‘Promise me,’ she’d gasped out. ‘Promise me you’ll survive long enough to get away from him. Escape, have a life, be free. I want you to be happy, darling. I don’t want you to end up like me...’
She’d promised and her mother had died right there in front of her.
Think.
Right. She couldn’t freeze, couldn’t let the fear get the better of her. Concentrate on the immediate problem and figure out a solution.
Although there didn’t seem to be any security around, she wasn’t fooled. De Santi’s security team were legendary, which was part of why she’d chosen him to start with. If she made herself a threat in some way, she’d be instantly grabbed and hustled away somewhere secure.
Maybe that would be the way to go.
She was just sorting through that option, when a door behind the reception desk opened and an expensively dressed older man strode out. ‘And I’ll see you in hell, de Santi,’ he flung over his shoulder before storming over to the exit.
The receptionist was halfway out of his chair, no doubt to soothe the other man’s ruffled feathers, and Lucy saw her chance.
She was good at remaining unnoticed and, since the door to de Santi’s office stood open, she moved quickly, heading straight to it.
No one stopped her.
She went in, her heart beating far too fast for comfort, turning and shutting the door quickly, and locking it for good measure. Then she turned around.
The atmosphere of luxury and astonishing amounts of money was here in this office too. No marble on the floor this time, but a thick, deep carpet in midnight blue. Dark wood panelled the walls, the lighting of various paintings on it discreet and subtle. Bookcases and display cases, a couch, a low coffee table and a huge oak desk.
There was a man behind the desk. And he was looking at her.
He said nothing.
Lucy’s heart thundered in her ears. The minutes were ticking away and yet somehow she’d lost her voice. As if the man behind the desk had struck her dumb.
He wore a dark suit that had clearly been made for him, but it wasn’t the suit that Lucy noticed first. It was his height and the broad width of his shoulders, and the hard plane of a very muscular chest. He was strength incarnate, the epitome of power. Although he lounged in the big leather chair as if waiting for a boring meeting to finish, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, he radiated that power like a king, all determination and purpose and casual arrogance.
She blinked, a feeling of safety filtering through her.
Yes, she’d been right to come here. If there was anyone on earth who could protect her from her father, it was this man.
He still didn’t say anything, watching her with eyes so dark they verged on black.
He wasn’t handsome, though he possessed a powerful and undeniable charisma. It was there in his deeply set eyes, in the hard cast of his jaw, high cheekbones and straight nose. An aristocrat turned crusader. The air of ruthlessness around him made him utterly compelling.
Are you sure you were right to come here?
But Lucy shoved the thought away. She couldn’t start second-guessing now.
This was Vincenzo de Santi himself and it was time to implement the next stage of her plan.
She forced herself to walk forward to the desk, stopping in front of it just as someone rattled the handle of the office door.
‘Mr de Santi!’ a voice called from outside.
She swallowed and said very quickly, before Security came bursting through that door, ‘Mr de Santi, my name is Lucy Armstrong and I’m here because I need your protection.’
De Santi ignored the shouting and simply watched her with no more than minor curiosity. And said nothing.
‘Mr de Santi!’ The door rattled again. ‘I’m calling Security right now!’
He stirred, as if only mildly bothered. ‘No need, Raoul,’ he called back, his English lightly accented, his voice deep and cold. ‘Security are already aware.’ He sounded bored.
Except the black gaze that speared her was not.
He is dangerous.
Fear moved through her again and she had to force it down hard. That was the problem with strong men. Strength meant safety but it could also mean danger, as she knew all too well. Especially for her.
He was a fanatic, the rumours said. He couldn’t be swayed and he couldn’t be bought. He was incorruptible and merciless against his enemies.
You are his enemy.
She was. But she had no other choice. She couldn’t go to the authorities, not when she was a criminal herself, and that limited her options. Vincenzo de Santi was the only one who could keep her safe, she had no doubt. Anyway, though he was dangerous, he couldn’t be more dangerous than her father, surely?
‘Mr de Santi,’ Lucy said, preparing her speech again, in case he hadn’t heard her the first time, ‘my name is—’
‘I know who you are,’ he interrupted in the same bored, calm way.
‘Oh.’ She was a little nonplussed. If he knew who she was already, then shouldn’t he be more...interested? Wouldn’t the daughter of his enemy simply walking into his office make him pleased? Certainly he should have been asking her questions. Except he wasn’t. He was simply sitting there, at his leisure, in that big black leather chair. Staring at her.
It was unnerving.
Lucy shifted on her feet. She wasn’t used to being stared at the way he was staring at her. As if those dark eyes were X-rays and they could see right through her clothes to her skin and deeper, right through her flesh, down to her bones.
You’re freezing again. Don’t get distracted, keep your attention on the goal.
That’s right, she had to concentrate. The minutes were ticking away and she didn’t know what would happen when her father’s men burst in here. They might drag her away and she didn’t want that, at least not before she’d put her proposition to him.
Steeling herself, Lucy pushed her glasses up her nose and stared right back. ‘If you know who I am then you’ll also know who my father is. I need your protection, Mr de Santi, and I’m willing to pay handsomely for it.’
‘I see.’ He didn’t look at all surprised at this, nor one whit less bored. ‘Please explain why I should give you anything at all.’
But Lucy didn’t have the time to answer questions. She knew what she was bringing to his door in coming here: a war. No more and no less, and he needed to know immediately.
‘I’ll explain when you’ve agreed. You probably have ten minutes before my father’s men track me down and come pouring through your door ready to drag me home.’