Page 41 of Wicked (Wicked Billionaires #2)

DANTE

The young, distracted Italian studs were bold. Any bolder, and they could end up in shallow graves. They could even go in unmarked graves in our cemetery, never to be found again.

I’ve never had my blood boil, and I’ve never been jealous. I do not like it, not one fucking bit. Raven leaving me has done something to my energy.

“The dress looks better on her than me.”

I turn to my sister, and I try to calm down. “Ciao, Bianca.” I must have messed up, because Bianca looks back where Raven is, and she stares at me. “Something tells me you actually like this one!”

“Nonsense,” I say, not believing it myself.

“Is it?” Bianca watches me carefully, and I do not like the scrutiny as my eyes sweep the wedding guests.

“Is your boyfriend well?” I ask, wanting to change the subject fast.

“Perfect, it’s just a shame he travels so often.”

“Yes. Modern living,” I say, hoping and trusting he doesn’t have a mistress hiding somewhere.

“And no, he does not have a mistress. Cousin Vito still works in Rome with the government, as you know.”

I like her style. Intelligence is important around family, as is knowledge.

My sister then turns to me, and she watches me with those eyes again. “So, on a scale of one to ten, how deep are you?”

I act like she’s being ridiculous, but why not be honest? And if not now, with my sister, then with who and when?

“Five,” I grunt.

Bianca raises a brow. “There’s a but coming, correct?”

“Likely,” I say with a sigh. “I think I’m losing the battle and sliding further each day.”

“Yikes, that’s fast!” she says with a grin.

My sister knows I don’t fall in love.

Ever .

As we talk more, I see Raven reappear and head back over the small bridge. As she walks with grace across the lawn, heads turn again. I’m tempted to walk over and escort her back.

“Wow,” my sister mumbles, watching on. My jaw clenches hard, and I feel confused.

Raven has transformed into an angel and a catwalk-level model within a week. Bianca turns to me, and she raises a perfect brow. “You, dear, have no chance.”

I hate her honesty, and I do not like how I feel about Raven. I do not like the fact I cannot keep her from my mind. I have never been infatuated, or whatever this is.

All I know is, I can’t get rid of her, as in chase her away. The idea of losing her when I’ve just started to… whatever… will mess me up.

“Is she what the Americans call a ball breaker?”

“Si,” I say, watching her golden hips sway. “But in a good way. The best way.”

“And is she seasoned in life ? Has she been around?”

“That’s the strangest thing,” I say, “Raven is the most pure, gentle, uncomplicated, free, and balanced human I’ve ever met.”

I gulp and realize I may actually be falling. Panic tries to set in, but I inhale long and slow to silence it.

Screw it, I meant what I said… Each and every fucking word.

Bianca watches my face, and she laughs. “Now this is going to be fun!”

I shake my head in frustration, and I do not want Raven here looking so perfect. “She shouldn’t be looking this good in public, and it’s partly your fault. That dress has taken her from a ten to a twelve.”

“It has, and what a dress. It’s hers now, just so you know. There is no way I can wear it after such an incredible display of beauty.”

My eyes lock on Raven’s as she closes in. My sister speaks low, and she leans into me. “Oh my God. Dante is falling, and he’s falling fast.”

As I sip my wine, I glance at my sister angrily. Angrily because she is right.

Just before Raven steps up, a woman struts into our view. She is slightly drunk, and she is a woman my parents were trying to set me up with.

Italian blue blood.

Dear God!

“Dante darling, you look splendid. Mother said you would return to consider spouses. We simply must have dinner.”

The woman is all diamonds, Botox, and old money. She is the equivalent of old Hampton wealth, but she has started to age, and badly. Leathery skin, too much Botox, and too much lounging. Too many tropical islands, and not a day of real work, ever.

“Francesca,” Bianca says as they fake peck cheeks.

“Bianca, Dante,” Francesca says, holding me and kissing me longer than needed. My eyes find Raven, and she winks back at me. Raven slows, walking our way, and she gives the stranger time.

