Greed
A Sinful Empire Trilogy (Book 1)
Eva Charles
Quarry Road Publishing
Contents
A Sinful Empire Trilogy
A Note from Eva
1. Antonio
2. Antonio
3. Antonio
4. Antonio
5. Daniela
6. Daniela
7. Daniela
8. Daniela
9. Daniela
10. Daniela
11. Daniela
12. Daniela
13. Antonio
14. Antonio
Greed
1. Daniela
SIX YEARS LATER
2. Daniela
3. Daniela
4. Daniela
5. Daniela
6. Daniela
7. Daniela
8. Antonio
9. Daniela
10. Daniela
11. Antonio
12. Antonio
13. Antonio
14. Daniela
15. Daniela
16. Antonio
17. Antonio
18. Daniela
19. Daniela
20. Daniela
21. Daniela
22. Daniela
23. Daniela
24. Daniela
25. Daniela
26. Daniela
27. Antonio
28. Antonio
29. Antonio
30. Antonio
32. Daniela
33. Daniela
34. Daniela
35. Daniela
36. Antonio
37. Antonio
38. Daniela
39. Daniela
40. Daniela
41. Antonio
42. Daniela
43. Antonio
44. Daniela
45. Daniela
46. Daniela
47. Daniela
48. Antonio
49. Daniela
50. Daniela
51. Daniela
52. Antonio
53. Daniela
54. Antonio
55. Antonio
56. Daniela
57. Daniela
58. Antonio
59. Antonio
60. Antonio
61. Daniela
62. Antonio
63. Daniela
64. Daniela
65. Antonio
66. Daniela
67. Daniela
68. Daniela
69. Antonio
70. Daniela
71. Daniela
72. Daniela
73. Antonio
74. Daniela
75. Daniela
76. Antonio
About the Author
More Steamy Romantic Suspense by Eva Charles
A Sinful Empire Trilogy
A Sinful Empire Prologue Novella and Greed (Book 1)
Copyright © 2021 by Eva Charles
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form whatsoever without express written permission from the author or publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. All other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
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For more information, contact eva@evacharles.com
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Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina
A Note from Eva
Dear Readers,
If you’ve read my Devil’s Due series, you know that I don’t shy away from dark themes, ruthless characters, and language that will make your eyes bleed. A Sinful Empire Trilogy is no exception. This is not a safe series.
Now that I’ve warned you away…
The underbelly of Porto, with its dangerous men and delicious secrets awaits you!
If you haven’t read A Sinful Empire Prologue Novella, just turn the page. If you have already read it, start HERE
xoxo
Eva
1
Antonio
Hushed whispers filter through the crowd as I approach the casket.
Manuel D’Sousa was a formidable player in our world before cancer ravished the hulking giant, leaving him a hollow shell dusted with mortician’s rouge. Even a skilled undertaker couldn’t conceal his sunken chest and gaunt features.
As I peer into the satin-lined coffin, the din of the room fades, until there is only his dying directive echoing between my ears.
“After I’m gone, Quinta Rosa do Vale will be yours. In exchange, you will marry my daughter. You will protect her from my enemies and yours—with your life, if necessary.”
My gaze sweeps over D’Sousa’s lifeless body, stopping at his face, as though waiting for him to come to his senses—to drag himself from the bowels of hell, and grab me by the throat until my eyes bulge from their sockets.
But there is only an eerie stillness about him.
Is this what you really want, old man?
You’re leaving me with your prized grapes and your innocent daughter? Me? A man so depraved, he would kill his father with his bare hands, while cursing himself for not having done it sooner.
This is the life you want for your precious child?
Now it’s too late to change your mind, fool. Too late for her. Too late for me.
Our fate is sealed in blood.
Till death do us part.
Maybe I’m the fool.
2
Antonio
I step away from the casket, into the receiving line, quietly taking note of the tear-stained faces in the room. Normally I don’t stand on line for anyone, but it’s good for the locals to see me paying my respects.
The D’Sousas have always been well-loved in the valley, especially Manuel’s late wife, Maria Rosa, who fed the hungry and championed the underdog. In an ugly twist of fate, she was murdered in the street by the very type of person she took under her wing. The sonofabitch slit her throat in broad daylight.
