Chapter Eight
Lonzo was livid. He spent the past hour waiting to have a moment with her, but to no avail. The woman had a masters degree at evasion.
He had planned on detaining her immediately after the wedding but he underestimated her popular appeal to the rest of the guests.
As soon as the wedding photos were taken, she was mobbed by admirers, most of them males.
She seemed to enjoy their attention, reigning like a queen over her adoring subjects.
She managed to further avoid him on the way to the reception when she accepted a ride from Chris, Rocco’s cousin and one of Real Madrid’s most prized football players.
He could hear her laughter as she climbed inside Chris’ black Aston Martin Vanquish. The football superstar was so captivated and couldn’t take his eyes off her.
When the two of them drove off, Lonzo was tempted to run after them in his sleek, devil-red Ferrari Maranello.
Stop making a spectacle of yourself, Vitale.
But he was beyond caring.
He was so fired up with the planned car chase when Rocco’s relatives got a hold of him and hampered his plans.
Shaking the geezers off were next to impossible. He had to endure talking shop as they waited for their respective drivers to take them to the venue.
By the time he was able to escape them and slid inside his car, thirty minutes had already elapsed.
His mind was racing.
He’d seen Rocco’s cousin in action in the past. Thirty seconds was all it took for some to cave in and grant the footballer’s wishes.
The thought totally pissed him off.
Wait.
Was he actually jealous?
No way, Jose.
He never got jealous over a woman. And he won’t start now. Even when he was dirt poor, he never lacked female company. Women were plentiful. He never had to work hard to get their attention.
Then why was he acting deranged?
Because he got conned.
She pretended to be outraged when he got blunt with her earlier. Those amazing cat-like eyes almost made him believe for a full damned minute. But he knew better. He hadn’t grasped the full details of her con yet but he was sure she was after his money. She was the highest-paid model on the planet but Lonzo learned over the years that no amount of money can ever satisfy the heart of a gold digger.
He won’t be some chick’s insurance-cum-retirement plan.
She probably thought she was so clever. Well, he’d let her think that she had the upper hand.
He would decide their endgame. He would be the victor. He’d give her a masterclass on why she shouldn’t mess with men like him.
The thought relaxed him. His mind began to whir with action plans as he stepped on the gas of the Ferrari.
Jordana was on tenterhooks when she heard the rumble of the Ferrari’s engine at the parking lot. Without turning, she knew Lonzo had arrived. She was so rattled that she failed to catch Chris’ question.
“I’m sorry…uhm…what was that?” she casually asked.
He glanced past her shoulder before subjecting her a quizzing look. He grinned knowingly.
“Are you and Lonzo—?”
“No!” she denied, her face flushing.
Chris held her gaze as he weighed her words.
“Then why is he looking at me like he wants to murder me?” Chris continued.
She shrugged. “Beats me.”
“Interesting.”
He clearly didn’t believe her but thankfully he didn’t pursue the subject. He was even tactful enough to change the topic as he accompanied her to one of the tables. Their chosen spot was near the specially-built podium, where the newlyweds now sat.
A waiter hovered as soon as they were seated. The attendant offered them flutes of champagne and recited a delectable array of rustic Italian fare that Jordana couldn’t process at the moment. She decided to play it safe and stuck to pasta. Anything heavier than pasta would probably make her throw up. Chris chose lamb and risotto. Both of them begged off at having dessert.
Service was quick and within three minutes, they were both eating dinner. She was only half-listening to Chris’ anecdote about his cousin Rocco. Her mind was still trying to devise a way to avoid Lonzo for the entirety of the reception.
Good thing Chris, or more popularly known to soccerdom as Cristiano Rafael Falcone, was beside her. He would deter that obnoxious man as she performed her maid-of-honor duties later.
She knew Chris was definitely interested. He had been like white on rice since she agreed to ride with him. But she felt a little bit bad for using him as a shield.
She glanced at him to apologize but he spoke first.
“Hey, I totally get it. I’m cool with it,” he said with amusement.
She was relieved to hear that. He was really being nice to her. Which surprised her.
She knew him by reputation, of course. Who wouldn’t? Career-wise, they were on the same speed. Even if she wasn’t a footy fanatic, she was aware that he was one of the highest-paid jocks ever to walk this earth. He was included in Fortune Magazine’s 20 richest athletes for the past three years. He also got all sorts of sports endorsements. It would be hard not to notice his huge Nike Pro billboard at Times Square or not to catch his latest Coca-Cola TV ads while channel-surfing. He was a global superstar.
