Page 116 of Brutal Heir

In the morning, a sweet servant who spoke absolutely no English brought me a tray with espresso and some lovely Italian breakfast pastries.

I needed the sugar. And the caffeine.

The Gucci dress hid the dark circles well enough.

Not that I cared what Sebastian thought. Not really.

Still, every time I saw him, it struck me just as much as the first time. The man radiated power and authority, all while being devilishly handsome. He was like one of those old Hollywood stars—Clark Gable or Cary Grant.

Sebastian shrugged into a long black cashmere coat held up by a servant.

As he pulled on his leather gloves, he said, “Buongiorno, bella. Are you ready for your first day at the House of Diamanti?”

I adjusted the tan faux-fur collar of my Valentino Garavani tweed coat. “Yes.”

My mind screamed for me to say more, but I was too nervous.

Sebastian approached me.

His usually cold, dark eyes held a hint of warmth. “Don’t worry, dolcezza. They will love you.”

Lowering my gaze, I clutched the strap of my purse. “You probably should stop calling me that since we now have a⁠—”

“Strictly professional relationship. I’m aware. Fortunately for me, it is expected for an Italian man to compliment a woman by calling her beautiful, sweet, and other such endearments.”

I leaned down and adjusted the gold chain strap on my Gucci slingbacks while I continued to fidget under his stare. “Isn’t that a little 1950s chase-the-girl-around-the-desk?”

He placed his hand on my lower back then escorted me over the threshold to the waiting motorcade.

Leaning close, he whispered against my ear, “Italian men don’t have to chase.”

My cheeks warmed as I slipped inside the car and settled back into the soft leather seats.

When he got in on the other side, I asked, “Do you always travel by motorcade?”

He hadn’t had a motorcade in France.

Was he in more danger in his home country?

“It is just a precaution after any diamond exchange over five million. Occasionally, customers get greedy and decide they want the diamonds and their money.”

I nodded as if what he'd just said was perfectly normal.

The whispers from Paris haunted me.

Mafia.

Violent.

Dangerous.

After adjusting my purse on my lap, I changed the subject. “I meant to ask last night. Can I have my phone back?”

My mother was probably apoplectic by now. There wasn’t a chance in hell I’d call her from the car in front of Sebastian, but I should at least text her.

Sebastian handed me a brand-new rose-gold iPhone. “Yours will not work in Italy. And before your suspicious American nature gets the better of you, here.”

He then gave me my old phone.