Page 47 of Brutal Heir

What the hell was wrong with me? Whenever this man came within my orbit, I lost all self-control.

Focus.

He'd kissed me.

I was an idiot for kissing him back…and then what?

That was where things got fuzzy.

Something about why he was in Paris.

Something about me.

The memory hovered just out of reach.

Whatever it was, it had alarmed me.

Fear and shock ripped over me…before he kissed me again, erasing everything else.

Well, not everything.

The universe was cruel enough to leave me with the vivid memory of the teddy bear comment.

I stared at the closed door that must lead to the rest of the suite.

As I braced myself, I saw my reflection in the bureau mirror.

It was as if a shadow stared back.

I smoothed my hair, wiped away the mascara smudges under my eyes, and pinched my cheeks. After grabbing the blanket from the bed, I wrapped it around my torso.

I pressed my ear to the door, straining to hear any sign of life.

Silence.

Biting my lip, I reached for the knob, slowly cracked the door open, then peeked out.

Empty.

With a push, I opened the door to the enormous suite.

No sign of Sebastian. Thank God.

How had I allowed myself to get into this mess? I knew Sebastian was dangerous.

It was practically the only thing everyone could talk about last night: how the House of Diamanti secretly controlled huge elements of the fashion industry.

Designers trashed their entire collections if the House of Diamanti deemed them unworthy of their diamond jewels.

I knew from personal experience Édouard had been beside himself when the head stylist showed up with red-and-gold Cartier boxes instead of the signature black velvet and gold cases of the House of Diamanti.

Apparently, the Diamantis also acted as a shadow bank to many luxury brands, loaning billions in exchange for secret ownership percentages.

Then there were the mafia connections.

At first, I wanted to dismiss what they were saying as cheap gossip.

As an Italian American, I was used to people quoting The Godfather at me and assuming my entire family was "mobbed up." It was an undeserved but familiar stereotype of all Italians.