“I thought Anthony was your driver,” I say quietly, dragging my gaze from him.
“Amongst other things,” Warren replies, his hand pressing lightly to the small of my back as he guides me deeper into the crowd.
Amongst other things.
A man waves us over. He’s much older than Warren, though his posture is straight and strong. His smile is stretched too tight, like it’s been pulled on with hooks. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Warren, you made it.” They shake hands, but it’s stiff, formal. These men aren’t friends. “And you brought your guest,” he adds, turning his attention to me.
I force a polite smile. “Hi.”
“Toni, this is Leoni,” Warren says.
Toni takes my hand before I can react. He pulls me closer and presses a kiss to each cheek.
“This is how we greet a beautiful lady,” he tells me with a wink.
I laugh softly, a polite noise, unsure where to look. He pulls out the seat beside him and gestures for me to sit. I lower myself into the chair, feeling the warmth of his hand lingering on my arm. When I glance at Warren, his jaw is clenched so tight I can almost hear it grind.
He takes the seat across from me, eyes locked on Toni like he’s memorising every breath the man takes.
Toni leans back, draping an arm behind my chair like he’s known me for years.The entire table quiets, watching, waiting. And suddenly I realise this isn’t dinner. This is some sort of test. And I’m the piece being moved first.
Toni pours wine into the nearest glasses, the ruby liquid catching the soft lantern light. He slides mine closer, fingertips brushing the stem with gentle precision.
“So, Leoni,” Toni begins, his tone warm and curious. “Tell me about yourself.”
I offer a polite smile. “There’s not much to tell.”
“Oh, I doubt that very much.” He chuckles, a light, practised sound. “A woman does not travel across the world with a man for nothing.” Heat crawls up my neck. I glance at Warren for help, but he’s watching Toni like every word matters. Toni leans back comfortably, the picture of relaxed charm. “To start,” he says, “how long have you been working for my nephew?”
I blink. “Nephew?” I repeat, turning to Warren.
Warren’s expression doesn’t shift. “Toni is my father’s brother.”
Toni beams. “Ah, he didn’t tell you? Warren is part Italian. We share the Baxter surname. My mother was Italian, my father British.”
Something uneasy ripples across Warren’s face for half a second, before he smothers it.
I sit straighter, trying not to look surprised. “I didn’t know.”
“No?” Toni raises a brow like that answer is interesting. “And yet you come here with him. Travel. Stay in my villa.” He smiles kindly. “You must trust him very much.”
Warren’s jaw clenches.
I clear my throat. “Warren’s my boss. I’m here for work.”
“For work.” Toni repeats it softly, studying me with thoughtful eyes. “And how long have you worked for him?”
“A few months.”
“Only a few…” He makes a small humming noise, stroking the rim of his glass. “And in that time, has he told you anything about his business? His… responsibilities?” His gaze flicks towards Warren. “His family?”
I shake my head. “No. I deal with his appointments. I take notes. I fetch his coffee.”
Toni laughs loudly and a few people turn at the sound. “You fetch his coffee,” he repeats, “And then he brings his coffee girl to Italy."
“Toni,” Warren mutters.