Chris was a huge catch for most women. Aside from being related to one of Europe’s oldest and moneyed family, he was considered by sports analysts as this generation’s Pele, with drop-dead good looks to match.
The fact that he was trying his best to win her attention and flashing that heartthrob smile should have brought her unimaginable elation.
It didn’t. Oh, she found him attractive all right but that was about it.
And that bugged her.
What is the matter with her?
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lonzo approach.
It annoyed her when he chose to sit at the table nearest to theirs, his seat facing her seat.
Their eyes clashed and she bristled at his countenance. His green ones wandered over Chris before it settled back on her. He need not say the words out loud but he communicated his thoughts clearly enough. That they had unfinished business and if push came to shove, Chris or any guy can’t stop him.
That raised her hackles to new heights.
The man just won’t let up! The ass!
She broke eye contact and shifted her attention back to Chris. Chris, on the other hand, seemed blissfully unaware of the growing animosity between her and the bestman.
She was so determined to ignore Lonzo that she failed to notice Mel and Rocco standing beside their table.
“Chris, I hope you don’t mind but I have to steal my maid-of-honor,” Mel told her escort.
Chris gave the bride one of his boyish, lop-sided smiles.
“I am heartbroken, amore, but I’ll try to survive,” he said gallantly.
As Mel led her from the table, she noted that Lonzo also stood up. Her heart began to beat faster and faster.
She quickly drew her gaze away from him. But not quick enough.
Mel saw everything and inquired with narrowed eyes.
She shrugged and mouthed, what?
Her bestfriend gave her a speculative look which she disregarded by rolling her eyes.
“Did my mother-in-law tell you about the program?”
“What program?”
“After the our first dance as a couple, you and Lonzo have to join us on the dance floor—”
What?! No, no, no, no…! Her mind wailed.
“Mel…does it really have to be uhm…your husband’s bestfriend? Lonzo, I mean.”
A mischievous smile played on her friend’s lips. Great, Jordana thought in dismay. The bride was in the mood to play cupid.
Mel’s arched a brow at her.
“You didn’t hit it off with him?! My oh my! This is a first! You? The model of congeniality?!”
Tell me about it, she thought mutinously.
If they had met under normal circumstances, she would, at the very least, be civil with the guy. Mel was right on that score. She was the anti-thesis of most models. She was the peacemaker, never the hothead. And she had the patience of a saint. She always saw the good in people. She was too damned nice.
Well…until she met Lonzo.
She’d never felt like hitting anyone right in the ballsack before now.
Being called a gold digger and something short of a money-grabbing slut in the same breath can do that to a person.
The man was deranged. He was vile. A slimeball. No! He was even lower. He was gunk.
And the greatest mystery was, despite his assholery, she was attracted to the douche. How was that even possible?
“Well…?” Mel prompted.
“He was not..uhm…very nice, Mel…” she said diplomatically.
Mel’s eyebrows went up another notch. “Wow…that’s pretty strong coming from you, hon,” her friend’s tone turned inquisitive. “Did he proposition you? When? Have you met him before?!”
She suddenly found herself in a tight spot. How could she explain to her friend that she slept with the guy?
Fortunately she was spared from expounding when Rocco materialized and swept his new wife off.
The chamber orchestra began to play music—a slow ballad that spoke of love, passion and commitment.
Jordana’s eyes were glued to the provisional dance floor built in the heart of the castello’s garden. Her friend and her new husband were dancing for the first time as a married couple. Their love for each other was undeniable that for a moment she felt a bit envious and lonely.
When their dance came to an end, she applauded along with the rest of the guests. She was so absorbed with the newly-weds that she shrieked when Lonzo spoke behind her.
“Our turn.”
She whipped her head around, their eyes meeting. She was transfixed as his laser-like eyes probed hers. For several electric minutes, everything around them became a blur. Her mouth became parched, every pore of her skin felt tight and keenly aware. Of him. Her heart pounded so hard and so loud that she was sure he heard every beat.
This was her chance to slap him for his earlier insult but she just stood there. Like a statue. Unable to do anything but stare back at his handsome face.
Without breaking their staring contest, he took her right hand and led her to the dance floor.
