One Summer at The Villa: The Prince's Royal Concubine / Her Italian Soldier / A Devilishly Dark Deal. Rebecca Winters

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       Chapter Eight

      HER pretty pink mouth dropped open. Cristiano had to force himself not to lean forward and close it for her with a kiss.

      “You cannot be serious!”

      “Why not? It makes sense, does it not?” He leaned back against the wall and gave her a lazy look. He was so close to achieving his goals now. So close he could taste the triumph.

      Her brows drew down as she studied him. It didn’t surprise him she was suspicious. She was far stronger in spirit than he’d given her credit for when he’d first met her. Was it only yesterday? It seemed like weeks rather than hours.

      Another woman would have fallen apart after nearly being crushed to death by a tree. But she’d endured, and she’d expertly taken care of his wound without a moment’s hesitation or squeamishness. He was quickly learning not to be startled by anything she said or did.

      “Which part makes sense, Cristiano?” she asked. “The part about selling you our ore, or the part where you think I could ever agree to marry you?”

      He resisted the urge to scowl.

      “Both. You sell us the ore to guarantee your loans, and I agree to marry you as a show of good faith. You and your brother cannot doubt my sincerity if I pledge to make you a di Savaré.”

      She snorted. Then she shook her head. “I could never do that to our people. They would see it as selling out to our enemies.”

      “Selling out? Or saving your country from a worse fate?”

      “What is worse than subordination to Monterosso?”

      “Ceasing to exist. Becoming a fragmented people owned and controlled by differing factions. Being consumed by civil war as your people turn against each other. No other nation will risk their assets to help you then.”

      Her grey eyes were huge in her face. A small cut over her cheekbone marred the perfection of her creamy skin. She seemed so young and vulnerable just now. Not at all the sophisticated and self-centered princess he’d counted on meeting when he’d flown to Canta Paradiso.

      “You intend to gain control,” she said. “I’m not quite sure how, but this is your aim.”

      “There is nothing in it for me.” Guilt pricked him, and he shoved it down deep. He could not afford to feel remorse about this too. Lives would be saved. He had to focus on that fact. Once he paid Monteverde’s creditors, it would establish who was in financial control to the world. Cristiano would make sure Monteverde was stripped of its weapons as part of the agreement. Without its ore, or the independent means to repay its loans, Monteverde would never again be sovereign.

      Antonella tilted her chin up. Defiant to the end. “We still have options, Cristiano.”

      “Time is running out, Principessa. The loans are due in a week’s time.”

      He could see the calculations taking place in her head. She was trying to decide if the storm would be finished by then, and how much time that would leave her to explore other options.

      “Vega was your last hope, and he’s gone. If you are thinking of approaching Montebianco, you should realize there is nothing they can do. They have agreed to sell Vega Steel their own mills, which will be run as a subsidiary. The incentive to do so was quite substantial, I understand.”

      Her expression hardened, but not before he glimpsed her despair. “So you have brought Montebianco along on your journey. I should have guessed as much.”

      “Perhaps you should have. It benefits both our nations to have Monteverde return to a free market system. There will be no more kidnapping of royal family members or attempts at blackmail.”

      Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “Blackmail,” she snorted. “And what do you call this?”

      “I will do whatever is necessary for an end to this madness. Monteverde cannot continue the way it has been. It’s past time for change.”

      Antonella tossed her dark mane of hair. “Why are you even asking my opinion? My cooperation? Go to Dante and force him to agree with your scheme. See how far you get then.”

      Cristiano bit back a growl. “You will agree to do this, Antonella, or when the loans come due, I will make certain that Monteverde is destroyed forever.”

      Her breath caught. And then her brows drew down. Fury saturated her voice. “I thought you wanted stability. Or do you simply want revenge? Make up your mind, Cristiano.”

      He refused to acknowledge that she’d scored a hit. Yes, on some level he wanted to punish Monteverde for Julianne’s death. Perhaps he would finally be free of this guilt once he had. But in punishing them, he would make the world better for them as well. Ironic. “Stability is preferable. But I will take my chances if you do not cooperate.”

      He knew she couldn’t doubt he was serious; his tone was colder and more brutal than an Arctic winter. Part of him disliked being so remote and cruel. But a lasting peace was more important than her feelings. More important than his.

      She remained very still, her grey eyes fixed on him—and then her chest heaved. Once, twice. A third time. He expected tears to flow at any moment. Prepared to deal with a tantrum.

      She’d caught him off guard in the taxi. But not again. She would not manipulate him with her tears this time. He would not relent.

      She wrenched her gaze away and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her chest continued to heave.

      And then she looked at him once more. Speared him with a glare so full of hatred that he felt the icy blast down to his toes. Oddly, his admiration for her increased. And his desire.

      “I will speak with Dante, but I cannot guarantee he will agree to any part of your plan. He may prefer annihilation to a devil’s bargain with Monterosso.”

      Satisfaction settled over him like a warm blanket in winter. “I’m glad you see it my way.”

      “I don’t, but you’ve given me no choice,” she bit out. “Why didn’t you save us both the trouble and simply tell me what you wanted hours ago?”

      It was his turn to laugh in derision. “Would it have made any difference? Perhaps you would have fled into the storm instead of another room. We both know how that worked out.” He shook his head. “No, I need you alive, Antonella, not running away like a spoiled child.”

      Her chin quivered, but still she did not cry. Amazing.

      “Not all children who run are spoiled. Have you ever thought of that? Sometimes they run for self-preservation. Not that you would know anything about that, of course.”

      “I know СКАЧАТЬ