. “Since Lorenzo is using the plane, I have to fly commercial. So, if you need to get ahold of me, text me. I don’t even know if those planes allow for phone calls.”

Like the dick he is, Matteo laughs, knowing I hate flying anything but private.

With how insane my life is, I crave consistency and order. And commercial flights are anything but. Add to that how dirty they are—with the thousands of people sitting in the seats, kids with their snot and germs—and I avoid them at all cost.

I’d cancel this meeting just so I wouldn’t have to fly commercial if it wasn’t so important.

But it is.

A real estate developer I’m looking to do business with on the west coast of Florida requested a meeting, and since time was of the essence, I agreed to fly out to meet him.

There are very few people I would jump through hoops for, but Jaimie Sanchez is a genius when it comes to expanding his territory.

Dad’s goal has always been to own the city he grew up in, but I have bigger plans than slinging drugs and dealing weapons, owning a few hotels and underground casinos.

And now that I’m running shit—and half the time, my father can’t remember to wipe his ass—I can make decisions as I see fit without him questioning me.

After hanging up with Matteo, I call Fernando, my driver, to take me to the airport. Traffic is a bitch, but I get a bunch of work done on the way.

We’re about five minutes out when my phone rings. I consider declining my sister’s call, knowing what she wants to talk about and not wanting to listen to her freak out, but she won’t stop until I answer.

“Brielle, how?—”

“Tell me it’s not true!” she shrieks, forcing me to turn my volume down. “Tell me you’re not going to force me to marry that slimy piece of shit!”

“Brielle.” I sigh.

“Don’t Brielle me!” she screams through the phone. “You said you would get me out of this, Dominick. You promised!”

“Enough!” I bark. “I said I would try, and I’m working on it. Shit like this takes time.”

Despite me now being in charge of Antonov Enterprises, our father still legally owns the company and refuses to relinquish his rights until the deals are finalized—Brielle marrying Anthony and me marrying Daniella.

And even if I did have full rein of the company, because my father’s ties with Giuseppe and Joseph are so thick, it’s going to take a helluva lot to cut them.

Thankfully, Giuseppe will be stepping down soon from Russo Property Group, handing the reins over to his son, Lorenzo—who is also Matteo’s best friend—but he’s as fucking stubborn as our father, and he won’t do it until the marriages are finalized.

On the other hand, Joseph has no plans to hand Rothschild International over to Anthony anytime soon—not that I blame him since his son is a few bricks shy of a load.

But that means I’m going to have to deal with him for the foreseeable future, and since he’s as hell-bent on this arrangement as Giuseppe and my dad, it won’t be easy to convince him that we could be just as strong without intertwining our families and blood.

My dad, Giuseppe, and Joseph are old school—my parents were part of an arranged marriage that was beneficial to both sides in terms of money and power, Giuseppe only married his wife, Tanya, because she came from an influential family, and Joseph married Maria, despite not being in love with her, because she was pregnant with Anthony.

“Dominick,” my sister pleads, “I can’t marry him. I’m in lo?—”

She cuts herself off, but I can piece together the rest of what she didn’t say. My sister is in love. She met someone, probably in college.

“Brielle,” I warn, my patience running thin, “when Dad agreed to let you go away to school?—”

“I know,” she snaps. “I know, Dominick. I’m allowed to get my degree as long as I understand that I’m never allowed to actually use it because I’ll be too busy pushing out Anthony’s babies.”

Dad wouldn’t let her leave the state, but he compromised and let her go to a university that required her to live closer to the school, which meant she could move out of the house, provided that she come home on Sunday nights for family dinner—surprisingly, he did that for our mother, who had said she was afraid Brielle would leave and never come home—and that she understood once she graduated, she would be required to move back home and marry Anthony.

“It’s just so unfair,” she cries, and despite how hard this life has made me, my heart softens for her the way it always does.

I’m eight years older than Brielle, but because our father is incapable of love and our mother spends most of her time trying to avoid our father’s abuse, Matteo and I have had a hand in raising and protecting her.

Since the day I found out my baby sister would have to marry Anthony, Matteo and I have been planning how to prevent it from happening, but the men we’re dealing with didn’t get to where they are by being rash, and their contracts are ironclad.

If I go about this the wrong way, we can potentially lose everything, and I’ve worked too damn hard and long, putting up with my father’s shit, for that to happen.

“I’m going to figure it out,” I tell her as Fernando pulls up to my terminal. “Just focus on school. Nothing is happening right now.”

“Okay,” she sighs. “Where are you?”

“I’m heading to Coral Bay for a meeting. I’ll see you on Sunday for dinner.”

We hang up, and with only my briefcase in hand since this is a day trip, I head into the airport, wondering if Matteo and I could get away with killing three of the most powerful men in Harbor Point.

Check-in is quick and painless, as is security. I spend the short time I have before the flight working in the airline’s designated lounge until business class is called.

