Christmas with the Beast (The Fiore Family 1)

“I’ll be waiting.” She smiles and gives me a hug, which takes me by surprise. “I hope we don’t see you at Christmas, or at least not alone.”

“I’ve met my future wife.”

She nods, grinning with a glint of mischievousness in her eyes and then steps out of the car without saying another word. Her look says it all.

I drive for another ten minutes and enter the code for my gate to open before pulling into my massive driveway. The home is ostentatious, but I loved it when I first saw it on the market. For two years I put a lot of renovation work into it, restoring bits and pieces of the grand exterior castle design and modernizing a lot of the interior. It was in bad shape when it went on the market, so I got it for a steal.

I park in my sixteen-car garage and then head into the house and straight up to my bedroom because I need to learn more about my future wife. Stripping out of my outer clothes, I climb into bed with just my boxers and undershirt and my laptop.

With a quick couple of taps, I pull up her social media pages. There’s not a lot, but it’s clear to see that she has a twin sister with her own social media that is very active. I don’t focus on her, but rather my beauty. It’s strange that they look identical, but I see the slight differences. Besides, it’s the feeling that Isabelle created in me that Anabelle doesn’t. Digging into her Facebook account, she’s twenty-two, single, and loves to cook, which I knew that bit.

There’s a picture of the twins in Florida with an older couple that must be her parents or grandparents. It’s a little hard to tell. Still, my eyes continually focus on my woman. She’s stunningly beautiful. She smiles into the camera, and I sense she’s shyer than her twin. It’s a nervous grin, but she still looks gorgeous. I spend the rest of the night learning little things like her favorite color, favorite movie, and all the little things that make up Isabelle.

I linger on one of her on the beach in a tight black swimsuit.

****

“Good morning, Mr. Morimoto,” I greet the older man at the airport, shaking his hand.

“Hello, Mr. Fiore. Where is that wonderful assistant of yours? I had hoped to see that scarlet angel.”

I frown and apologize. “My cousin is remaining back at the office as she doesn’t like flying, although I’m sure you’ll see her later this week.”

“That would be fantastic. If only I was forty years younger. Alas, I hope that she finds a good man.”

“She won’t settle for anything less.”

“Good. Let’s get this baby in the air.” He rubs his hands together in excitement while his assistant looks on, carrying his leather satchel.

We walk over to the helipad where my pilot is waiting for us.

“We’re heading up with Captain Lewis, who has been with me since my first helicopter ride six years ago.”

Since this is a scenic tour of upper New York, we don’t bother talking shop. I’d rather be grounded and in the office, but I’ll do what I have to in order to land the deal.

We’re flying along steadily; just across the lake is the Canadian border, so we stay just south. After ten minutes, we’re about three hundred feet off the ground when something goes wrong. The rotors fail, and our pilot calls for assistance. We prepare for the crash, but there’s nothing to be done in the remaining seconds. I say a silent prayer and a goodbye to the future I had planned with Isabelle. Love at first sight…lost.

I brace myself as we hit the ground on an angle. The jarring impact sends the helicopter rolling over several times. We hit a tree, stopping the roll, and I can barely keep my eyes open. Groans and screams are ringing in my ears, some my own. Dizzying and searing pain rips through my leg and all through my left side.

I call out for the others, but with the pain in my head, I don’t hear anything. Crawling out of the opening at my side, I fall out the door and tumble down the hillside. As the world goes black, fiery flames dance in the sky.

Chapter Two

Isabelle

I jolt awake, body aching with something unexplainable. My first thoughts this morning are about Franco Fiore because he invaded my dreams. They were vivid, sexually explicit as Franco complimented how I tasted, licking his path from between my thighs to my mouth and whispering how much he needs me before plunging his thick length into me, claiming me as his. The hungry way he stared and the passionate way he kissed me last night must have fed my dreams.

“That kiss,” I sigh. I’ve never been kissed so fervently, so determined, like he was staking his claim.