The only thing he would never violate was Neel’s trust in him—and that meant keeping control of Matta Steel.
Alisha had never wanted to be a part of her papa’s legacy. She had turned her back on everything to do with the company and Neel and even Vikram when he’d been alive.
She’d had nothing but resentment for Dante for as long as he could remember. And he would feel no compunction in taking the things he wanted—the things that she scorned anyway—off her hands, forever.
All he needed was leverage.
Everyone had a price and he just needed to find Ali’s. “Find out where she’s holed up now. She could be anywhere.”
Izzy jerked her head up, shock dancing in her green eyes. “Ali?”
There was reluctance, maybe even unwillingness in her stare.
“Yes. Find Alisha,” he said, simply dismissing the unasked question in Izzy’s eyes. He pulled his jacket on and checked his phone. No reason for him to miss out on his date with the latest Broadway actress touring London.
He reached the door and then turned. “Oh, also, call that PI for me, won’t you? I want to have a little chat with him.”
“Which one?”
“The one I have on my payroll to keep track of Alisha’s movements.”
“But you never look at his reports.” Izzy’s accusation was clear. He’d never given a damn about Alisha except to have someone keep an eye on her, for the purpose of extricating her if she got herself into trouble.
For Neel’s sake.
“I didn’t need to, until now. She’s been safe, mostly, si?” It was a miracle in itself, since she traveled through all the hellholes of the world in the name of her little hobby. Izzy didn’t need to know he read every single one of those reports. On any given day, he knew how and where Alisha was. “Now, however, I need a little bit more info on her.”
“Dante—”
“None of your business, Isabel.” He cut her off smoothly and closed the door behind him.
Izzy had been the one constant person in his life for so long, from the moment he had come to live with Neel all those years ago, yes. But it didn’t mean he invited her into his private thoughts or that he considered her a personal friend.
Dante Vittori didn’t do relationships, of any kind.
* * *
“There’s someone here to see you, Ali.”
Alisha Matta looked up from her crouch on the floor of the Grand Empire Palace restaurant. Her shoulders were tight from supporting the weight of the camera and her thighs burned at her continued position. Ignoring her friend Mak’s voice, she kept clicking.
She’d been waiting all morning in the small kitchen of the crowded restaurant, waiting for Kiki to come home.
The pop of the flash of her Nikon sang through her nerves, the few moments of clarity and purpose making the wait of the last three months utterly worth it. “To your right, look into the camera. No, jut your left hip out, you’re gorgeous, Kiki,” she continued the words of encouragement. She’d managed to learn a little Thai in the last year but her stuttering accent had only made Kiki laugh.
The neon lights and the cheap pink linoleum floors became the perfect background as Kiki shed her jeans and shirt in a move that was both efficient and sensual as hell. Her lithe dancer’s body sang for the camera.
But even the perfection of the shot couldn’t stop the distraction of Mak hovering.
“If it’s John, tell him we’re done,” she whispered.
“It’s an Italian gentleman. In a three-piece Tom Ford suit that I’m pretty sure is custom designed and black handmade Italian loafers. Gucci, I think.”
Ali fell back onto her haunches with a soft thud, hanging on to her expensive camera for dear life. Mak was crazy about designer duds. There was only one Italian gentleman she knew. Except, if it was who she thought it was, he shouldn’t be called a gentleman. More a ruthless soul in the garb of one.
“Said his name was...”
Ali’s heart thudded in tune with the loud blare of the boom box. “What, Mak?”
Mak scrunched his brow. “You know, the guy who wrote about all those circles of hell, that one.”
“Dante,” Ali whispered the word softly. How appropriate that Mak would mention Dante and hell in the same sentence.
Because that was what her papa’s protégé represented to her.
The very devil from hell.
Princesses in glass castles shouldn’t throw stones, bella.
Okay, yes, devil was a bit overboard because he hadn’t actually ever harmed Ali, but still, Ali hated him.
So what was the devil, whose usual playground was the London social circuit, doing on the other side of the world in Bangkok?
The last time they had laid eyes on each other had been when she’d learned of Vikram’s plane crash. She closed her eyes, fighting the memory of the disastrous night, but it came anyway.
She’d been so full of rage, so vulnerable and so vicious toward Dante. For no reason except that he was alive while her brother was gone. Gone before she could reconnect with him.
“He doesn’t look like he’s happy to be kept waiting,” Mak interrupted her trip down a nightmarish memory lane.
Ali pulled herself up.
No, super busy billionaire Dante Vittori wouldn’t like waiting in the ramshackle hotel. How impatient he must be to get back to his empire. To his billions.
How dare Ali keep him waiting while each minute of his time could mean another deal he could broker, another billion he could add to his pile, another company he... She smiled wide.
She’d make him wait.
Because Dante being here meant only one thing: he needed something from her.
And she would jump through those nine circles of hell before she did anything that made his life easier. Or calmer. Or richer.
Slowly, with shaking fingers, she packed up her camera. She pulled the strap of the bag over her shoulder, picked up her other paraphernalia, kissed Kiki’s cheek and pushed the back door open.
The late September evening was balmy, noisy and full of delicious smells emanating from all the restaurants that lined up the street.
Her stomach growled. She promised herself some authentic pad thai and a cold can of Coke as soon as she got to her flat. Thwarting Dante and a well-earned dinner suddenly seemed like a highly pleasurable way to spend her day.
Just as she took another step into the busy street, a black chauffeur-driven Mercedes pulled
