How do you shield yourself from sunlight?
Even when you wear a hat, glasses, sunscreen, you can still feel its warmth beneath your clothes, taste its humidity on your tongue, see the bright cast of its light through your lenses.
How do you defend yourself against the kind of sunlight that leaked from Guinevere Stone’s every pore?
I realized it would be difficult when she smiled at me in that red dress. Knew it was dangerous exposure when I danced with her at the trattoria. Surrendered to it completely when she parted her slim thighs, trusting me to teach her to know a completely new part of herself without any hesitation, as if I deserved that faith.
Wondered if I might kill and die for another taste of her as soon as we kissed.
Ero fottuto.
I was fucked.
It was just lust, and maybe an inkling of admiration, but the kind I had never experienced before. I wanted to drag her into the bushes and fuck her against a linden tree. I wanted to paint a necklace of bruises around her throat like a collar so that everyone would know she was taken.
The civilized man I’d tried to become before my father died seemed to be crumbling into primitive urges under the regard of those beautiful doe eyes.
I watched as she walked ahead of me down the row of vines with Imelda, her face animated with enthusiasm as she listened to the history of the vineyard and its wine-making process. Imelda seemed just as taken with Guinevere, touching her arm, encouraging her to pluck a grape from the vine and cut it open with her teeth to see its insides.
They didn’t need my interaction, but it was obvious Guinevere was still highly aware of me. Her gaze seemed to slide to mine like a magnet meeting another, our eyes locking together for long moments before she refocused on Imelda.
I wondered what she might look like wandering the vines on my family’s land near Montepulciano.
“Raffa? He is an investor,” Imelda caught my attention by explaining. “We wanted to expand to meet the increasing international demand for our wines, and Raffa was there with the money. A godsend.”
My old friend grinned at me, swarthy face creasing into folds. She had been a friend of my mother’s since I was a boy and had watched me grow, and while she had always rejected offers of investment from my father, she was eager to work with me when I took over the business. In fact, investing and laundering through Fattoria Casa Luna had been the first deal I’d made as capo.
“You were doing just fine without me,” I reminded her. “Winning a gold medal at the IWSC awards was only the beginning.”
“True,” she agreed. “But I was facing pressure from other potential investors, and you cannot imagine my relief when they fled at the sight of Raffa coming into play.”
She laughed lightly, but I only glowered at her, and Guinevere looked thoughtful as she gazed between the two of us.
“Is his reputation for being a grump so well renowned?” she asked laconically.
Imelda laughed, this time from the belly. “Something like that. He is a wolf in business. Always getting what he wants, always making money. His mother always said he was touched by fortune.”
Guinevere grinned, an edge of self-deprecation in her expression, and I was reminded that her own family called her Jinx for being so unlucky in life.
Well, that had changed since she ran into the side of my car. I had more than enough fortune to share with her.
“Perhaps that is why I am so impatient with the product that has been misplaced this month,” I suggested smoothly, the very casualness of my tone relaying to Imelda that I was not impressed with her new manager, Wyatt.
He was Imelda’s sister’s boy, born and raised in England but in love with Italian wine. When she offered him the job, it was made explicitly clear that he would be reporting to both of us. It was easy enough to keep higher management out of the loop about our money-laundering activities, so he wasn’t made aware and he would never be, given he seemed to have some innate problem with me. Whenever I visited, he took umbrage at something I suggested for the company, and his latest rebellion had resulted in three shipments being lost en route to China, one of our biggest markets.
Imelda looked at me sidelong, the irritation in her gaze not directed at me. “You and me both, Raffa, I assure you.”
Guinevere looked between us with a little crease between her brows. “What’s the problem?”
I hesitated but decided being honest was the least suspicious course of action. Beside the fact that our issue stemmed from gross negligence and not Mafia-related activities.
“It seems there has been a mix-up with shipments of fourteen crates of our premium wine to Shanghai. Our Chinese business associates are not pleased, obviously, and if we cannot find the product, we will effectively be out tens of thousands of euros,” I explained dryly.
