Shades of Trust Read online

  TRUST

  Books 1-8

  Cristiane Serruya

  This book is a work of fiction and the characters, and dialogues, places and incidents involving them are drawn from the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Wherever the author has used real locations, all the details and descriptions have been kept as real and accurate as possible.

  Text Copyright © 2016 Cristiane Serruya

  Cover by Renata Fontanive © 2016 Cristiane Serruya

  All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without the express written permission of the author.

  Entwined Fates

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Second Chances

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Dark Obsession

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Unveiled Memories

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Untamed Passion

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Dangerous Illusions

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Pandora’s Box

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Eternal Hope

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Love painted in red

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  About this book

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Entwined Fates

  TRUST

  To Raphaela, a hell of a daughter!

  Your level of awesomeness is so high

  that it exceeded even my own expectations.

  (Sorry, baby, couldn’t resist…)

  Prologue

  United Kingdom

  Tuesday, October 13, 2009

  A few minutes after midnight

  London, Eaton Square

  She felt the evil approach her. Her head tossed on the pillow and her hands gripped the sheets. She knew there was no escaping the men.

  No…

  No!

  NO!

  A great pain tore through her heart, making her whole body convulse. She awoke from her own screams, her right hand gripping her scarred left arm, long nails digging in as the nightmare faded away, leaving nothing but a void in her mind.

  She fumbled for her table lamp. Light flooded the room and gleamed on her square diamond ring and wedding band.

  She exhaled slowly and sat on the bed. Her forehead dropped to her knees, which she drew to her chest, hugging herself.

  Why?

  Why can’t I remember?

  She rose from the bed, donned her wrap and unlocked her bedroom door.

  Padding silently to the living room, she looked at the photo of a tall, blond man, and fat tears fell from her eyes.

  London, Park Lane

  He sat on the bed, resting his back against the headboard and pillows as he raked a hand through his brown sun-kissed hair.

  The woman lying beside him on the bed sighed with pleasure and curled up against his strong thigh.

  He studied the gorgeous brunette clinging to him and grimaced, disgusted with himself for having to pay for his sexual pleasures.

  Why does she keep haunting me?

  Why can’t I feel anything for a woman?

  Why can’t I let myself be loved?

  Scotland, Northern Highlands

  The whip lashed across the woman’s back and she screamed.

  A dark smile spread over the rugged features of the dark-haired man. His arm descended again and again and again, raising red, angry welts on the woman’s skin.

  The sound of leather against skin, feminine screams, and heavy masculine breathing filled the room.

  He threw the whip away, turned the woman on the bed, and thrust into her as he tore the blindfold away.

  Blue eyes stared adoringly at him. And the memory of another face masked the one in front of him. The face of a dead woman who had robbed him of what he had considered most precious. Rot in hell.
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  An incredible anger surged through him and he grabbed the long blonde hair in his hands, yanking her head back.

  One more whore.

  One more to torment me.

  Is this what I really want?

  Chapter 1

  London, Heathrow Airport

  Thursday, October 15, 2009

  7:00 a.m.

  “I’m so sorry, madam. Your flight to Switzerland has been cancelled. There is a red flag for a snowstorm that will hit London full force in a few hours.”

  “Then transfer me to an earlier flight. For God’s sake, we’re at Heathrow!”

  “You don’t seem to understand. All earlier flights are full. I can reimburse you or re-emit your ticket for another day.”

  “Listen, I have to go to Geneva or somewhere near it, today,” Sophia said. “It’s urgent.”

  “I’m sorry, there is nothing I can do.” The attendant turned to answer another passenger’s complaint

  Ethan halted mid-stride and scanned the beautiful woman standing at the airline counter. A wicked smile formed on his lips. Elbowing his friend and lawyer, Leonard, he whispered, “My lucky day, Allenthorp.”

  “What?” Leonard stopped.

  “I’m going to offer a ride to that damsel in distress.” Ethan discreetly pointed with his thumb at the young five-foot-six woman on his right. “See the sexy one over there, with long black hair?”