The man didn’t even ask for her permission! He knew she’d balk at making a scene. Damn him!
“Hey!” she yelped when he pulled her tightly against him as the orchestra began playing a sexy, jazzed-up version of “When a Man Loves a Woman”.
“Dance,” he commanded, his eyes not leaving her face as the hard planes of his pelvis grounded against hers, urging her hips to sway and be seduced by the music. Images flashed inside her head. Unwanted snapshots of her entwined in bed with this man. Naked.
Her sixth sense told her that he had exactly the same thing on his mind.
Other couples joined them on the dance floor. Instead of loosening his arms, he held her tighter, her soft breasts now pushed against his hard chest. He took one of her hands and placed it behind his neck while he intertwined his fingers in the other.
It so was blatantly possessive.
She should be outraged. Instead, she found herself melting against his maleness.
He led her body masterfully, unerringly. The man had rhythm—in the bedroom and on the dance floor. She knew that first hand.
Angry at the direction of her thoughts, she forced her gaze at his throat to curb her growing agitation.
Avoid his eyes. Picture something else. Breathe evenly. Stay focused for the next two minutes, Dana. This dance will soon be over. You can do this…
But he had other ideas. She should have known that he was too arrogant to be ignored.
He tipped her chin with his hand.
She glared at him.
His intense eyes searched hers, making her nervous.
What? Her? Nervous? She was never fidgety around guys! She always had the upper hand around them.
Well, obviously Lonzo Vitale was the exception.
She wanted to slap herself for showing weakness around him.
“Why?” he prodded.
“Why what?” she snapped.
“Why me?”
“I was asking myself the same question.”
“The wide-eyed act won’t work with me, cara.”
“I am not—”
“I won’t marry you. If that’s what you’re after, forget it. Not happening.”
“I’m after what?!” she spluttered. She was at a loss for words.
“It takes more than a cherry to make me cough up a wedding ring, “ he said with thinly veiled derision. “You should’ve done your homework. Marriage? Not in my cards. Ever.”
Clearly, the man was a lunatic!
She was so angry, she was visibly trembling.
That’s it! She reached the end of her rope. She won’t take any more abuse!
“Wow. I’ve been around punks, douchebags and asshats. But you? You take the grand prize. You’re a new breed of asshole! Cuzão!” she spewed in disgust.
His eyebrows rose, surprised at her verbal attack.
“You should be on your knees begging for my forgiveness. You’re the one who took advantage of me!” she accused.
That got his attention.
“I took advantage? Then your memory must be faulty, cara. You climbed my bed. We ended up fucking and you enjoyed it as much as I did.” There was an edge of barely-restrained steel in his voice.
“I was drugged!” she charged at him, her amber eyes stormy. “By you!”
His eyes grew hard and cold . “Be careful with your accusations, cara.”
“I remembered sleeping on my bed last night and the next thing I knew, you were pawing me!” she insisted heatedly.
He didn’t answer. He just continued staring at her, frowning at what she said.
“I don’t have to resort to mind-altering drugs to have pussy, cara.” There was pure conviction when he said this. His face mirrored his distaste. “And if you plan to accuse me of that to wheedle more money, you’re gravely mistaken.”
Her jaw dropped to the floor. She wanted to bash his head with something. Preferably hard.
She looked at her nemesis in the eye.
“I’m going to say this just once, so you better listen to me, safado: I may never understand what really happened this morning but don’t you dare accuse me of targeting you for your money. I worked hard for what I have. Each cent I earned through honest labor, signore. Bored and oversexed playboys like you are so overrated. So screw your money. May it keep you happy at night, ” she said icily.
He was taken aback.
Take that!
He opened his mouth to say something but the music stopped. Thank heavens!
He still held her and wouldn’t let her leave.
“We’re done dancing.”
“So you’re telling me that someone drugged you and placed you on my bed while I slept?” he said, obviously disbelieving.
“Have you’ve been listening at all?” she bit out as she struggled to get out of his arms. “Get your hands off me!”
“I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“I’m done defending myself. Could you let me go now? I really need my arm back,” she retorted sarcastically.
He paused.
She eyed him with scorn. “What? You’re going to apologize now? Don’t bother.”
He didn’t reply. Nor did he remove his possessive hold around her waist. She felt trapped. She couldn’t look away from his dark gaze but she would not back down from this bully.
