All Chapters of Married to the devil of valtieri: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Chapter 102: Brother"I'm going to be sick," said Étienne."You're not.""I think I am.""You're not going to be sick, you're going to sit down and drink some water." Isla pushed him gently into a kitchen chair. It was nearly midnight, and the little house by the sea was full of people. Mirelle was making tea. Nico, in blue pajamas, sat under the table with a wooden engine and a very large dog biscuit. Valentina had dragged in a blackboard from somewhere and was drawing on it, in white chalk, with the tongue-out concentration of a woman building a bridge."There," she said. "Look."It was a family tree. It was, Isla thought, quite the most ridiculous document she had ever seen.At the top, in an enormous scrawl, was written GIOVANNI + ANNA. A line dropped to DANTE (adopted, but actually Ferrante's, but also Giovanni's, don't ask). Beside it, in smaller letters, MIRELLE (Giovanni's), and a note in capitals: SISTER!!! Off to one side sprouted CARLO + VESPER, with a long arrow to VITTORI

Chapter 104: Heir of Verdier"It's a perfectly legal solution," said Carlo.It was an hour later, and the visiting room had been rearranged. Somebody had fetched coffee. Serafina had spread a stack of documents across the steel table. Beside her sat a thin, nervous young man in a rumpled suit, who had been introduced as Mr. Brandt's junior partner and who was clearly having the worst morning of his professional life."Legally," said the young man, in a faint voice, "an acknowledged natural child has full rights of inheritance under the Napoleonic Code. As the father, Mr. Moretti, or rather Mr. Verdier, may execute a deed of recognition. It requires only his signature and two witnesses.""And it makes her my heir.""It makes her the legal daughter of Charles Verdier. With all attendant rights. Including..." He swallowed. "Including the right to represent the family interest at any gathering of the maritime trade.""Such as an auction in Monaco," said Isla.The room went quiet.It was D

Chapter 106: The PrincipalityMonaco was a jewel set in the side of a mountain.Isla stood on the balcony of their suite at the Hôtel de Paris, in a white silk robe and bare feet, with a glass of champagne in her hand and the whole glittering Mediterranean spread beneath her. It was evening. The sky was the deep clear violet of the hour between day and night. Far below, the harbor blazed with white yachts, row upon row of them, bobbing at their moorings like a flock of sleeping swans. Behind her, up the steep hillside, the lights of the casino were coming on one by one.It did not look real. It looked like a painting. It looked like the sort of place where nothing could ever go wrong."It's obscene," said Dante, from the doorway.She turned. He stood in the lamplit sitting room in a dinner jacket and a bow tie, with his hair slicked back and a pair of thick, tortoiseshell spectacles perched on his nose. He looked, she thought, like a very respectable accountant on the way to his own r

Chapter 108: Going OnceThe auction began at eleven.It was held in the long gold salon beyond the ballroom, a room hung with crimson silk and lit by a hundred candles. Rows of gilt chairs faced a small stage, on which stood a lectern, a velvet-draped table, and a tall wooden screen painted with a landscape of mountains. A hush fell over the crowd as they took their seats. The guests had put aside their glasses. The orchestra had gone silent. Not a whisper stirred.Isla sat in the front row, between Madame Zorya and the sheikh. Dante sat behind her, in the third row, among the lesser guests, an ordinary man in spectacles. She did not turn. But she felt his gaze, steady and warm, between her shoulder blades.The auctioneer mounted the stage.It was the white mask. Or one like it. He wore a gray suit, and the long thin nose, and a pair of black gloves. He stood behind the lectern with his hands folded, and surveyed the room with an air of calm benevolence."Ladies and gentlemen," he sai

Chapter 110: The Yacht Called VioletShe woke to the sound of water.It was a soft, slow, rhythmic lapping, close at hand, against a hull. Her head ached. Her mouth tasted of chemicals. She lay on her side, on a narrow berth, with a rough blanket drawn over her and her wrists bound loosely in front of her with a silk cord. A single lamp burned on a bracket. The air smelled of salt and varnish and, very faintly, of violets.She sat up. The cabin tilted gently, sickeningly. She waited for it to settle.It was a small, wood-paneled stateroom, handsome and old-fashioned, with brass fittings and a porthole. Beyond the glass, she could see a wide black stretch of sea and, very far away, a thin string of lights. It was moving. The whole room was moving. They were under way."Awake," said a flat, gravelly voice. "Good. I was beginning to worry."Aldo Pallas sat in a leather armchair by the door, with his legs crossed and a glass of brandy in his gloved hand. He had taken off his coat. He wore