“Yikes,” Guinevere murmured, and a flare of warmth lit inside my chest at her adorable sincerity. “Well, I’m sure you have people looking into it, but I have an MBA with a concentration in finance, and I have kind of a knack for pattern recognition if you want me to take a peek at the manifests?”
I blinked at her, surprised by her audacity but also unwittingly entranced by it. This young woman really thought she could make a difference in a mess Imelda’s very expensive accountants and managers could not put to rights.
Something perverse in me liked the idea of testing her. If she failed, as I believed she would, the exercise would still give her insight into my work in a way that wouldn’t lead to uncomfortable questions, and it would give me some peace in my own mind.
That she was just a girl, however beguiling, and nothing to be overconcerned about.
If she succeeded, well, it would be impossible not to admire her even more than I already did, which would be alarming, but it would also solve this multi-thousand-euro issue.
“Fine,” I decided. “If you think you can handle it.”
She tucked a dark lock of hair behind her ear and shot me a withering look. “Just because I’m younger than you, Raffa, does not mean I’m not capable.”
A reluctant grin tugged my mouth before I looked over at Imelda, who was watching us with knowing, sparkling eyes. My expression flatlined at her expression.
“Lead on, Imelda,” I requested flatly, indicating she should lead us to her office. “Let us see what the American girl can make of things.”
As it turned out, the American girl could do a lot.
I left her with Imelda’s shipping manager and accountant, confident that she would be preoccupied while I dealt with the rest of my business at the estate, but I was not expecting to return over an hour later to any kind of breakthrough.
Let alone a complete rundown of the issue.
“They’re trying to commit fraud,” Guinevere told me, her face lit with the kind of enthusiasm I’d previously only seen targeted at Italian cultural phenomena and history. “Erasmo and I noticed that they have been disputing shipments for the last six months. Product allegedly arriving broken. Bottles were corked, and a crate here or there had gone missing. Isacco told me it’s company policy to refund based on these claims without any kind of investigation. Which makes sense from a customer-relations perspective, but not when it becomes a pattern of taking advantage of the winery.”
She sucked in a deep breath, as excited as a child on their birthday. “Zhang-Liu Imports is receiving the product, and it seems to be in fine condition.”
“But how can you verify that?” Imelda asked, rounding her desk to see what Guinevere, Isacco, and Erasmo had spread out across the table and three different computer screens. I followed, hands behind my back, expression blank as I processed this new information.
“Here,” Guinevere said, pointing at a list of numbers in an Excel sheet on the screen. “When we noticed the claims, I looked through the financial logs between your two companies. If they were experiencing that many issues with the winery, it would stand to reason they wouldn’t make more purchases from you, but their imports have increased during that term. So I thought, Why?”
“And then she did something I do not understand,” Erasmo, who was in his late seventies, admitted with a wince.
Guinevere laughed, lightly placing her hand on his arm as if they were old friends. “It’s something we do at my father’s firm to assess financial risk when investing in a company. I applied the same principles to Zhang-Liu, and on paper, their business is booming. China is the eighth-largest importer of wine, with the numbers only continuing to grow, and Zhang-Liu is the second-biggest high-end-market wine company in the country.”
“So the only feasible conclusion is that they have received our product every time they have said they have not or that something is wrong with a shipment and they are profiting off of it,” I surmised, the cold words clicking against my teeth like chips of ice.
“Yes,” Guinevere agreed with a sympathetic nod, the brightness of new discovery fading from her eyes as she realized the very real implications. “I’m afraid they’re swindling you.”
I did not laugh, but there was something about the combination of shrewd intelligence and sweetness in her gaze that made me want to.
“Well, for the first time in years, I am happy to be proven wrong, cerbiatta,” I confessed, pulling Guinevere up from the chair. She came willingly, stepping to my side as if the space had been tailor made for her. “Thank you for lending your expertise.”
The smile she gifted me was soft, small only because it was almost shy, as if accepting praise from me was too much happiness to bear. “Thank you for letting me check it out.”
“I will not hesitate next time,” I quipped. “Though I do hope there will never be a next time.”
I slanted Imelda a look, and she nodded over Guinevere’s head. We would be dealing with this transgression by Zhang-Liu my way. The odds were high that they were doing the same thing to countless suppliers in the country, but they’d picked the wrong winery when they chose Fattoria Casa Luna to steal from.
