Page 245 of Modern Romance January 2025 5-8

Strictly Forbidden Boss

Bella Mason

“Salute,”Charlotte said, clinking her glass against her boss’s, and took a sip of the Franciacorta.

But with Enzo’s eyes dipping to her lips and back again, she could taste nothing. Her being was consumed by him. By his presence.

“Like it?”

“I can’t taste it,” she replied breathlessly.

“Why?” He was moving closer to her now, crowding her.

“You” was all she managed.

“And what about you?” Enzo asked. In that moment, he was the embodiment of flame, and like a moth, Charlotte was drawn in regardless of the danger. He was uncovering a side to her she hadn’t even known existed.

“What about me?”

“The way you affect me. I have seen nothing tonight. Nothing but you.” He took another step forward and Charlotte had to crane her neck to look up at him. “All I hear is your voice. I don’t want this drink. I have no taste for it.”

“What do you have a taste for? I want you to say it.”

“You.”

“Then kiss me, Enzo.”

PROLOGUE

Six months ago

ONEWOULDHOPEthat on a day like this the sky would be dark and dreary. At least then it would reflect how Enzo De Luca felt. Instead, it was offensively bright.

The weight on his shoulders was heavier than he could ever have imagined. It wasn’t just because of the polished mahogany coffin that rested there; it was the guilt of not having been present for his mother’s last days. It was the grief of losing his only remaining parent. It was the knowledge that their family estate would hardly feel like home again. Not that it had for a while.

Enzo, the Conte del Perlano—a beautiful, lush region in Calabria with rolling hills of vineyards as far as the eye could see—tried to push away the thoughts and grief as he walked. One step at a time, in perfect sync with the other pallbearers. With his brother, Emilio. His mother’s coffin rested between them. Enzo knew his brother would be grieving openly, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t show any of the emotions he felt. He would keep his thoughts shielded as he always did. He could trust no one with them, and all of Perlano would be looking to him, the conte, for reassurance.

One foot in front of the other he walked with the three other men, away from the chapel and towards the meadow behind, where his family had been buried for generations. Enzo wished he could look around. See it all one last time because he knew he wouldn’t return. Not to this place that he loved so much, that held so many painful memories of what he had lost. How painfully he had been betrayed.

Mechanically, Enzo and the others placed the coffin over the hole in the ground and stood back, watching as straps were looped through the handles. Everyone gathered around the gravesite with a stem of pink oleander. It was winter and the oleander shrubs had died for the season, but Enzo had them brought in so his mother could be around her favourite flowers just one more time. Not an easy task on short notice given the strict rules around its importation, but Enzo had made it happen.

He stepped forward as the mahogany box began to lower and tossed his flower in. Everyone else must have joined him because the wood was slowly disappearing beneath a carpet of pink. Heart breaking, he watched only as his mother was lowered and once she reached the bottom, he turned his back and began walking away.

‘Leoncino...’ He heard a voice call to him, but he would not look back. Let Emilio deal with everyone. Enzo was done. He could feel the burning gazes on his back as he walked away, but he ignored them all.

A black car waited for him outside the chapel. He opened the back door and slid in.

‘To the airport,’ he instructed. Enzo hadn’t said a single goodbye. All he needed was to return to Sydney.

CHAPTER ONE

THESILVERFOUNTAINpen landed with a muffled thud as yet another email pinged on Charlotte Kim’s computer. She swivelled in her chair to skim through the mail deciding it wasn’t worth attending to immediately and flagged it for later. Picking her pen back up, she caught a whiff of a woodsy cologne. The same warning she received every morning before Enzo De Luca turned the corner and filled the very large and sleekly modern penthouse office with his presence. Somehow, he always made it seem smaller. Tall and broad with thick dark hair, cold green eyes and perfectly trimmed stubble, he was every bit as intimidating as his reputation suggested.

‘Celeste,’ he greeted in his deep voice still rich with an Italian accent, despite years of living in Australia, that made her heart beat a little faster every time she heard it.

‘Good morning, Mr De Luca,’ she replied despite the pang of discomfort she always felt at hearing that name. ‘I will be through with your schedule shortly.’

He nodded once before disappearing through his office door.