The clink of wine glasses from the guests broke through the brewing storm between them.
She gave him a pointed look. “That’s the cue for us to do our duties. Time for your best man speech.”
He huffed. “We’re not done here.”
“We are. Unhand me. Now.”
“We’ll talk after I’m done with my fucking speech.”
“I can’t. Maid-of-honor duties. Have to serve some cake,” she said curtly.
“Let the other bridesmaids do it,” he declared.
Her blood pressure shot up again.
Why can’t she stop herself from reacting back? “I came here for my bestfriend, not for you—”
“And how many “duties” do you have to slave for tonight?”
“None of your business. And don’t call it enslavement…I’m doing this out of love for Mel. Something you obviously don’t understand.”
“I’ll see you afterward.” His voice was calm but the underlying hardness brooked no further argument.
“No you won’t. We’re done with our duty dance. This conversation is over,” she said defiantly before finally wiggling out of his grasp.
Or so she thought…before his hand prevented her from getting away.
“Not so fast—”
Her legendary patience was wearing thin. “Back to caveman tactics again?” she snapped, eyeing his hand before looking up at his face with as much disdain as she could muster. “I can sue you for this, you know.”
He grinned devilishly.
“We’re not done dancing, cara. Stop fooling yourself. We have so much rhythm. In the dance floor and in the bedroom.”
“What happened this morning was a one-time thing. I’m over it. Run off and harass someone else.”
“I’ll be the one to decide when it’s over, not you,” he said softly. “You owe me.”
She had never been propositioned and insulted in the same breath! Bastard! She fumed.
No point in losing her temper over this jackass, she thought, it would only empower him.
She drew a deep breath to calm herself, hiding behind her façade of nonchalance, something she perfected over these years.
Don’t let him see any of your weakness.
With cool fingers and an equally polite smile on her lips, she removed his hand from her arm as if it was an irritating insect.
He finally let her go. He had to. The emcee was calling his name for the toast.
But she had to have the last say in this.
“You’re right…I suppose I did owe you a thank you. So, thank you from the bottom of my gold-digging heart. I got rid of my cumbersome and embarrassing “state” thanks to your technique and expertise. Now I can finally move on and expand my “worldly” knowledge,” she fired back with all the confidence she had mastered in front of the camera.
The surprise on his face was worth it. He gaped at her. Or something close to it.
“One more thing…I hope you didn’t believe what the press wrote about me…that I believe in marriage and that “no premarital sex” stuff,” she continued, her voice saccharine with every word. “Oh, you did? You have to admit it’s a PR coup,” she added with her best fake smile. She was on a roll.
He remained silent as he scanned her body before settling on her face.
How does he do that? She asked herself. Make her skin overheat with just a look.
“I was bored and I got misquoted. I’ve been planning to get rid of my v-card and you came along or rather, I woke up in your bed. Details are still hazy as to how that happened but who cares anymore? The deed is done. So…grazie. I hope I was able to fulfill your “virgin” fantasy. That will make us even. I don’t owe you anything. After all, you got the real thing,” she said flippantly before walking away.
She felt his eyes burning through her back but she didn’t dare turn.
One thing was certain. He would never be on her Christmas card list.
He was blindsided after the bitch admitted that she used him to get rid of her v-card. She was no different from the rest. Not worth his time or attention.
He should have lost interest. Instead, it was stoked. He was enraged. How dare she use him like a stud?
His anger simmered. He was unsure as to how he managed to deliver his best man toast. Must’ve been okay because the guests laughed and gave him encouragement and applause.
“I thought you’re immune to supermodels,” Rocco reminded dryly.
“Shut it,” he replied, shooting his friend with an annoyed look.
The groom laughed. “Getting hormonal?”
He flipped his friend as he continued to stalk her with his eyes. She was ignoring him, pretending he was invisible.
It didn’t matter. He’d make sure she’d focus her entire attention on him after the reception, he thought.
So he was nothing but a stud to her…then she’d get what she wished for. He would fuck her brains out.
His lips thinned when he saw her run into the arms of a good-looking man who had just arrived.
“Who is he?” he asked Rocco, nudging his head in the direction of the latecomer. He gritted his teeth when he saw Jordana kiss the guy on the cheek before whispering something in the other guy’s ear with a familiarity that was hard not to notice.
