Page 19 of Lovely Venom

I let out an awkward yelp as he lifts me into his arms. The minimum amount of effort it took for him to do that is equally annoying and impressive.

I can’t imagine Marco ever even trying. The last time I hurt my ankle, he told me to walk it off, and when that didn’t work, he asked if he should get one of his staff to help me.

I guess Cristian is more of a hands-on problem solver. That thought spirals into how he handles other hands-on activities, and I shut it down quickly.

The last thing I need to be thinking about is Cristian’s virility as he carts me around like a caveman. His palm feels like a brand on my bare leg as it is, and neither of us can seem to look at each other. Our close proximity has reignited the same tension I felt as I clung to his body after my near fall, and I can only imagine he’d rather be doing anything else right now.

I’m grateful for the short distance to the SUV, because it means I won’t die holding my breath.

When he sets me onto the backseat and buckles me in, I sigh as if this is also the most torturous thing I’ve ever been through. Although, I suppose in some ways it is because I have no idea what to do with Cristian when he’s not tormenting me.

The stubborn part of me hopes he’ll send me off on my own and leave me to fend for myself, but he doesn’t. He takes the front passenger seat while one of the guards drives us to the Vitale estate.

Black Stag Island is one of those magical places that almost doesn’t feel real. When I first moved to the Pacific Northwest, I wasn’t sure I’d like it. But as it turns out, all those historical romances were right about the salt air. It is healing.

Over time, I grew to love the duality of the vibrant evergreens and the moody fog and rain. The island is a perfect encapsulation of that wild, mystical beauty. The landscape is raw and jagged in some places, and a lush, sun-drenched paradise in others.

That contrast doesn’t only lend itself to the terrain, but to the island itself. With one half being owned by the Vitales and the other by the Greeks, there’s a certain irony to the phrase “keep your enemies close.” In this case, they’re literal neighbors.

The Stavroses and the Vitales have a long history of bloodshed and a rivalry that seems to be inherited from birth. While the war between them is currently under a ceasefire, I suspect it’s far from over.

Both estates are beautiful in their own right, but as we pass through the porte-cochère, it’s Tenuta del Cervo Nero that has my heart. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve spent so much time here, but it almost feels like a second home. Or in my case, the family I always wanted.

The Mediterranean-style villa sits at the end of a long driveway dotted with Cyprus trees. It’s impossible not to appreciate its beauty every time it comes into view. The Italian-imported stone makes it look like a palace, carved through with Roman arches, marble balustrades, and columns wrapped in ivy.

It was built with the intention of being a multi-generational home for the Vitale descendants, with six wings connected by a central gathering space.

At the end of the circular drive, a polished limestone staircase leads to the open-air courtyard. Beyond that is the main entry to the property, which is the only one I’ve ever used. But tonight, Cristian’s guard drives into the tunnel that takes us down to the subterranean garage.

He parks us in front of the elevator, and when Cristian gets out, I try to scramble out of my seat. But the man is inhumanly efficient, and before I can touch one foot to the floor, he’s standing in front of me with a look that feels like a reprimand.

“Chantel.”

His voice is a warning, and I have the sudden urge to see exactly what he’d do if I chose to disobey him. Then I realize how insane that thought is, and I back down because his stare could level an entire city. Right now I’m too tired to choose anything but self-preservation.

Upon my concession, Cristian lifts me into his arms and steps into the elevator. It’s a silent ride, and we continue to avoid each other’s gaze. The entire event probably only takes a few seconds, but it feels like a lifetime.

He carries me past the marble staircase in the foyer and through a few archways until we finally reach the primary gathering space.

When we enter, Mariella glances up from the lounge where she and Antonella are seated, arching a brow at us.

“He insisted,” I complain as he sets me down beside them. “It’s really not that bad.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” She scoops up Antonella and settles her onto my lap. “I figured you could use an emotional support toddler during the exam.”

“Hi, beautiful girl.” I smile as the most recent addition to the Vitale family beams at me. “You’re up late.”

“Abella wasn’t feeling well, so Angelo’s taking care of her,” Mariella explains. “The others have already gone to bed, so it’ll just be us.”

“I’ll put Nella to bed,” Cristian volunteers gruffly.

Mariella nods. “Okay, but she’s been asking for Chantel to tell her a story first.”

“You have, have you?” I brush my fingers through Nella’s dark strands as she blinks up at me with sleepy eyes. “Which story should we do tonight?”

“Pwincess,” she answers decidedly.

“Alright, here we go.” I reach for her blanket and get her settled into my arms as Mariella examines my ankle. “Once upon a time, in the kingdom of the black stag, there lived a magical princess who was the most beautiful girl in all the land. Can you guess what her name was?”