Between dealing with my family, checking the books for discrepancies now that it’s been brought to my attention, and preparing for the business meeting I’m about to have in a few hours—and add to that, the screaming toddler, whose mom is trying and failing to soothe her child before we’ve even had a seat on the plane—my head is all over the place.

So, when I step onto the plane, I’m not paying attention when a woman appears out of nowhere.

With both of us on a mission to get to where we’re going, our bodies collide.

She shrieks, her hands flailing about as she attempts to right herself in the small space, and I reach out, trying to save her from falling.

But in doing so, instead of keeping her upright, I hit the plush cushion—thanks to the airline sparing no expense on the business-class accommodations—and she lands directly on my lap.

Before I can help her up, she scrambles off me. Her mortified eyes meet mine—emerald, like the gem, shiny and bright and filled with enchantment—and I’m instantly mesmerized by her green orbs.

Her skin looks like porcelain, similar to the dolls Brielle used to collect when she was little.

She swore they were real, but Matteo used to tell her that nobody’s skin was that flawless.

But this woman’s is, and it makes me want to reach out and touch her to find out if it’s as smooth as it looks.

Her hair, which is up in a tight ponytail, is fiery red and matches the color of her plump lips, which are shiny, like she recently applied lip gloss. Her makeup is done to perfection. Her cheeks are flushed, and her lashes are thick.

There’s a fine line between a woman who uses makeup to highlight her beauty and one who’s trying to create it. I have no doubt this woman is naturally gorgeous, and the makeup only enhances that.

My eyes trail down her face to her slim neck and then to her rounded breasts, which are accentuated by her formfitting button-down blouse.

I continue my descent to her long, shapely legs and stop at her black heels, which I imagine her still wearing as I fuck her against the wall in the private restroom on the plane.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, quickly ending my fantasy and reminding me where I am—on a commercial flight.

I glance up, and her cheeks have turned a beautiful peach shade, the same color as the flowers my mom keeps all over the house.

Peaches and cream, she calls them—the bouquets filled with white and peach roses.

In our world, it’s easy to get sucked into the dark, so Mom fills the house with flowers, swearing they help keep the light in.

“Are you okay, Mr. …”

“Dominick.” I chuckle. “And I think I should be asking you that.”

She might be five foot eight, give or take an inch or two, but she’s got nothing on my six-foot-three self, especially since I have a good fifty pounds of muscle on her.

“I’m okay,” she breathes, stepping into the aisle. “I’m just so sorry.” She laughs, and the melodic sound—as enchanting as her eyes—goes straight to my cock.

“It’s all good,” I tell her, glancing up at the row designation and realizing we fell into my assigned seat. “I needed to sit anyway. And if one of the perks of flying commercial is having a beautiful woman fall into my lap, I might need to stop flying private.”

She snorts out a laugh and rolls her eyes. “I haven’t heard that pickup line before,” she says, narrowing her gaze at me. “So, I’ll give it an eight for originality and the fact that you came up with it so quickly.”

She moves to the side so the other passengers can get down the aisle and flips through the papers in her hand. “Dominick Antonov?” she asks, her tone all business.

When I raise a questioning brow, she says, “You said this is your seat, and since I have the seating chart for those in business class …”

It’s then I realize that the woman didn’t appear out of nowhere. She was coming out of the galley … because she’s a flight attendant.

“That’s me,” I say, waiting for her to recognize my name and react.

The second a woman learns who I am, she either retreats in fear or dollar signs appear in her eyes, like a slot machine at a casino, hoping that with one pull, she’ll hit the jackpot.

But the recognition from this woman doesn’t come. Not the fear or the attraction. If she does know who I am, she’s doing a damn good job of hiding it.

“I’m Peyton,” she says with a smile that causes twin dimples in her cheeks to pop out, adding to her beauty. “I’m your flight attendant today. So, if you need anything, please let me know.”

Normally, I would assume those words held an insinuation somewhere in there, but this woman has transformed from embarrassed to professional in the blink of an eye.

“Can I get you something to drink? A glass of champagne or …”

“An old-fashioned, please,” I tell her. “Kingston Limited Black Label.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t carry Kingston on this flight,” she says, “but I can make it with Maker’s Mark.”

I’m about to argue that Kingston is definitely kept in stock—I make sure of it—when I remember once again that I’m not on our private plane.

“That would be great. Thanks.”

She nods and turns, and I can’t help but lean to the side so I can watch as she walks away, her luscious ass swaying in her tight skirt as she goes.

Peyton returns a few minutes later, places a napkin on my armrest, and then sets my drink down.

“For the record,” she says, her voice low and her green eyes filled with mirth, “I prefer Kingston as well. It goes down smooth.”

Well, fuck me sideways, maybe there is hope for me fucking her against the wall in the restroom on this flight.