The violence in her sister’s voice startled Vivi. “Um, okay,” she whispered.

“I know what these guys are capable of.” Nell’s voice quivered. “You don’t. You have no clue, Viv. And you don’t want to. Trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Vivi assured her. “And I promise. I’ll be careful.”

“You know what we did this morning?” Nell asked.

Vivi hesitated. The tone in Nell’s voice made her wary. “Ah, what?”

“We talked to the domestic staff at the Palazzo de Luca. There was a lady there in her seventies, the daughter of the previous housekeeper. She remembers when Lucia left. And why.”

Vivi swallowed, hard. “And? Stop teasing.”

“It was after finding her father’s dead body,” Nell said. “In his study, under his writing table. The table we still have. He’d been tortured to death. Cut to pieces. Slowly. Like they threatened to do to me. Like they would have done to Nancy. Or to you, if they get you. Keep it in mind.”

Vivi flinched. It wasn’t like it was a big surprise, but still. This evil had deep roots.

“So be careful, okay?” Nell begged. “Just be very, very careful.”

“I will,” Vivi soothed. “I promise.”

Nell sniffled. “Right. At least, you’re finally attracted to somebody again. Thank goodness for that, at least. It’s about freaking time.”

Vivi felt strangely cornered. “You don’t get it, Nell. Whether I’m attracted or not, it’s a bad scene. He despises me. He sees me as a type, not a person. It’s just like when Brian—”

“Viv, stop it,” Nell cut in. “It’s been years since that dumb putz messed with you! Get over it! Stop living like a wandering nun!”

“I’m feeling manipulated,” Vivi said tightly.

“Manipulated?” Nell snorted. “Poor Vivi. Trapped in a flowering wilderness paradise with a gorgeous, eligible hunk sworn to protect you from the evil villains. How cruel of us, for doing this to you.”

“I’m hanging up,” Vivi said. “I’m too pissed to talk anymore, but I love you anyway. Later, bye.” She hung up, her face hot. The mention of Brian’s name made her squirm with anger. After six years.

She was twenty-one when she met Brian Wilder, at her student art show. It was during her rebellious period. Wilder was a suave gallery director out scouting for hot new talent. His gallery was affiliated with an art museum specializing in works by emerging artists. He expressed an interest in her work. Soon after, he expressed an interest in her personally. He was handsome, intelligent. She’d been dazzled. At first.

Everyone had been thrilled for her when Brian offered her a contract with his gallery. She remembered the fateful day as clearly as if it had just happened. They were sitting in a coffee bar on Bleecker Street. She drank espresso. Brian was sipping a decaf soy milk latte.

“What do you think?” Brian asked, flicking hair out of her eyes.

“I-I don’t know,” Vivi stammered. “I’m not sure yet what it entails.”

“Let me explain,” Brian said, in a patronizing voice. “I see huge potential in your work. Energy, anger, power. But it lacks discipline.”

“Um.” Vivi sipped her espresso, pondering that.

“Just like you,” Brian observed. His eyes flicked down, checking her out. “That skirt and boots you’re wearing, for instance.” His thin lips twitched. “You have to polish up your image.”

Vivi tugged down her purple velvet miniskirt to cover another couple of inches of thigh, wishing she hadn’t worn torn-up fishnet stockings. She stared down at her thigh-high lace-up black leather boots.

Brian flicked another lock of her hair back, and look her up and down. “We’ll start with a haircut and a new wardrobe.”

“I can dress myself,” Vivi said.

“Yes? Well. If this is the result…” His voice trailed off, and his eyes took on a weird, hot glow. He chucked her under the chin. “I’ve never gotten intimate with your type before.”

Vivi wrenched her chin away from his pinching fingers. “What do you mean, my ‘type’?” she demanded, irritated. “What type is that?”

“You know. The bad girl with the innocent eyes. The lost waif. You’re like something out of a Japanese anime film. All eyes, and that wild mop of hair. It’s…mmm. Stimulating.” He tilted her chin up again. “About the contract. What do you say?”

It was an incredible opportunity. Any of Vivi’s struggling artist friends would have cheerfully killed for it. And her jaw was aching with tension. Vivi pulled her face away from his fingers again. She gulped the rest of her bitter coffee, wondering why she wasn’t feeling happier.

“If you sign the contract, it will be with the understanding that you’ll accept me as an artistic mentor,” Brian said sternly. “And I’ll expect you to produce. I can make you successful, Viv. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Brian turned the full force of his cold gray eyes on her.

Her doubts felt vague and foolish. Destiny called.

“Yes,” she said.

She’d signed. Agreed to let Brian groom her into an artistic sensation. The stupidest move of her life. So far.

Vivi stared at the luxuriant spider plants that hung in Jack Kendrick’s kitchen, thinking grimly about the way one’s worst mistakes tended to repeat themselves, again and again. They dressed themselves in slightly different outfits, but the basic content was always the same.

Here was another man who saw just a type when he looked at her. Another man who made her feel inadequate and embarrassed, just for being what she intrinsically was. Except that this time, it was worse. Maybe because her desire for Jack Kendrick’s good opinion was so irrationally strong. And her chance of getting it so small.

It was odd. She’d always considered Brian handsome, in his cold, austere way. But compared to Jack Kendrick, Brian seemed effete. Dried up and stringy, even. Maybe it was that empty, no-calorie crap he ate. But Kendrick, whew. A girl could just sink her teeth into that one. She would never wear that guy out. Never use him up.

But there was no excuse for making the same mistake twice. She grabbed a handful of cookies and marched out of the kitchen, munching them defiantly. Compensate, Viv, compensate.

Celibacy wouldn’t kill her. At least, it hadn’t killed her yet.

Chapter

4

Tap, tap, tap on the office door. Interrupted again, Brian Wilder whipped the herbal face pack off his face and waved away the masseuse doing his foot reflexology treatment.

“What the fuck is it this time?” he rapped out.

The door to his office cracked open. Damiana, his current assistant, peeked in. Her huge, dark eyes were big in her kittenish face.

“There is a client outside who needs to speak to you,” she said, with her faint Italian accent that utterly failed to charm him today.

“Can’t you help him? What the hell have I trained you for?”

Damiana shrugged, helplessly. “He says just you. He says it cannot wait. I do not know what to do with him. He is a strange type.”

Brian gestured for Coco to wipe off the Ayurvedic oils that were dripping off his feet and to collect crystals and stones from his body. Looked like his fucking chakras would have to get tuned another time. Another swollen ego to wank.

He shot Damiana an unfriendly look. What was the point of hiring pretty fluff from the local art school if not to have her do the ego wanking? Damiana should be down there, making the guy come in his pants while Brian was left unencumbered to rake in dough. But no. He could not seem to delegate. The ego wanking always fell to him.

Coco and Damiana exchanged commiserating looks as Brian threw on his linen trousers and shirt. He shoved past them, jostling more roughly than he needed to. Punishing them in advance for the whiny cat bitching they were going to do behind his back, on his time, on his payroll, as soon as he was out of earshot. Treacherous twats.