8. Stephano

8

STEPHANO

I'm going to kill my brother. Fuck knows. It's five minutes to nine, the presidential suite is buzzing, bidding is about to start, and there's still no sign of him. It's been five fucking hours since I walked Tasha off that yacht. I expected Matteo four hours and fifty-nine minutes ago.

Fuck it. This is all fucked up. I'm having a reaction on Matteo's behalf, and he hasn't even bothered to phone me. I sent him a message, but no response. Probably because it didn't deliver. The fucker let his phone battery die.

I have our virgin by the elbow, giving her an encouraging squeeze. This was the plan, but I can't go through with it. Once bidding has stopped, I'll put in the highest bid and save Tasha Armstrong from the Don's final retribution. This isn't my war. I can't tell her my ultimate solution because I have a full house waiting on the other side of the glass doors, and those men…they like the girls nervous. Virginal. I have no choice but to let her do the rounds like a show pony.

It freaks me out, but somehow, everything is more personal tonight. Fuck Matteo. He's literally killing me. This afternoon I thought something had happened between him and this woman, but his absence is making me doubt everything I saw in his face and demeanor.

I guide Tasha through the glass door and make her wave at the Don on the laptop I've set up for the live stream. Never again. I'm pulling her in the direction of the living area when footsteps fall behind me.

I close my eyes when I recognize my brother's gait. Thank fuck.

"Party's over. Bidding's closed." Matteo's voice sounds firm and clear.

Tasha jerks against my hold, but I don't let go because another voice rings in the foyer, accompanied by clicking heels on the porcelain tiles.

"Oh my God!"

Oh my God indeed. What the hell is Gigi Trapani doing here?

I let go of Tasha's elbow and spin around to face them.

"I'll take over from here," Matteo says as Tasha rushes over to him.

I want to fist Matteo by the shirt and crap him out for taking his goddamn time, while at the same time wanting to bear-hug him. But my gaze magnetizes to Gigi Trapani where she's strolling up to me, a model on the catwalk, in a red dress that makes my pulse skip a beat. My cock stirs in my tux's pants. Fuck.

"What took you so long?" Tasha asks, already wrapped in Matteo's tight embrace.

Yes, I'd like to know that, too.

"Gigi." Matteo huffs. "That one doesn't sit and stay. She killed the WiFi and ordered the captain to sail out to sea, practically kidnapping me to do a hostage exchange for you, kitten. Then she forced me to bring her along to make sure you don't come to any harm. She's got guts, that I'll give her."

Gigi has a tease of a smile toying on her lips at Matteo's last words. I would laugh if I wasn't this annoyed. Kudos to her for standing up and kidnapping Matteo—what a joke—but this is the last thing I need. A woman like her walking into this auction as if she owns the place. She's not my girl, but lessons are going to be learned, some of them the hard way. I push my fists into my pants pockets, rocking on my heels as she comes to stand right in front of me.

We stare at each other, and I take in her beautiful face, eyes wide-set and an almond brown, lips full and cheeky red, and a very Italian Roman nose that gives her an air of haughtiness without trying. Diamonds dangle from her ears, and her long red dress plunges in a deep V-neck, accentuating a natural rack that would make strippers cry. I should know. I've seen so many boob jobs, I can spot one from a mile. And if you can't spot them, you can feel them. Size doesn't matter; I like them natural. I slide my gaze down her body, giving her the full inspection she obviously craves.

Fuck. My cock reacts with each inch as my gaze travels lower. This woman?—

She's made an effort, and it's a pity because I'm going to throw her out. In one minute flat. I need to throw her out for my own freaking sanity.

"Where's the live stream?" Matteo asks, but I don't look in his direction, merely pointing to where the laptop is on a console table.

In my peripheral, I see my brother casually flip the bird at the screen, his personal salute to the Don, then he bends down and throws Tasha over his shoulder.

I bet on the other side of the world the Don is blowing his last few fuses. It doesn't matter. What's he actually going to do? Come whip Matteo into shape? He's bedridden and no longer a match for his sons. Matteo has overruled his instructions about Armstrong's daughter, and even if the Don demands one of our brothers to fix this mess, none of us will turn on Matteo.

The Don's ship has sailed, and Matteo knows this. For a split second, I see the don Matteo is shaping up to be and it gives me hope for all our fucked-up little souls.

"Let's get out of here before shit hits the fan," he says as he heads to the front door.

"Where're you going?" I ask as I finally break eye contact with Gigi. Tomorrow, we're getting the hell out of here, and it won't be soon enough.

"You'll figure it out," he calls back.

A riddle. Exactly what I need to top this roadkill auction.

"Thanks for the fuck-up, brother." Time for the consolation prizes to roll in, but I need to deal with Gigi first. "And for leaving me to deal with this."

"I'll make it up to you."

With that empty promise, Matteo strides out of the suite.

I walk over to the laptop and close it. The Don has had his entertainment. He doesn't need to see how I deal with Gigi Trapani next.