By the time I was done with them, they would not exist to do so anymore.
“Well, that is done, then. Shall we go inside and try the wine?” I suggested mildly, but Imelda knew there was no more information I wanted to discuss in front of polite company, so she quickly took Guinevere’s other arm to lead her back to the tasting rooms.
“Oh! Okay, well, ciao, Isacco e Erasmo!” Guinevere called over her shoulder as she was ushered from the room. When we were in the hall with the door closed behind us, she peered up at me with flushed cheeks. “What are you going to do about everything?”
Raze their company to the ground and cut out the CEO’s tongue so he never tells another lie again.
“I will pursue justice through the proper authorities,” I said calmly.
The only authority was me, but I did not need to clarify that for her.
“I’m sorry, Raffa,” she said, leaning heavily into my side in a gesture of comfort. “I hope I haven’t ruined your day.”
“Far from that,” I assured her, staring down into that beautiful, almost angelic face and wondering how such a creature could not only exist but also be so drawn into my orbit. “You have saved it. And now, you will distract me by drinking some of our very fine wine with me.”
We were crossing the main lobby when a familiar sight made me pause midstep.
“Leo?”
My best friend turned from speaking animatedly to that British stronzo, Wyatt, to stare at me stupidly for half a beat before collecting himself with a wide grin.
“Raffa!” He walked toward me with his arms open, slapping them over my shoulders to press his cheek to mine in greeting. “Fratello mio, what brings you to the vines today?”
“I could ask the same of you. You should be minding the house, no?” I asked, trying to keep the edge from my tone because Guinevere was behind my shoulder, watching the entire exchange with keen eyes.
Leo had opened his mouth to answer when a shrill feminine squeal pierced the air.
“Raffa!”
I had one second to brace myself before my sister Delfina was in my arms, pressing kisses to both my cheeks. When she was done, she cupped my face in her hands to study me thoroughly.
“Why do you look so content when we have not seen you in weeks?” she demanded in rapid Italian.
“You do know I am a busy man, correct? You know, running an empire to keep you in clothes and Diet Cokes.”
She laughed, turning to Leo to say, “Do you see who I found?”
“I think I found him first,” he countered, but he was smiling the kind of relaxed grin I hadn’t seen on his face since my father died.
“Technically, I found you,” I retorted. “And you were just about to tell me why you were not at the villa with the family.”
“We are not birds you can keep in a cage, Raffuccio,” she decreed, pulling out of my arms to fist her hands on her hips. “I wanted to speak with Mario about the satellite GPS system. Ours is on the fritz, and they have the same model.”
“Telephones have existed for decades now,” I reminded her, crossing my arms.
“That is not the best way to do business,” Leo chimed in, stepping closer to Delfina’s back to support her. “As you always say.”
“That is a different kind of business. One that requires discretion,” I told them both sternly.
“Hello.”
Leo and Delfina startled as Guinevere stepped up beside me, much the way Leo had just done with my sister. When her hand gently found the small of my back in a gesture of obvious support, I had to bite my grin. Mio dio, she was sweet.
“I’m Guinevere,” she continued into the silence with a small smile.
In tandem, Leo and Delfina looked from her to me for an explanation.
I sighed wearily, pulling Guinevere to my side with an arm around her waist and gesturing to my family. “This is Leonardo di Conte, my childhood friend, and my sister Delfina.”
“I forgot you have a sister,” she murmured, looking up at me. “Two, right?”
“Three,” Delfina supplied happily.
“You do not know me very well,” I reminded her, my voice cool. “It is understandable you would forget.”
I felt the tension settle into her bones and hated that I had made her feel other when we had just shared such an intimate morning. But this was not the time or place for the Raffa I could allow myself to be in the safety of her orbit.
I was Raffaele Romano here, standing in a place of business with my right-hand man and sister. The armor I donned was instinctual, camouflage as a matter of survival.
“How did you meet my brother?” Delfina asked to fill the awkward silence.
