A Hunger for the Forbidden - By Maisey Yates Page 0,17
may, the law prevents you from owning anyone, which means Alessia does not belong to you.” He gritted his teeth, thought of Alessia’s siblings, of all she’d given up to ensure they would be cared for. “However, at my fiancée’s request, I have decided to honor the agreement.” He paused for a moment. “What are your other children doing at the moment?”
“I’ve arranged for the boys to get a job in the family business.”
Matteo gritted his teeth. “Is that what they want?”
“You have to take opportunity where it exists.”
“And if I created a different opportunity?” He turned the figurine again, keeping his hands busy, keeping himself from violence.
“Why should I do any more business with a Corretti than necessary?”
“Because I hold your potential fortune in the palm of my hands. Not only that, I’ll be the father of your first grandchild. Mainly, though, because you’ll take what I give you, and no more. So it’s by my good grace that you will have anything.”
Antonioni’s cheeks turned red. It was clear the old man didn’t like being told what to do. “Corretti, I don’t have to give your family rights to—”
“And I don’t have to give you a damn thing. I know you’re making deals with Angelo. And you know how I feel about Angelo, which puts you in my bad book right off. I may, however, be willing to overlook it all if you do as I ask. So I suggest you take steps to make me happy. Send your children to college. I’m paying for it.”
“That’s hardly necessary.”
He thought of Alessia, of all she’d sacrificed for them. “Listen to me now, Battaglia, and remember what I say. Memorize it. Make a nice little plaque and hang it above your fireplace if need be: If I say it is necessary, then it is. So long as you do what I say, you’ll be kept well in the lifestyle you would like to become accustomed to.”
The other man nodded. “It’s your dime, Corretti.”
“Yes, and your life is now on my dime. Get used to that concept.”
Had Alessia’s father not said what he had, had he not acted as though her virginity, her body, was his bargaining tool, Matteo might not have taken such joy in letting the other man know his neck was, in effect, under his heel.
But he had. So Matteo did.
“I paid for one wedding,” Battaglia said. “I’m not paying for another.”
“I think I can handle that, too.” Matteo picked up the tiny glass hotel, turning it in front of the light. “You’re dismissed.”
Battaglia liked that last order least of all, but he complied, leaving Matteo’s office without another word.
Matteo tightened his hold on the small, breakable representation of his empire, curling his fingers around it, not stopping until it cracked, driving a shard deep into his palm.
He looked down, watched the blood drip down his wrist. Then he set the figurine back on his desk, examined the broken pieces. Marveled at how easy it was to destroy it with his anger.
He pulled the silk handkerchief out of the pocket of his jacket and wrapped the white fabric around his hand, pressing it hard, until a spot of crimson stained the fabric.
It was so easy to let emotion ruin things. So frighteningly easy.
He gritted his teeth, pushed the wall up around himself again. Control. He would have it, in all things. Alessia Battaglia was not allowed to steal it from him. Not anymore.
Never again.
“I’ve secured the marriage license, and we will have the wedding at my palazzo.” His inheritance after the death of his father. A piece of his childhood he wasn’t certain he wanted. But one he possessed nonetheless.
“Not at your family home?”
“I have no use for that place,” he said, his tone hard. “Anyway, it has all been arranged.”
Alessia stood up from the plush bed, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. “Really? And what shall I wear? How shall I fix my hair? Have you written my vows for me?”
“I don’t care. Who gives a damn? And didn’t someone already take care of writing vows for weddings hundreds of years ago?”
She blinked, trying to process his rapid-fire response. “I … Don’t you have … I mean, don’t I need to conform to some sort of image you’re projecting or … something?”
“This will be a small affair. We may provide the press with a picture for proof. Or perhaps I’ll just send them a photocopy of the marriage license. Anyway, you can wear what you like. I’ve never