Caetano had controlled the company until twenty years ago this very week, the date engraved on what remained of Deangelo’s heart. He stayed silent, the old toxic mixture of grief and anger bubbling inside. Grief for the life he hadn’t appreciated until it was gone. Not the money, but the safety, the family he had taken for granted. And anger that the safety had been nothing but an illusion. That the man on the screen hadn’t cared enough, not when it counted.
‘As you have arranged, we’re meeting his heirs, the current owners. There are two sons and one daughter, Isabela,’ Harriet continued. ‘Rumour has it that the business was all they managed to inherit; none of them have the old man’s brains. They expanded quickly into luxury island resorts. They aren’t popular with the locals or environmentalists from what I can tell. There are claims of bribery and extortion, and complaints of poverty wages for the locals who work at the exclusive resorts, along with some pretty worrying environmental infractions. All this has cost an absolute fortune and so they’ve been allowing investment by outsiders in order to continue with their spending spree and to keep up their lavish lifestyles.’ Harriet’s forehead crinkled. ‘It doesn’t sound like a very good investment, not financially or reputationally.’
‘Investment? No. Takeover? Yes.’
‘Takeover?’ Her eyebrows arched with surprise. ‘But the contracts only specify two per cent.’
‘When have you known me to bother about two per cent of anything? Fly across the world for something so insignificant? No, Harriet, this is no investment. The Caetanos have been careless. Not only did they sell off a share of the business overall, they’ve each been chipping away at their own bits, selling a little here and a little there independently. The result? None of them know how much in total has been handed over to outsiders.’
‘But you do.’ It wasn’t a question. He answered it anyway.
‘Forty-nine per cent. And even if they knew it was so much, they would assume the majority was held by hundreds of investors all over Brazil and South America, that they can carry on as majority owners unchallenged. Their assumptions would be very wrong. That forty-nine per cent is currently owned by Aion subsidiary companies. Oh, the trail is clear enough, if they had ever bothered to look. I have done nothing illegal, nothing shady. But here we are. They are ready and willing to woo me, not knowing that if they convince me to invest this week, I will hold the controlling stake.’ Deangelo’s chest tightened in anticipation.
‘It seems like a lot of effort for a chain of failing hotels. I mean, yes, the buildings are gorgeous old world creations, but I’ve been on the review sites and they need a lot of updating. And the islands are incredible, but they’re riddled with corruption and bad feeling. If you’re planning to own your own hotels wouldn’t you be better off starting from scratch?’
‘It’s not about the hotels, Harriet. It’s about justice.’
Justice and fulfilling the promise he’d made to his mother.
Without quite meaning to, he reached up and traced the line of his scar as it bisected his cheek, running his finger along the thin line that ran from forehead to chin. He would make them pay, every one of them, and wipe the Caetano name from the city. No price was too high to pay for that. Abruptly, he changed the subject. ‘Anything else?’
‘Yes, at least...’ She paused. ‘It’s just when you hired me it was because...’ She paused again. Harriet wasn’t usually chatty, nor had Deangelo ever seen her lost for words.
He tried to hide his amusement at her uncustomary colour and the flustered way she was wringing her hands. ‘Because I need you to pose as my wife?’
‘Yes. That.’ Her colour heightened even more. ‘At least, as Marcos Santos’s wife. That was the name you wanted me to book the room in?’
‘It’s still me, I’m afraid,’ he said drily. ‘Marcos is my middle name.’
As was Deangelo. Luciano, his first name, he’d left behind him in Brazil. Only his father’s family had ever used that name anyway; to his mother he had always been Deangelo. Her angel.
‘Right. I’m still not clear. Why the name change?’
‘Think, Harriet. I have managed to stay out of the press, but this way I can be sure the Caetanos have no idea who I am. If they think Aion are interested in their hotels the price will inflate, but Marcos Santos, CEO of a small tech firm, won’t raise any suspicion.’ Deangelo clenched his hands into fists. In a way he would have preferred suspicion. Preferred them to remember his middle names. To see him and instantly know who he was. But they had always ignored him. Thought him beneath them. Denied his very existence and claim to kinship. Why, sixteen years after their last encounter, would they suddenly remember his mother’s surname, his own full name? Recognise the skinny boy in the man he had become?
Well, the Caetanos would remember. Remember and rue the day they had disowned him and disinherited his mother. He’d make damn sure of that.
Harriet still looked unconvinced. ‘The tech firm is one of your subsidiaries, I suppose? Okay, I concede the name change, but I don’t understand why you need a wife.’
‘To make the meeting seem more like a social gathering, to put them off guard.’
‘Right.’ She picked up her tablet, her hair falling across her face, a rose gold cloud. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying that this whole plan seems utterly insane.’
‘You can say whatever you like, as long as you perform your part properly. Just remember we’re on our honeymoon and everything will be fine.’
Harriet was already at the door, but as he spoke she stopped and pivoted, eyebrows arched. ‘I’m sorry. For a moment I thought you said honeymoon.’
‘I did. It’s the perfect cover. As far as the Caetanos are concerned we are in Rio for our honeymoon and the investment talks are just a side project. I’m ensuring they won’t be tempted to look further. I’ve covered my tracks well, but I’m more comfortable with an extra layer of safeguarding.’ Deangelo wasn’t sure what the incredulous look on Harriet’s face meant, but it didn’t seem wholly positive. ‘You already agreed to pose as my wife,’ he added. ‘I’m not asking you to do anything we haven’t discussed.’
‘Honeymoon?’
Surely he’d been quite clear. ‘Yes.’
‘But—’ she gestured wildly, the most exasperated gesture he had ever seen from the usually cool and contained Harriet ‘—a honeymooning couple is quite, quite different to a married couple, you must see that. If we’d been married for ten years or even two, then some kind of coolness, or lack of physical affection wouldn’t be noticed. But people expect honeymooners to be, you know, honeymoony.’
‘Honeymoony?’ Was that even a word?
‘Yes!’
Deangelo stared at his PA, who seemed uncharacteristically agitated. Her cheeks were flushed a delicate tinge of pink, her lips full and red, her blue eyes brighter. Indignation and embarrassment had stripped her of her professional air and it was as if a veil had been lifted, the full force of her personality shining through, turning conventional prettiness into something deeper and more vibrant.
Something—someone—infinitely more dangerous.
Harriet