Leo was scrutinizing Guinevere with a curiosity that had my hackles rising. She was gorgeous, of course, but Leo was a playboy through and through.
He wasn’t getting within another foot of her if I could help it.
“Are you Italian?” he asked, before Guinevere could respond to my sister.
“Through my father,” she admitted.
“What is your last name?”
She frowned at his intensity, pressing her hip into me. “Stone.”
“And do you have any family in the region?” he pressed.
“Basta, Leo,” I ordered, because he was interrogating her without cause. “We met, if you must know, Delfi, when I hit her with my car.”
Delfina blinked and then burst into laughter. “You’re kidding?”
Guinevere lifted the hem of her short dress higher on one side to show the lingering yellow bruise on her hip. “No, we literally collided.”
“So you did not know who Raffa was before you ran into him?” Leo asked, his tone uncharacteristically hard.
He was one of the most ruthless bastards I knew, but his public persona was almost debonair, flirtatious with women and chummy with men.
“Leo,” Delfina and I both scolded at the same time.
Guinevere offered him her own cool smile, an expression I found wildly attractive. “I am an American traveling from the Midwest. I’m more likely to know U of M college football stats than I am to know about some random Italian businessman.”
“Not so random,” Leo countered. “One of the richest men in the country.”
“Leo, basta,” I told him.
Enough.
“I’m just making conversation with your . . . friend,” Leo protested with a plastic smile. “What did you say you do when you aren’t traveling? Or are you old enough to work?”
A growl worked itself out of my throat, and I dropped my arm around Guinevere to step in front of her, blocking his view. “I said enough. Speak like that to her again, and you will not like the person I become.”
“To defend her against me?” he asked in Italian, eyes blown wide with shock. “I’m your brother.”
“That does not mean you can speak to her like she is an enemy. I hit her with my car after she was nearly sexually assaulted on the side of the road. She is more Bambi than hunter. Let her be and leave her to me.”
“Leave her to you,” he echoed, trying to process my words. “Who is this girl, Raffaele?”
“No one to you,” I declared.
But someone to me, I didn’t say.
We stared at each other for a long moment, two predators snarling over prey, but finally Leo looked away with a grimace.
“Apologize,” I suggested, unafraid to rub dirt in his wounded pride.
Leo’s expression was sour as he spoke slowly in English, like Guinevere was stupid. “I am sorry. You just look like someone I once knew, and it took me by surprise.”
“An unpleasant one, obviously,” Guinevere noted, and I was not sure how much of our Italian argument she understood, but I had to admire her grace as she inclined her head at him. “It’s forgotten. From what I understand, Raffa isn’t known for his kindness, so it’s probably strange to see him with a woman like this.”
“It’s not at all strange to see him with a woman,” Leo muttered.
“As his friend,” Guinevere corrected with a saccharine smile.
He snorted under his breath, but I decided we were done with him.
“Take Delfina back home when you are done with Mario,” I told him before turning to my sister with a much softer expression. “Delfi, I will see you soon.”
“Very soon,” she vowed, an implied threat that if she did not get the details of my friendship with Guinevere within twenty-four hours, she would show up at my doorstep.
I nodded, kissing her goodbye. “Ciao, sorella mia.”
“It was lovely to meet you,” Guinevere told my sister when I pulled away, offering her hand to shake.
I hid my smile behind my hand at the typically American gesture and watched as Delfina pulled her in for kisses.
“Very good. I am sure I will see you again,” she promised before turning to follow after Leo, who was already stalking through the lobby away from us.
I was certain she would not, if I had anything to do with it.
These worlds colliding only strengthened my conviction that they could not coexist. The man I could be with Guinevere in the sanctity of our own bubble was not that man I’d honed myself into carefully and meticulously, like the edge of a blade. She was happy to believe she had done a good service today in showing me the winery was being stolen from, and I did not want to test what she might think if she discovered the only compensation I would seek from the thieves would be paid in blood.
I could have this, I told myself as I wordlessly took Guinevere’s hand to lead her to the cellar and our private tasting room, but this fantasy had a deadline, and after five weeks, our relationship would turn into a pumpkin and I’d be left right back where I was before.
More metal than man.