It happened six years ago, hours before my father drew his final breath. Although the two events were unrelated, people whispered that God had taken an angel, but spared us the devil.
I don’t believe in most of that shit, but even I have to admit, the universe works in mysterious ways.
Maybe it can use some of its magic to get this damn line moving.
I glance toward the long, windowless wall where Cristiano, one of my most trusted men, is standing, his sharp gaze scouring every inch of the packed room for trouble. If it’s here, he’ll find it.
The line begins to thin as it winds beyond the casket. Soon, I’ll catch a glimpse of my future bride.
My future bride. Just the thought of it makes the acid churn in my gut. The very last thing I need while securing my hold over the region is a wife.
It’s not personal. I haven’t seen her in years, and it’s been even longer since we spoke.
The last time, she was about ten or eleven, riding a horse that was much too large and spirited for a young girl.
She had no trouble controlling the powerful animal. I remember being impressed by her skill. When I praised her, she smiled coyly at me from the saddle, her lively eyes sparkling with mischief.
She’s not smiling today, and the sparkle has been replaced with a veil of grief.
Daniela D’Sousa is dressed in black from head to toe, her face scrubbed clean of makeup, like any dutiful daughter mourning her beloved father. But she’s not just any daughter. She’s the D’Sousa princess, a princesa, the closest thing to royalty in these parts.
As I inch closer, I see how young she is—and vulnerable, with the glazed expression of a teenager who has been dragged through hell and survived. No doubt the last weeks of her father’s life took a toll on her, and now, at just eighteen, she’s faced with the daunting task of carrying on a storied family legacy—alone. At least that’s what she believes.
While Manuel never shied away from tough conversations, in the end, he didn’t have the balls to tell his only child he’d bequeathed her to the son of o diabo. That task was left to me.
I push aside the thoughts of our arrangement, and distract myself with studying Daniela. It’s not too taxing.
Her dark hair is pinned neatly to the top of her head, exposing a smooth, elegant neck. Even in mourning she’s quite lovely, with all the polish one would expect of a princess groomed to one day become queen.
I continue to watch, as she accepts each condolence with poise and grace. Those who pick the grapes are shown the same respect as those who own the valuable vineyards and port houses. She’s like her mother.
Someday she’ll be a useful asset to me—her kind heart the perfect complement to my black soul. Her soft center balancing my rough edges. Someday. But not today.
As Daniela waits for the line to move, she gazes toward the main entrance. When she does, the color drains from her face, and she shudders before exchanging a dire look with a woman standing a short distance away.
The older woman is as pale as Daniela.
Without turning my head, I glance at the entrance, expecting to find a demon lurking.
I find two.
My uncle Abel and his oldest son Tomas darken the arched doorway, casting an ominous shadow over the room. Unlike Daniela, I’m not surprised to see them. They’re here for show—to see, and to be seen—much the same reason I’m here. But I don’t like it.
Abel was my father’s younger brother, married to my mother’s younger sister, Vera. My father always had the upper hand in the relationship, but the brothers were mostly friendly competitors, often scheming against the other port houses.
My cousin Tomas and I, on the other hand, are fierce rivals who seldom exchange a civil word. It’s been like this since we were boys. But like my father, I, too, have always had the upper hand.
One day Tomas will take over my uncle’s entire port business, the legal and the illegal enterprises, and our rivalry will grow even more bitter. But with D’Sousa’s vineyards in my clutches, my power in the valley will be unassailable. For as long as I’m alive, my cousin will forever be second string.
I catch Cristiano’s eye from across the room. He nods. He saw Daniela’s reaction, too.
She’s afraid of them.
I want to know why.
3
Antonio
When I finally reach the front of the line, Daniela doesn’t pale, but she draws a heavy breath when she sees me and stands taller, with her shoulders pulled back and pupils dilated. If I held my fingers to her throat, her pulse would be racing. It’s a subconscious survival instinct, and I doubt she even realizes she slipped into battle mode.
“Bom dia,” she says so softly, her greeting is barely audible over the rustling in the room.
