Page 73 of Brutal Heir

“Remind me to send them a check on behalf of the House of Diamanti.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I doubt Milana would let you forget.”

Milana Cavalieri, Benedict’s nephew Cesare’s wife, was an absolute taskmaster of a product manager for their property investment businesses.

All the Cavalieri men had married talented, intelligent women who were passionate and loyal.

And all the Cavalieri men spoiled their women rotten.

Liliana, Benedict’s wife, had led an extremely sheltered and solitary life before meeting him. Now he went to extraordinary lengths to indulge her whims, softening the edges of her past with every gesture.

The parallels between Liliana and Sabrina were not lost on me.

While Sabrina hadn’t been raised in a convent like Liliana, her overprotective mother had smothered her in a different way, depriving her of life’s adventures.

I leaned back in my chair as I recalled her feisty reaction to my attempt to keep her in my hotel room. She might have been sheltered, but she wasn’t cowed.

Refocusing on the documents, a quick scan revealed details of a web of maneuverings I needed to untangle. Sabrina’s name appeared within the lines, her role written in sharp, precise strokes that reduced her to nothing more than a pawn.

But as I stared at the file, her face slipped into my thoughts, uninvited.

She wasn’t supposed to matter.

She was a complication, tangled in the enemy’s web.

And yet…

What would it be like to spoil her? To see her face light up with delight?

This was madness. She was part of a game I couldn’t afford to lose.

If these documents were accurate, Judge Delluci was moving forward with his intentions of declaring my business a mafia organization. I needed to make a move before that information became common knowledge.

The last thing I needed was scrutiny of how I controlled my business.

My control had always been my greatest weapon, the armor I allowed no one to pierce.

I stood abruptly and walked to the window, shoving my hands into my pockets. Control was all that mattered. Always.

Turning, I gestured toward the portfolio, referring to the dense legal text and international banking codes. “How accurate is the intel?”

Benedict leaned back, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. “I’d say it’s better than most.”

In this first maneuver, Judge Delluci had discreetly ordered the Guardia di Finanza to launch an investigation into the House of Diamanti. Unlike the Carabinieri, Italy’s fiscal police carried a reputation for precision and ruthlessness. They were deeply respected, but more importantly, feared. They had nearly taken down Gucci and probed both Armani and Dior.

The documents Benedict had obtained painted a grim picture—this investigation was far more comprehensive and far more dangerous than I expected.

Heightening the urgency to secure Sabrina as my intended bride.

The judge would be forced to back the fuck off.

Benedict pulled a surveillance photo of Sabrina from the file, his expression unreadable.

He held it up, studying me as much as the image. “Have you made contact yet?”

“You could say that I’ve made contact,” I replied, my voice carefully neutral.

“She’s pretty,” he remarked, a hint of amusement in his tone.