Mistress By Blackmail(68)
He broke her heart all over again. “You can't do this.”
“I already have.”
“My father—”
“He's not my problem anymore.”
The callous disregard finally broke through her heartbreak and released a tiny bit of her temper. “You can't keep me at the penthouse.”
“I can. I will.”
“I'll call the police,” she threatened, her temper continuing to grow.
“My security will make sure you don't have access to a phone.”
“I'll report you after I get released.”
He was totally unfazed. “The police will not be impressed with your claims. You have been seen with me as my lover in public. You have willingly lived with me for a month—”
“Not willingly,” she thrust the words at him.
A sardonic smile crossed his face. “The point is the police won't believe you.”
The limo slid to a stop in front of his office. Darcy glanced beyond his grim gaze to the silver sign.
ROCCA ENTERPRISES
Once she'd stared at this sign, impressed and intimidated, but determined. Her heart and soul intact.
The door opened. He took one more look at her, eyes opaque now. Clear and cold and distant. “Goodbye, Ms. Moran.”
The door slammed closed. She heard the locks snap shut.
Now she stared at the sign of his power, his prestige, his pride once more. Her heart broken. Her soul gone.
He walked away, never looking back.
Chapter 14
He'd done it once more.
Fallen in love.
With a woman who wanted another man.
The irony was profound and worth a good laugh. Except he was quite sure, he was never going to laugh again. There would be no sprite around to provoke him. No teasing, no bright smiles, no night-blue eyes filled with amusement.
No, he had made sure of the non-existence of laughter in his life. Very sure.
Marcus glanced down at the half-filled glass of champagne he held in his hands and mechanically took a sip.
The crowd surrounding him was loud and happy. Why shouldn't they be happy? The amount of food and champagne he was footing the bill for should make any crowd merry. Why not be happy when the engaged couple appeared like they were in love with each other? The family of the bride seemed pleased, the mother of the groom ecstatic. Why not enjoy this last party before the big, splashy wedding tomorrow?
He sipped the champagne once more. The drink tasted like metal in his mouth.
His younger brother smiled at his bride. Marcus had to give him credit. When had Matteo learned to be such a good actor? In any event, he was playing his part, doing his duty. Tomorrow, not only the marriage license would be signed, but the papers for the business deal which ensured Rocca Enterprises’ immediate future. Exactly as he'd planned months ago when he'd set this wheel in motion.
With slow precision, he set the glass down on the antique side table. He wished with a desperate intensity he could leave, fly far away to a solitary beach where the lapping waves would drown out the angry words he’d uttered to her echoing inside his brain.
“I'm pleased.” Dante Casartelli, the bride’s oldest brother, walked over to him. The man was tall and big. More importantly, though, he was smart and tough. Marcus liked to do deals with men who couldn’t be fooled and who knew the score.
Dante Casartelli was one of those men.
In any other circumstance, he would be ecstatic to sign a deal with this man.
Taking a sip of his champagne, the man eyed his sister with his black gaze. “Viola is happy.”
“Good.” He had to force the one word out because this was all at the expense of the sprite. At the expense of a little girl who'd turned into a brave, fighting spirit. At the expense of an elfin creature who'd never enjoyed the loving home Viola had been coddled in since birth. Instead, she'd fought for everything she'd ever had.
“I have a high regard for your brother.” Casartelli swung his sharp gaze back to him. “He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”
Would wonders never cease? Matteo had pulled out all the stops, it appeared, if he fooled this man. “He’s a La Rocca.”
And what that meant was—Matteo knew how to fool with women and walk away unharmed. Just like his older brother had for many years.
The tall man standing beside him cocked his head, a puzzled look crossing his hard face. “I’m surprised he isn’t working with you in the business.”
“He’s an artist.” A con-artist. His hands fisted at his side, the rage at his brother seeping through his control. “He wants to go his own way.”
“Ah.” A wry twinkle lit the man’s dark eyes. “I have a younger brother too. Tomas has given me a few grey hairs also.”
He glanced at the thick black hair on the man’s head. “Not that I can see.”