I manage to pull back, and I fake smile. “Francesca.” Raven comes forward, and her smile is for once on pause. “Francesca, I’d like you to meet… my… friend. A novelist and international traveler.”

Francesca takes in Raven, and they both nod. Francesca gives Raven an icy glare, but the American beauty smiles warmly.

That’s because she still has a soul.

“How do you do?” Francesca asks, snooty and presenting her hand as if she is royalty.

She is not. Her aunt was simply the equivalent of a countess from Rome, but that means nothing now.

As the two women shake hands, they eye each other up. My sister and I look on, and I can tell Raven’s mind is working fast. This should be good.

“Charmed, I’m sure.”

Raven must have worked it out, and she just turned on the most over-the-top old money accent I’ve ever heard. And I’ve heard a lot over the years.

“So, Raven, what are you doing here in our Italy?”

“Raven is traveling while writing a novel,” I say protectively. “She’s from New York City and has a degree in English. She used to ride competitively, and she can drive a Ferrari at near racetrack level.”

The last part was bit a stretch, and in reality, when Raven drove us part of the way home from Milan, she almost ran us over a cliff. That was before I pulled her aside, fucked her to calm her, and shoved her back in the passenger seat.

As Raven kisses the corner of my mouth, she winks unseen. “Thanks for not mentioning the sex education.”

Bianca coughs on her champagne, and I try not to laugh. As Raven continues, Bianca and I share a keep-your-shit-together look.

“Anyway, enough about me. It’s rather embarrassing, really, even if I’m the most dedicated of students. I never rode equestrian at an Olympic level, only state, so it’s not worth mentioning. Now, how about yourself? What profession are you in, dear?”

Francesca gulps, and she waves fast. “Oh, there’s Papa. Papa… Papa…”

As the distraction trots away, the three of us shake our heads and chuckle. The release is needed, and it calms me some.

“That was good,” Bianca says, “I needed a good laugh.”

Raven smiles and holds onto my shoulder. “No doubt another overbred harlot you fingered as a teen. You really are a brute. It’s going to be hard to break you.”

Bianca coughs champagne onto the lawn again and laughs. “My God, I can see why you like her so much.”

We all freeze, especially my sister. “Oh, shit, sorry!”

Raven and I share an awkward look, and I turn my head away. Hell.

“Anyway, I’m a simple writer,” Raven says. “And you, must be Dante’s dear sister.”

I turn back, but it’s too late for me to execute a perfect introduction. As I see Bianca and Raven hug, I like it. They are two people I respect, and maybe, just maybe, love.

“Nice to meet you,” Bianca says, obviously smitten with Raven.

“You too, dear.”

After we discuss the castle and our recent trip to Milan, Bianca heads off to catch up with friends. I compliment Raven on her dispatching the fake princess-type, and she smiles.

“Thanks, I was close to pulling something big out, like ‘Dante’s now teaching me how to fuck. He may even start anal classes next week.’”

I freeze mid-sip, and I tell myself to not cough the wine up. I somehow pull off the move and I gulp it down. As I turn to Raven, I talk low, “Careful. Naughty students get punished. And yes, even on field trips.”

Before we can talk more, guests clap, and the Italian band’s song ends. They start up again, and it’s a salsa number. Raven beams, and she turns with a smile. “Please! Can we dance?”

I shake my head. I do not dance in public.

“Then can I find someone who does?”

As Raven’s eyes sweep the guests, I don’t know if she’s serious. She will not last one song with those confident young Italians, and it will end in fists, tears, or worse.

I reluctantly lift my hand, and Raven takes it.

It has been years, but in the day, I dated a salsa teacher. A Cuban salsa teacher who liked tables, sore knees, walls, and bathroom stalls.

As I walk my student onto the dance floor, I pause and flick my hand. Raven spins around, and at the end of my hand, she strikes a pose. Chin high, elegant, poised, and drop-dead gorgeous.