heard urgent shouts for the pyrotechnician to halt the display, but another rocket fizzed past the rotating blades.
A hush fell over the crowd as the helicopter door opened. A figure stepped out, clad from head to toe in black. As another blaze of colour filled the sky his body was thrown into relief.
Eva tensed as if she’d been shot with a stun gun.
It couldn’t be...
He was behind bars, atoning for his ruthless greed. Eva squashed the sting of guilt that accompanied the thought.
Zaccheo Giordano and men of his ilk arrogantly believed they were above the law. They didn’t deserve her sympathy, or the disloyal thought that he alone had paid the price when, by association, her father should’ve borne some of the blame. Justice ensured they went to jail and stayed there for the duration of their term. They weren’t released early.
They certainly didn’t land in the middle of a firework display at a private party as if they owned the land they walked on.
The spectacle unfolding before her stated differently.
Lights flickered on. Eva tracked the figure striding imperiously across the grass and up the wide steps.
Reaching the terrace, he paused and buttoned his single-breasted tuxedo.
‘Oh, God,’ she whispered.
‘Wait...you know this bloke?’ Harry asked, his tone for once serious.
Eva wanted to deny the man who now stood, easily head and shoulders above the nearest guests, his fierce, unwavering gaze pinned on her.
She didn’t know whether to attribute the crackling electricity to his appearance or the look in his eyes. Both were viscerally menacing to the point of brutality.
The Zaccheo Giordano she’d had the misfortune of briefly tangling with before his incarceration had kept his hair trimmed short and his face clean-shaven.
This man had a full beard and his hair flowed over his shoulders in an unruly sea of thick jet waves. Eva swallowed at the pronounced difference in him. The sleek, almost gaunt man she’d known was gone. In his place breathed a Neanderthal with broader shoulders, thicker arms and a denser chest moulded by his black silk shirt. Equally dark trousers hugged lean hips and sturdy thighs to fall in a precise inch above expensive handmade shoes. But nothing of his attire disguised the aura he emanated.
Uncivilised. Explosively masculine. Lethal.
Danger vibrated from him like striations on baking asphalt. It flowed over the guests, who jostled each other for a better look at the impromptu visitor.
‘Eva?’ Harry’s puzzled query echoed through her dazed consciousness.
Zaccheo 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.
