“So…” I have no idea what to say to the information he’s just shared.
“So, I’m a bastard…literally. The unwanted product of the secret merger of two of Europe’s most wealthy families.”
Silence stretches between us until I finally squeeze out a quiet, “I’m sorry.”
And the weird thing is, I am. In just a few short minutes, I’ve been exposed to an entirely new and deeper layer to the man currently holding out a napkin piled with yummy finger food. I take the offering, welcoming the chance to eat if for no other reason than it makes me unable to speak.
“He’s living a double life?” I finally ask.
“He’s the master of it. He could go back to his villa and vineyards outside Rome any time and never have to walk in my world ever again.”
“Why doesn’t he then?”
“Honestly, I think he started stealing art, not because he needed to, but because he got bored. He loved the challenge of it. And when my mother had me, I think he saw me as a way to keep his secret business alive while still leaving the real wealth—the legitimate businesses—to my half-brothers.”
He sounds so bitter. The words, “I’m sorry,” are out of my mouth before I think them through.
“Don’t be,” he says too quickly. “I’m not. I have a good life.”
I can’t put my finger on it, but I know he’s holding something back from me.
“Yes, you do live a charmed life,” I say, meaning it. I’ve always been jealous of how it seemed like he’d had everything handed to him while I had to work like hell for every morsel I’ve earned. Now, I can see he’s had his own battles to fight, they were just different than mine. It doesn’t stop me from adding, “Would you want to be part of the businesses in Italy if you could be?”
“Oh hell no. Me, going into an office every day, pouring over profit and loss statements? Still…” His voice trails off again. I give him time, knowing he’ll finish his thought if he chooses to. “I know I’m good at what I do—I had the best trainer—but sometimes I wish I had a more legitimate career. Something I wouldn’t need to stay in the shadows for.”
I felt those words to my core. Since I’d turned fourteen, I’ve been working for one criminal element or another. The watching over my shoulder, waiting to get caught and thrown into jail or worse, killed, is hard on one’s state of mind.
Unaware of my own internal conflict waging, Atlas tries to feed me more food from the tray in front of him, but I wave him off.
“I’ve had enough.”
“Not me,” he says before grinning that smile I’ve come to recognize as his tell when he is about to accost me.
Atlas reaches out to grasp my breast, slipping his palm between the gown’s bodice and my bare boob, squeezing until he drags a moan from me.
Wiggling, I do my best to get away from him. “Stop it. We can’t do anything just a few feet away from your father.”
“You’re no fun,” he adds, lowering his hand to cup my pussy buried under the long gown.
I push his hand away, but allow him to pull my torso down, resting my head in his lap. After all of the dirty things we’ve done to each other’s bodies over the last week, this simple embrace feels intimate.
My fingers reach out to twine with one of his hands as he places his other hand on my head, slowly stroking my hair.
I can feel my eyelids getting droopy as an urge to sleep consumes me.
“Get some rest now.” He comforts me.
Closing my eyes, I think about all he’s shared. I’m about to nod off when I hear him add, ”You’ll need your rest for when I get you behind closed doors again.”
Chapter Seventeen
ATLAS
The Whitehall isn’t a mirror image of The Whitney as one may expect from a sister property, but it still has the elegant charm and sophistication one would expect from Katja and Dex. I know London like the back of my hand, and I know this old property they chose to convert, and I’m so happy they did. History isn’t lost because of this passion project. Glancing around the lobby, I can see Z and Rowan—who were hired to open the new property—still have a way to go to complete their mission, but I can already see what a magnificent grand result will come from the hard work.
“Sebastian, Atlas, Valentina,” Z greets as he approaches us. I’m not used to seeing Z in a suit and being in the forefront. The Z I’ve always known works the shadows and cleans up the dirt in the background. Although it’s a good look on him and one that seems to fit him well. “Welcome to The Whitehall. I’m sure Dex explained the remodel—”