The Ultimate Revenge. Victoria Parker
there was that word again—regal—rolling through her mind as she frantically tried to piece together the how and why he had broken into her suite and was now trussed to a chair. None of it made sense.
Jovan’s hard voice ripped her attention from the seriously ripped Carvalho and she spun to see him leaning his six-foot-five frame against a bank of security screens.
‘He did this to himself, Pia. Let me deal with him—please?’ His chiselled features twisted, playing out a complex series of emotional shifts.
‘No. He wants something.’ Right then she flashed back to their brief conversation. ‘And I suspect it is something only Zeus can give—otherwise why lie about having a meeting prearranged? So before he destroys my club with his ugly rumours, or costs me another twenty-five million on the stockmarket, I want to know why.’
Jovan grumbled in the way Pia had learned to ignore. ‘So what do you intend to do with him?’
Stress and worry lined his brow, reminding her of the day they’d met. When he’d swept her into his arms as she’d lain knocking on death’s door outside her father’s palatial entryway. Sixteen years old and before then she hadn’t even known her father existed. Without Jovan, Pia doubted she would have survived in her father’s frigid Siberian world.
‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I have no idea.’
Commodities? A cinch. Juggling multi-million-dollar investments every day? A breeze. Dealing with people? Excruciating torture.
‘I’ll just have to play it by ear. Question him. Find out what he wants and why.’
Jovan snorted. ‘Good luck with that one. He is arrogant. Overly cocky and dangerously determined.’
‘Then we are equally matched. I don’t believe in coincidences, Jovan. My gut tells me he’s responsible for the rumours and the mayhem at Eros, and if so he wants something and won’t disappear until he gets it. It would be foolish of me to take my eyes off him for one second.’
‘So we put him on watch. Twenty-four-seven.’
‘Or I go in there. Deal with him. Quickly. Quietly.’
‘Pia, please. It is too risky.’
‘Since when have I been afraid of a little risk?’ Never. Fear would never touch her heart again. ‘He’s sure to tell me far more than he would ever tell you, and I’ll hazard a guess he’ll remain obstinate until he meets the man behind Q Virtus anyway.’
‘He’ll be waiting a long time.’
‘Quite. So I’ll put him off. Persuade him to deal with me and figure out what he’s looking for. Why he’d chance his membership, his reputation, his business and fortune, by toying with the club. With me personally. He must know Zeus could bring him down.’
‘But you’ll place yourself in jeopardy. Under the spotlight. What if he realises you and Zeus are one and the same person? That your father is dead?’
Without thought Pia let her fingers creep up to her throat, where her pulse beat against her palm in a wild tattoo. Such an outcome wasn’t even worth contemplating.
‘He won’t. He’s a man. He’s predictable and he won’t look beyond my breasts. Women are designed for whoring or childbearing in his world—the truth wouldn’t occur to him in a million years. Granted, very few people know Antonio Merisi had a daughter, but my existence is no secret. If he looked in the right places he’d know I exist. When I tell him he’ll think I am merely ornamental—a pampered child—so I doubt he’ll crow to his friends that he was wrestled to the ground by a mere female.’
The man had a superb business mind and a vast IQ, but he was arrogant and conceited and as dominant as they came. Any battle between them would likely stay behind doors.
‘This is my life we’re talking about and the future of a club I swore would stand the test of time.’ Damn the old rules. ‘Damn the dinosaurs that litter the ranks of my club.’
They’d never accept leadership from someone with a sullied past such as hers. Not only that, but the gentlemen’s club was bound by rules—archaic, chauvinistic rules created by troglodytes—that declared only a Merisi man could lead. Only a man could own and control the largest business interests in the world.
Yet here she was. Groomed. Her path decided the moment her father had seen her, semi-conscious in Jovan’s arms. She’d become the son Antonio Merisi had never had. His heir. His corporate assassin. The girl he’d called worthless, tainted, illiterate trash at first glance, making her feel dirtier than the clothes on her back. The same girl who’d then taken his fortune and quadrupled it within the first two years of living under his excessively opulent roof.
She was master of the most exclusive club in the world. Perpetually in hiding. Habitually alone. And that was the way it must stay.
‘If my instincts are right he’s declared war and I’m fighting blind—ignorant of the cause. If I’m to have any chance of surviving I need the right weapon to wield. Turn off the screens, Jovan.’ Her tone brooked no argument. ‘I’m going in.’
The monitors flickered to black and a moment later a faint tap on the door preceded Clarissa Knight, one of the petite q’s, shifting on her feet as she was nudged through the space, a telling flush driving high on her cheekbones.
The pennies dropped more quickly than a Las Vegas slot machine flashing ‘Winner’ in neon lights.
Oh, wonderful. A lovesick puppy.
Pia checked a disgusted growl. ‘Oh, Clarissa, tell me he promised you the world—or at least a permanent position in his bed?’
Simultaneously Clarissa’s eyes fell to the floor and Jovan raised a small, flat high-tech sensor pad in the air, his expression warning her not to underestimate their intrepid foe.
Fingerprint recognition.
Her anger dissipated as fast as it came. She wasn’t going to ask Clarissa how it felt to be used. She remembered humiliation and worthlessness all too well.
* * *
Somewhere in that dark abyss between unconsciousness and lucidity a razor-sharp rapping registered and Nic tried for a gentle head-shake. His temples loathed that idea, twisting his stomach into a tight knot, pleading with him not to even attempt it a second time.
Prising his bruised eye open wasn’t much of a picnic either, but his heuristic brain—not to mention his sense of self-preservation—was keen to know exactly how much trouble he was in.
And he was in trouble. The ropes cutting into the skin of his wrists was a dead giveaway.
Well, he’d been in worse situations. Look on the bright side, Nic. You’re in. Zeus is here. Somewhere. They haven’t thrown you out. Yet.
Neck aching from being slumped forward, he cautiously raised his head to take in his surroundings.
His mind registered the darkness, the shadows prancing around the bare room, before he focused on a single stream of moonlight shining through the only small window, illuminating one stiletto-heeled foot tap-tap-tapping on the floor.
Ah. He suspected that was the culprit responsible for the lethargic woodpecker hammering at his head. Yet, oddly enough, all was forgotten as his appreciative eyes glissaded upwards.
Vintage towering black patent heels with an inch-thick sole. Sculpted ankles and toned calves. Sheer stockings draping long, long luscious legs and disappearing beneath a short, black figure-hugging pencil skirt.
His mind took another detour, wondering when he’d last had sex. Full-on, hedonistic, mind-blowing, erotic carnality usually kept his body taut, but now he thought about it he hadn’t felt the need in months. Little wonder he was famished.
‘Good evening, Mr Carvalho.’
A rush of heat shimmered over his skin like a phantom fire. ‘Well,