Atonement (Master's Protege 2)

I catch Cain’s eye. She knows exactly who he is.

“Hot tea would be fantastic, thank you.”

She smiles. “Of course. And you, Violet?”

“The same.” Neither of us will drink the tea, but I know why he’s asked for it. I’m surprised Tosca’s fallen for it. A hot beverage makes an excellent makeshift weapon if push comes to shove.

She busies herself with preparing our tea, and even serves it on a gorgeous platter nestled by a plate of homemade cookies.

“Please,” she says. “Help yourself.”

I take a cookie, only to be polite, and thank her. We sit and stir our tea while she asks us about our travels, if we’ve been to Italy, and tells us all about how she loves their home in Tuscany but prefers the modern conveniences of living in Salem.

A few minutes into our conversation, the tea’s grown cool when the door to the study opens and a tall man, older but resembling Mario, enters.

Tosca stands and plucks our cups out of our hands and puts them on the platter sitting on the table. “Now, now, Mr. Master, you didn’t think I was so naïve, did you really?”

She places a hand on his leg, and I want to slap her away. How dare she flirt with my—no. No, he isn’t mine. She can fuck him for all I care.

I ignore the way my belly churns with a fiery, volcanic heat.

Cain stands and extends his hand. “Cain Master. This is my associate, Violet.”

Romeo Rossi shakes both our hands with a grave nod. “Welcome. Please, have a seat and tell me why you’re here, though I’ll thank you to keep our conversation brief. You’ve arrived just before we leave for a trip overseas.”

“I apologize, Mr. Rossi,” I say, as politely as I can. “Our matter’s rather urgent, and thank you in advance for anything you can tell us that would help us.”

He sits, crosses one leg over the other, and nods. Though he’s attractive—one might even say hot, with his large physique and presence that fills the damn room—he’s no Cain. There’s a ruthlessness in his eyes I haven’t seen in recent years, something that tells me he’d kill me just as soon as look at me. I imagine he inspires fears in his enemies and respect in his friends. I wonder idly if he has a lover. I glance at his hand and see no ring. Married to his work, then. I mentally roll my eyes. Aren’t they all?

“Go on.”

Cain sits beside me, his back ramrod straight. Tosca sits right beside him, so close her leg touches his. I focus on Romeo.

“My name is Violet Price, though that’s a new name. I was born Violet Bates.” No recognition in his eyes. “When I was four years old, my parents were murdered. For years, I labored under the assumption that my father was killed because he was an assassin, but recently I found further evidence that it was actually my mother who was.”

He nods patiently, not a glimmer of emotion on his stoic features. “You understand my time is valuable, Miss Price. I’m happy to do a favor for a friend, but for you, we’d need more than an act of good will.”

“If you give us the answers we need, we’ll pay you.”

He smiles at Cain. “From what I know about you, Mr. Master, you could well afford my services. But I don’t need your money.”

Oh, to have the luxury of not needing money. What privilege. I don’t even want to think about what he’s done to reach that position.

“What can I give you, then?”

He eyes me with a wicked smile I feel down to my toes, a predatory look in his eyes I’ve seen before.

Seems the Rossi family currency is sex.

Cain’s voice is a deadly growl. “Violet herself is off the table.”

I stand, prepared to tell him to fuck off. I open my mouth to speak, and I swear I might just offer to bed this man to get what I want and screw with Cain. “That isn’t for you to say,” I snap.

Cain’s on his feet. Romeo draws his gun.

“Does he have you here against your will?” he asks me, gun cocked.

Oh my God.

I look at him in surprise. He thinks Cain has me here against my will? Would he shoot him?

I shake my head. I’m angry at Cain, but not so much that I wouldn’t fight for him, even now. We might be over, but we have a history together I won’t ever, ever forget.

“No. We’re associates and no more,” I say, my words laden with ice. “Mr. Master assumes a level of familiarity he no longer can. Now,” I say in a pleasant voice. “Let’s sit down and stop with the pissing match. Deal?”

I feel my words cut through the tension in the room.

We all sit down. Tosca never even stood. She glances at her nails and picks at an invisible cuticle, like this type of conversation is just par for the course.