“Antonio Huntsman,” I murmur, taking her outstretched hand. The introduction is merely a formality. Everyone in the room knows who I am—including her. “It’s been a long time. Do you remember me?”
“Of course.” Her brow eases some. “Our mothers were friends.”
The best of friends, along with my aunt Vera. Of the three, only my mother is still alive—and that was purely luck.
“Your father was a great man,” I acknowledge, sincerely. “You were probably too young to know the details, but while I was away studying, your parents helped my mother. I’ll never forget the kindness they showed her. I know it wasn’t an easy time for them.”
A flicker of something—anguish, maybe—contorts her delicate features. It happens in a heartbeat, and for several seconds I observe carefully to see what else she’s hiding behind that stoic mask. But she shows me nothing more.
“My mother lives in London now,” I continue. “Otherwise, she would be here. She sends her condolences.”
“Thank you,” Daniela says, her voice just above a whisper. “How is she?”
“Happy. Very happy.”
Daniela’s face softens. “I haven’t seen her since—” She blinks a few times before continuing. “It seems like a lifetime ago.”
There’s a resigned wistfulness in her voice that seems out of place from someone so young.
“I adored your mother,” Daniela continues. “She would always bring me caramels wrapped in gold foil when she visited. And beautiful ribbons from her travels. I—”
She stops mid-sentence, and for a moment, she appears faraway and unguarded, so fragile she might shatter if she completes the thought. All the talk of my mother must have brought back memories of hers.
My heart is long-hardened, and it takes more than a shaken woman to garner any sympathy from me, but I give her a moment to pull herself together. That I can do.
Daniela wets her plump lips as she fights for composure.
I’m mesmerized by the struggle in her beautiful face. The way the pain whirls in her eyes, darkening the irises.
Her brown eyes are several shades lighter than her hair, with tiny gold flecks that catch the light streaming in behind her. Expressive eyes. The kind that hide nothing. My favorite kind. Before my imagination gets too far down that path, I remember her father, my mentor, is lying in a wooden box, behind me.
“Please give your mother my regards,” she adds quietly.
“I will.”
With that, Daniela’s attention shifts to the person in line behind me, and I get the sense I’m being dismissed. But I don’t move. I’m done when I’m done. Not one second sooner. Although it’s cute that she thinks she can get rid of me so easily.
The princesa is in for a rude awakening.
“Thank you for visiting my father before he passed,” she says, after it becomes apparent that I’m not going anywhere. “I’m sorry I missed you.”
Her tone is still exceedingly polite, but cooler, now. She might be happy I visited her father before he died, but she sure as hell isn’t happy I’m still standing here.
“Your visit brought him great peace of mind.”
If you only knew the half of it.
I nod once and step out of the receiving line, leaving her to greet others—because now, I’m done.
4
Antonio
All eyes are on me as I make my way to the rear exit, where Cristiano is waiting. I’m sure the gossips are wondering if I’ll stick around to speak with my uncle. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no reason to wait to say hello. Respect is paid when it’s due. That bastard isn’t entitled to a damn thing from me.
On the way out, I pass several of my men who are fanned out across the funeral parlor. I’m vigilant as I cross the room, but I make eye contact with no one.
“Let’s get out of here,” I mutter under my breath as I stride past Cristiano.
The crowd gathered at the exit steps aside, opening a wide swath for me to pass easily.
Outside, I fill my lungs with fresh air before climbing into the back of an armored SUV.
As the vehicle pulls away, I gaze out the tinted window at the line snaked out the door and around the mortuary. It was like this when my father died too. The only difference is th
at no one shed a single tear for Hugo Huntsman. They showed up just to make sure o diabo was really dead.
Less than a week after we lowered Hugo into the ground, Manuel D’Sousa summoned me for the first time, and delivered a fiery ultimatum. Even now, I remember every word.
“The river of gold and everything along its banks can be yours. But your responsibilities must be to something greater than yourself. You will be called upon to mete out justice and quell unrest, upholding tradition, while ensuring our wine flows freely beyond the valley. If you are not man enough to wear the crown, step aside now, and I’ll find someone worthy of the honor.”