She just lost her virginity to him this morning. Twelve hours later, the little houri was squishing her famous set of twins at another man.
He was more than tempted to throttle and kiss her at the same time.
He stood up to snatch her away from the arms of the newcomer when his phone rang.
He scowled. It was Pietro’s number, one of his VPs.
“This better be good, Pietro—” he barked.
“Sorry for the interruption, boss but there has been an accident. Your Thio Fredo—”
His heart banged against his chest.
“What happened?” he anxiously asked.
“Mild stroke. Luckily, the helpers were around when he collapsed. We flew him to Rome for medical attention,” Pietro reported.
“Is he alright?” he asked next.
“It was a close call but his attending doctors said he’s stable.”
He sagged with relief.
Frederico Vitale or Thio Fredo was his only remaining blood relative, this late father’s only sibling. Thio Fredo single-handedly raised him. He was the only one apart from Rocco who believed in him and his big dreams. His uncle mortgaged his small vineyard on top of his lifesavings to provide him with enough capital to jump-start his first business venture. Out of gratitude and sense of family, he gave his uncle a thirty-five percent stake at Vitale Internacionale. Thio Fredo may have chosen not to get himself involved in VI, but those shares were now worth several billion euros.
He asked Pietro for the name of the hospital. He instructed his trusted man to get the best doctors on board. He ended the call, still feeling worried.
Thio Fredo was a simple man. A childless widower, he remarked that his life force was connected to the land that he tilled which produced the high quality wines that Vino Vitale, their vintage, was known for. At sixty-seven, he showed no signs of slowing down or enjoying the life of a very rich man. Instead of traveling, he preferred to stay in his mountain hideaway with mountain goats for company.
He knew he would lose his uncle someday, but not today.
He felt conflicted whether to stay or drive like a madman back to Rome.
His eyes drifted back to the vixen.
She was openly laughing, kissing the stranger on both cheeks before she led the guy toward the newly-married couple. Mel obviously knew the man and almost leapt to embrace the guy like a long-lost friend.
He saw Rocco’s brows meet. Obviously his pal didn’t like the idea of his wife within thirty feet of any male, friend or not.
Their gaze finally met again. Electricity crackled in spite of the distance separating them. She raised her chin challengingly before cutting him off by smiling sweetly at the guy beside her.
He was incensed. The desire to walk, drag and bed her until she couldn’t walk for a week was so strong that he had to physically battle himself not to.
Why the fuck did she affect him this much? She was very beautiful but so were the other women he had in the past. He knew she was mercenary like the rest of them but that hardly put a dent to his interest.
The idea that he had lost power over his compulsion and urges infuriated him.
She made him weak.
His sneered at himself.
But his uncle was lying in a hospital. He was needed there. Family came first.
Jordana Almueda was just a woman. He can forget her in the arms of his readily-available mistresses.
Jordana’s nerves were shot. Not even the presence of Leandro, who surprised Mel and her by flying from NYC could make her relax. She was so tense that he commented on it earlier. She shrugged and didn’t answer.
Her stress levels went up when she saw Lonzo approach but he walked past her to go straight to Rocco and Mel. She heard him congratulate the couple and then apologized that he had to leave due to an emergency. She wasn’t able to catch the rest because he switched to Italian.
Obviously the man didn’t want her to understand, knowing she could hear. As if she was interested!
Rocco and Mel hugged him and he turned to leave.
Lonzo glanced at her briefly. It was so brief, just mere seconds, but it was intense enough to undermine her pseudo-calm state.
She realized she was holding her breath.
“Dana? You okay?” Leandro asked, his gaze switching between her face and Lonzo’s departing back. “You know him?”
Knew him? Yes, in the biblical sense.
“Not really. I mean, I just met him today. He’s the bestman, Rocco’s bestfriend,” she replied, trying to sound casual but it came out evasive even to her own ears.
The tension that she constantly felt throughout the day slowly seeped out of her, especially when she heard the departing rumble of Lonzo’s supercar.
Leandro knew her too well. He gave her a quizzing look but decided not to push her for answers, which she appreciated. After everything that had happened, she wasn’t in the mood to give out answers.
As for Lonzo, it was best to simply forget what had transpired between them. Lock it at the attic of her mind, where all her bad memories stayed dormant.
He was bad for her.
But why she did she feel so bleak all of a sudden?