Chiara mumbles something in her sleep as the season finale ends. I reach out for the remote and switch the TV off. It’s time to take Sleeping Beauty to bed. With another glance up at the camera in the corner, I ease myself out from under her. She grumbles but doesn’t wake.
I could leave her here on the sofa; it’s comfortable enough. But because I love to wind up my brother, I gently lift her bridal-style.
She snuggles into my chest and half-smiles, which amuses me no end. Sleepy Chiara is far more amenable to my touch.
Winking cameras follow me as I carry her upstairs. The house servants have all gone to bed, so the lights are low and the upstairs landing is empty. When I reach Chiara’s bedroom, I step inside to find a rumpled bed and a pile of paperbacks on the nightstand.
There are cameras in this room too, but I can’t see them. Kane will have installed them out of sight so Angelo can spy on his wife without her knowledge.Such a creep.
The minx will kill my brother when she finds out he watches her sleep. I should have told her already, but it’s more fun to use the cameras to my advantage.
I place Chiara on the bed and cover her legs with the covers so she doesn’t get cold. Next, I fill a glass of water for her and leave it on the nightstand, along with a packet of Tylenol. I have a feeling she’ll need them when she wakes.
She stirs as I stand watching her, and I wonder if she’ll open her eyes, but she stays asleep. Her light brown hair gleams in the pale light, blonde roots showing, and the soft wool sweater clings to her curves, revealing a tempting sliver of skin above the curve of her ass.
It’s a cool evening, so I tug the covers up further, letting my fingers brush her soft skin. It’s pure torture. My body would love nothing more than to slide her pants down and part her thighs, but I’m not a pervert.
Knowing Angelo will zoom in on this brief interaction is enough for me.
Before I leave, I drop a kiss on Sleeping Beauty’s lips. Then I smirk to myself and close the door behind me.
Before I’ve made it back to the bedroom I use when I stay here, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Touch my wife again, and you’re dead.
I chuckle. Angelo would never hurt me.
He had his chance when he found out I existed. But instead of quietly getting rid of me, he protected me from our father, who would happily have brushed me under the carpet to hide his fling with my mother while his wife, Angelo’s mother, was still alive.
I look forward to the day that man breathes his last.
It can’t come soon enough.
I open my brother’s message and reply with a wink emoji before closing the app.
It sucks to be him.
16
Chiara
The dress left on my bed is a shade of red I wouldn’t normally wear. I dislike standing out in crowds. It’s not that I suffer from social anxiety. Busy events don’t frighten me.
What I hate are the men who feel entitled to monopolize my time and bore me senseless with conversation about themselves.
Vivian never missed an opportunity to drag me to a social event after my father died. I hadn’t realized it back then, but she was marketing me as a potential bride. Within weeks of my father’s passing, she started taking me to parties.
I heard more than a few people comment on how unseemly it was that Frank Farucci’s widow was already acting like a single woman. Not that she cared about gossip. Her only goal was finding husband number two, and if she was very lucky, someone willing to take me once I came of age.
For a price.
Everything has a value with Vivian.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. The makeup artist left ten minutes ago. She’d cooed at me admiringly and said how lucky my husband was.
Not wishing to upset her because she seemed sweet, I’d forced a smile and agreed, yes, he was very lucky.
Lucky he was still breathing.
