His black eyes instantly blazed with raw anger and hate.
Hate.
He hated her. The emotion was clear in the darkness of his gaze.
A twist of anguish twined around her heart. Glancing past him, she pinned her gaze on the door. She'd have preferred his damned eyes stay blank. Which made no sense, since she hated him as much as he apparently hated her. Why would he want to marry a woman he hated? The scene's unreality made her want to laugh hysterically. Or weep uncontrollably.
She pushed down the tears, focusing on her revenge. "I want your promise to save my brother. I want your promise to pay off my father's mortgage. I want your promise to set up a foundation for my school and other schools. I want it all in a legal document, signed by you. Then I'll marry you."
He walked to the desk and leaned against the edge. His arms folded over his chest in a nonchalant, easy-going way. Still, she sensed the blast of his rage roll across the room towards her like a living force.
Good, she thought with savage delight.
The anguish and despair twisted and twisted until they suddenly became a knot of need inside her to make him pay. Make him hurt. Enjoy his frustration and anger and pain.
Good.
"I have some demands of my own, tesoro mio," he drawled, his tone sarcastic and biting.
"Your treasure?" Her bitter snort struck him back. "Don't make me laugh."
"In return for all that I do for your family, you will become my wife." His stare pinned her down, leaving no escape. "My sweet, biddable wife."
"Don't think-"
"No, Lara. You have demands, I have demands. You will act as if you adore me in front of my family and yours."
"Impossible."
"With your loving smiles and soft looks you will convince your father and brother, my mother and sisters, you are in love with me."
"Dante." She laughed, her throat choking on the thought. "I am not that good of an actress."
"This is necessary and you know it." His arms dropped, hands fisting at his sides. "If you do not convince your father of your love for me, he won't believe we want to get married. And if we're not married, then why would I help you and your family? Isn't that correct, bella?"
Closing her eyes, she swallowed down bile. The idea of smiling at this man, pretending he was the man she loved-how could she fool anyone, much less her family and his?
"You must." His voice rang out, an implacable demand.
"I see your point." She opened her eyes and looked at him. "I'll try."
"Don't try. Do it."
"My, my." She edged her words with an acid slice. "Is this how you talk to your employees?"
He chuckled, a forced, cruel sound. "That is what you are, isn't it? I am buying your services."
"I hate you."
"Ah." He appeared unfazed. "You express that same opinion every time we meet."
"That doesn't bother you? You're marrying a woman who hates you?"
For a moment, she thought she'd penetrated his tough hide. A cloud of some emotion passed through his eyes before they became blank and hard once more. "I am not done with my requirements."
"What else could you possibly want?"
"You. In my bed." His mouth curled into a sneer. "You will come to my bed willingly."
"You are dreaming."
"You have once or twice entered my dreams." His voice went as dry as the Sahara.
The thought of Dante actually dreaming of her made her eyes widen.
"You doubt me?" He tilted his head in a gesture of dismissal. "It is the truth. I have no problem admitting my lust for you."
"I … I … "
"For some reason, you have labeled me as something other than a man."
"You are a monster."
His smile came, tight and feral. "A monster who wants you in his bed."
She couldn't summon a word. Frantic thoughts leapt into her brain and down her throat. He would know. He would find out her biggest secret. He would laugh. He would pity her.
"You will come willingly. That is my demand. You will give me children."
A pain-filled blow right into the center of her being. This man, this man who'd destroyed her with his rejection, who'd denied her a happy ending, who'd lied and manipulated and forced her into this impossible situation-this man dared to push her dead dream in her face. "Even you, Dante, with all your power and wealth," she choked out, "can't command me to become pregnant."
"You and I are both healthy. I expect it will be inevitable since I plan on keeping you busy in the bedroom for the foreseeable future."
Immediate, spontaneous heat pumped into her stomach, and lower. Her reaction shocked her. How could she hate him with every fiber of her soul and yet, want him with every particle of her body? She felt as if she were flying apart: her brain mush, her body betraying, her soul dying.
Stop! Stop! You'll confront these issues one at a time. First, save your family.
"Put everything in writing and I'll sign it after you do."
He stood away from the desk and stared at her. "This doesn't have to be-"
"As you would say, Dante, just do it." She was at the end of her rope and wanted him gone so she could recover some of her composure. She still had to confront her father and brother and, God help her, convince them she loved this brute. She no longer had any remaining energy for this man.
His black glare blazed again with his hate, an inferno of destruction. "All right. You'll get exactly what you have asked for."
He left. At last.
Lara slumped into a chair, her bones aching. What had she done? What had she committed herself to? She couldn't possibly go through with it. This was a dream, a nightmare, and she would wake up. Soon. Right away.
No. No. Not a dream. A reality.
As she had done with Gerry, she would endure and somehow escape. But only after her family was safe. She would do what had to be done. Eventually, she would find a way out from Dante's iron grip of control.
First though? First she would get her revenge.
* * *
One hour.
Lara stared into the full-length mirror. A gaggle of female Casartellis swirled around her, adjusting her veil, tugging on the wedding gown, talking and laughing and crying.
She and Dante Casartelli. Married.
One hour.
For a whole month, she'd been successful in hiding herself in a lovely floating cocoon of nothingness. The wonderful cocoon had allowed her to put on a show of shows. She deserved a Palme d'Or for this month's performance. Only Dante was aware of the hostility vibrating from her every time he drew near. The rest of the family members had apparently bought the entire act, bought the absurd notion he and she were always meant to be.
Yet now, as she inspected herself, draped in cream lace and ivory silk, the cocoon ripped.
Only for a bit. For a moment.
Signora Casartelli and her daughters were splendid organizers. In no time at all, the church had been reserved, the flowers ordered, the caterers engaged. What bride would not be enchanted at the speed with which this had been put together?
One hour.
The sliver of panic flirting through her bloodstream needed to be squashed immediately. If she let it take command, she might do something obscene. Such as jumping onto the nearest piece of furniture and yelling Help! at the top of her lungs. Or she might grab her father's prized antique sword on the way out to the limo and stab her beloved fiancé right in the middle of his rock-hard abdomen when she reached the altar. Or maybe she would resist making a scene or creating bloodshed and escape to a distant Pacific island, where she would spend the rest of her days weaving baskets and swimming in deep blue waters.
She thought about the sword.
The bloodshed option appealed to her more than the others.
One hour until her marriage.
Smiling at one of his sisters, she focused on pulling herself out of her building panic. She had to marry him. She had signed that bloody agreement he'd sent over the very next day after their confrontation and she was a woman of her word. Dante was already in the process of saving her brother's neck. Andy was happy and relieved. As soon as the ceremony took place, her papa's mortgage would be paid. With the conniving monster's pledge, the bank had backed off. Her father was happy and relieved. The foundation for her school, and others to follow, was set up, ready to go. She should be happy and relieved quite a few children would be helped.
Honestly, she should feel grateful.
She couldn't drum up even a drop of grateful.