LITMIR.BIZ

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released her from his deadly stare. His eyes flicked to the arm tucked into Harry’s before he turned away. The breath exploded from her lungs. Sensing Harry about to ask another question, she nodded.

      ‘Yes. That’s Zaccheo.’

      Her eyes followed Zaccheo as he turned towards her family.

      Oscar’s look of anger was laced with a heavy dose of apprehension. Sophie looked plain stunned.

      Eva watched the man she’d hoped to never see again cup his hands behind his back and stroll towards her father. Anyone would’ve been foolish to think that stance indicated supplication. If anything, its severe mockery made Eva want to do the unthinkable and burst out laughing.

      She would’ve, had she not been mired in deep dread at what Zaccheo’s presence meant.

      ‘Your ex?’ Harry pressed.

      She nodded numbly.

      ‘Then we should say hello.’

      Harry tugged on her arm and she realised too late what he meant.

      ‘No. Wait!’ she whispered fiercely.

      But he was either too drunk or genuinely oblivious to the vortex of danger he was headed for to pay attention. The tension surrounding the group swallowed Eva as they approached. Heart pounding, she watched her father’s and Zaccheo’s gazes lock.

      ‘I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing here, Giordano, but I suggest you get back in that monstrosity and leave before I have you arrested for trespass.’

      A shock wave went through the crowd.

      Zaccheo didn’t bat an eyelid.

      ‘By all means do that if you wish, but you know exactly why I’m here, Pennington. We can play coy if you prefer. You’ll be made painfully aware when I tire of it.’ The words were barely above a murmur, but their venom raised the hairs on Eva’s arms, triggering a gasp when she saw Sophie’s face.

      Her usually unflappable sister was severely agitated, her face distressingly pale.

      ‘Ciao, Eva,’ Zaccheo drawled without turning around. That deep, resonant voice, reminiscent of a tenor in a soulful opera, washed over her, its powerfully mesmerising quality reminding her how she’d once longed to hear him speak just for the hell of it. ‘It’s good of you to join us.’

      ‘This is my engagement party. It’s my duty to interact with my guests, even unwelcome ones who will be asked to leave immediately.’

      ‘Don’t worry, cara, I won’t be staying long.’

      The relief that surged up her spine disappeared when his gaze finally swung her way, then dropped to her left hand. With almost cavalier laziness, he caught her wrist and raised it to the light. He examined the ring for exactly three seconds. ‘How predictable.’

      He released her with the same carelessness he’d captured her.

      Eva clenched her fist to stop the sizzling electricity firing up her arm at the brief contact.

      ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Harry demanded.

      Zaccheo levelled steely grey eyes on him, then his parents. ‘This is a private discussion. Leave us.’

      Peter Fairfield’s laugh held incredulity, the last inch of champagne in his glass sloshing wildly as he raised his arm. ‘I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick there, mate. You’re the one who needs to take a walk.’

      Eva caught Harry’s pained look at his father’s response, but could do nothing but watch, heart in her throat, as Zaccheo faced Peter Fairfield.

      Again she was struck by how much his body had changed; how the sleek, layered muscle lent a deeper sense of danger. Whereas before it’d been like walking close to the edge of a cliff, looking into his eyes now was like staring into a deep, bottomless abyss.

      ‘Would you care to repeat that, il mio amico?’ The almost conversational tone belied the savage tension beneath the words.

      ‘Oscar, who is this?’ Peter Fairfield demanded of her father, who seemed to have lost the ability to speak after Zaccheo’s succinct taunt.

      Eva inserted herself between the two men before the situation got out of hand. Behind her, heat from Zaccheo’s body burned every exposed inch of skin. Ignoring the sensation, she cleared her throat.

      ‘Mr and Mrs Fairfield, Harry, we’ll only be a few minutes. We’re just catching up with Mr Giordano.’ She glanced at her father. A vein throbbed in his temple and he’d gone a worrying shade of puce. Fear climbed into her heart. ‘Father?’

      He roused himself and glanced around. A charming smile slid into place, but it was off by a light year. The trickle of ice that had drifted down her spine at Zaccheo’s unexpected arrival turned into a steady drip.

      ‘We’ll take this in my study. Don’t hesitate to let the staff know if you need anything.’ He strode away, followed by a disturbingly quiet Sophie.

      Zaccheo’s gaze swung to Harry, who defiantly withstood the laser gaze for a few seconds before he glanced at her.

      ‘Are you sure?’ Harry asked, that touching concern again in his eyes.

      Her instinct screamed a terrible foreboding, but she nodded. ‘Yes.’

      ‘Okay. Hurry back, sweetness.’ Before she could move, he dropped a kiss on her mouth.

      A barely audible lethal growl charged through the air.

      Eva flinched.

      She wanted to face Zaccheo. Demand that he crawl back behind the bars that should’ve been holding him. But that glimpse of fear in her father’s eyes stopped her. She tugged the wrap closer around her.

      Something wasn’t right here. She was willing to bet the dilapidated ancestral pile beneath her feet that something was seriously, dangerously wrong—

      ‘Move, Eva.’

      The cool command spoken against her ear sent shivers coursing through her.

      She moved, only because the quicker she got to the bottom of why he was here, the quicker he would leave. But with each step his dark gaze probed her back, making the walk to her father’s study on the other side of the manor the longest in her life.

      Zaccheo shut the door behind him. Her father turned from where he’d been gazing into the unlit fireplace. Again Eva spotted apprehension in his eyes before he masked it.

      ‘Whatever grievance you think you have the right to air, I suggest you rethink it, son. Even if this were the right time or place—’

      ‘I am not your son, Pennington.’ Zaccheo’s response held lethal bite, the first sign of his fury breaking through. ‘As for why I’m here, I have five thousand three hundred and twenty-two pieces of documentation that proves you colluded with various other individuals to pin a crime on me that I didn’t commit.’

      ‘What?’ Eva gasped, then the absurdity of the statement made her shake her head. ‘We don’t believe you.’

      Zaccheo’s eyes remained on her father. ‘You may not, but your father does.’

      Oscar Pennington laughed, but the sound lacked its usual boom and zest. When sweat broke out over his forehead, fear gripped Eva’s insides.

      She steeled her spine. ‘Our lawyers will rip whatever evidence you think you have to shreds, I’m sure. If you’re here to seek some sort of closure, you picked the wrong time to do it. Perhaps we can arrange to meet you at some other time?’

      Zaccheo didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Hands once again tucked behind his back, he simply watched her father, his body a coiled predator waiting to strike a fatal blow.

      Silence stretched, throbbed with unbearable menace. Eva

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