Chapter 1: Zefiro

“There has been an unexpected development regarding the Thompson acquisition,” my secretary, Mark, tells me, and something at the back of my mind tells me this is important, yet, all I can hear is the commotion coming from the other side of the wall demarcating my fence from hers.

He’s hitting her again.

I really should have fixed this meeting at the office, or a hotel. But HR had decided this was best for…relating better with my employees and old man, Dante, was a pushy bastard sometimes. While the HQ is situated at Milan, we’d recently branched out into LA and I’m here to oversee the start and growth of this branch myself. I’d planned to stay a few months but the product launch is taking longer than expected. And while I often prided in my virtue of patience, I’m starting to lose it.

Dante’s analysis of the situation stated that 99.99% percent of my employees thought I was a grumpy jerk who had little to no value for human life and it was making the work environment hostile. How was I to know they wanted a Thanksgiving break when I didn’t even remember it was Thanksgiving tomorrow?

I didn’t build a successful empire by taking breaks and unnecessary holidays. But, unfortunately, no one shares my sentiments—or lack of—and I’m stuck with these thirteen, trying to convince them that I am, in fact, not the heartless devil they think I am.

Maybe I should fire them all. This fucking sucks.

“What is—” I start saying when the sound of glass shattering cuts through the air, followed by a tortured scream. My employees shift uncomfortably, and Darcy, a well-mannered woman in her mid-forties fixes me a pointed stare. “You should…go take a look. It’s spanning out of control.”

“I had no idea resolution of couple dispute was in your job description, Mrs. Williams,” I snap, suddenly irritated. They had fights inside their home all the time. Never outside. Never this close to the fence. Hell, why didn’t I just move to my villa like I originally planned to? Why did I have to remain here?

Everyone’s staring at me expectantly, and Dante’s face is twisted in disapproval. Darcy looks like she’s upset or ate something bad. Fuck. I toss the tab on my table and sigh. “Fine. I’ll check. Carry on, Mark.”

Displeasure and anxiety curl tightly in my stomach as I walk the full expanse of my yard. I hate being told what to do. It is innate to be in control. Outside my turf, there’s a vulnerability I try to squash. I try to have as much control as I can over my schedule, my surroundings, my communications and relationships. Heading to my neighbor’s flat takes that away, leaving me nervous, anxious and angry.

Clenching my fist hard, I slam it into the white gate twice. I’m never having a meeting at my apartment again.

The house behind the gate goes eerily quiet, the woman’s screaming suddenly drowned out by the howling wind. Minutes trickle by and I grit my teeth as I count down the seconds before raising my fist to the gate, rattling it even harder.

No response.

I pull my cellphone out of my pocket, dialing 911. Right before I hit the call button, the towering black gate slides to the left and I am greeted with hard blue eyes that crinkle on each side with a forced smile. “Hey mate. What can I do for you?”

British accent. His sleeves are rolled up. He’s sweating heavily and scratch wounds line his arms. My gaze flicks to the house behind him and I take a step forward. “Everything alright back there?”

Predictably, he blocks my path, and a ragged breath slips from him, one he tries so hard to cover with laughter. “My wife and I were playing around. Too noisy? I must apologize.”

I notice the cut across his broad forehead. “You’re bleeding.” She fought back? She never fights back.

His jaw clenches. “Yes, yes.” He attempts another false smile that does nothing to convince me—only because I’ve seen the truth of what he does to her. “Susanna plays rough. You understand how these women are—” Just then, she runs out from the sliding door, heading straight for me. Her left eye is swollen shut, her lips burst in three places. Blood cakes her bare arms, and…she is very naked. “Please,” she cries. “Please help me. He’ll kill me!”

My feet move of their own volition, my fingers itching to catch her. Save her from him. But before I can make that mistake, he catches her around her waist, laughing and kissing her neck. His lips move as he whispers something to her that makes her go limp in his arms.

He doesn’t even bother to try shielding her naked body from me as he says, “It’s a kink of hers.” His blue eyes drift to the fence. “You…you live next door?”

I don’t take my eyes off her as I respond, “Yes.”

Her grey eye that hasn’t been punched shut beseeches me. Please. “I’m Jaxon Hawke. You are?”

Jaxon Hawke? If he is who I think it is, then I cannot interfere. It is not fear that makes me step back. It is the promise I made to my wife on her death bed that I wouldn’t return to that life. The life where I was untouchable, invincible. I still am, to an extent, but I’m starting over. And not even the perky breasts and round ass of the most beautiful woman on the planet can derail me from that.

I smile. “Zefiro.” I make a point not to look at the woman again. “Have a good day.”

Just as I turn to leave, the woman says hastily, “Would you care to join us for Thanksgiving tomorrow?”

I stop walking. Very slowly, I turn around. It is clear her husband is displeased with her sudden request, but he tries to mask it with another smarmy smile. However, my eyes aren’t on him. They’re on his wife and her grey eye that sears into me. I know what she’s doing. If I say yes, Jaxon won’t touch her tonight. He won’t hit her, until after Thanksgiving.

Or, in her own words, kill her.

But I’d be damned if I let myself become a pawn in whatever sick game they’re both playing. I tip my head to the side. “I must decline your offer, but thank you. I have plans.” Plans, loads of work, same difference. Like I said, it doesn’t matter if she is the most beguiling woman on the planet. She is simply not my problem.

Her eye darkens and the air between us stretches thin as her injured lips thin with displeasure. A proud creature with pretty feathers, this one. While she may spend her days obeying every word her husband tells her, it is certainly clear she doesn’t like being refused.

A small, strange smile lift her lips. “Of course. I understand.”

I leave her behind, feeling unsure of if I did the right thing. But a much bigger thought occupies my mind through the entirety of the meeting.

Her name. Susanna Hawke.