  “Oh, come on, Ashford. We’re heading to one of your most important meetings and all you can think about is screwing a woman?” Leonard scowled.

  “Allenthorp, I have to give you some lessons on mixing business and pleasure.” He stalked up to the woman.

  “Excuse me. I couldn’t help listening to your conversation with the attendant. I’m heading to Geneva. If you want a ride, I can help you solve your problem.”

  Sophia half turned at the sound of the voice and was rewarded with the view of a large chest and broad shoulders immaculately dressed in a tailored dark blue suit, crisp white shirt, and blood-red tie.

  She craned her neck to look at the man’s face, from where mesmerizing eyes of startling Mediterranean-sea blue were staring at her. A white, perfect smile slashed his tanned, bearded features and light brown sun-kissed hair neatly cut and combed back.

  Such azure eyes. “Pardon?” she said.

  “I apologize. I am Ethan, Ethan Ashford. Nice to meet you, Miss…” he said, with a wolfish smile curling his lips.

  Oh, damn. Ashford Steel Industries. “Mrs. Santo. Mrs. Sophia Santo,” she answered, eyeing Ethan with clear distrust.

  “So, Sophia.” Her name left his lips as a caress. “Care to accept my offer?”

  “A ride?” The offer astonished her. Why? What do you want? She stepped backward and bumped into someone. She heard a loud bang as two hands grasped her arms, steadying her.

  She spun on her heels and saw another man, a little older, shorter, and leaner than the first but no less interesting. He had an easy smile, kind blue eyes, and dark blond hair, graying at the temples. Leonard Allenthorp, ‘The Lawyer Duke’. A chill ran through Sophia’s spine as she leaned against the counter flanked by the two men in front of her. “I’m sorry.” Has Alberto discovered me?

  Leonard bent down and picked up his briefcase. He stretched out his hand in a friendly way, saying, “It’s okay. Leonard Allenthorp. How do you do? What my friend said is that we’re heading to Geneva in ten minutes, in a private jet, and if you’re interested, we’ve got space for you. A free ride.”

  Sophia took a deep breath, gathering courage. As she was well aware, everything in life had a price but she needed to get to Geneva that day.

  She shook the outstretched hand, smiling a little, trying to relax. “Thanks. I accept.”

  Ethan’s baritone voice purred from behind her, “It will be my pleasure.”

  “Shall we go?” Leonard made a small gesture with his hand. “We don’t want to meet the snowstorm in midair.”

  She put her Chanel bag on her shoulder and caught the handle of her carry-on.

  “Do you want help with your luggage?” Ethan offered.

  “No, but thank you.” She watched Ethan surreptitiously as she walked between the men. He had the inborn firmness of those who know how to achieve things in life. His clothes were perfectly tailored to show off his strong body; it was clear he was a man who demanded perfection, even from himself.

  On her other side, Leonard kept pace. Almost as tall as Ethan, Sophia knew he was about to turn thirty-five. She had just read an article about him in the Sunday Magazine. His clothes were also expensive; however, he wore them in an effortless way.

  “I have to thank you for the ride.” Sophia smiled at Ethan. “I should have imagined that something like this could happen. We’re having such terrible and unstable weather this year.”

  “Yes, we are,” he agreed. “Have you kept abreast of the floods in northern England?”

  Sophia nodded.

  “Awful, isn’t it?” Leonard said quietly. “My brother-in-law had serious problems on his property.”

  At passport control, Ethan quirked an eyebrow at Sophia when she didn’t follow them. She just smiled back. He shrugged and followed Leonard.

  The police officer did his work quickly and handed the passport back to her with a big smile, saying with a heavy British accent, “Bom dia.”

  Sophia grinned back, saying, “Obrigada.”

  Ethan eyed her document with interest when she tucked it back in her bag and motioned, “This way, Sophia.”

  They went through an empty corridor. Downstairs and outside the building was a new silver-and-black Gulfstream G650. Next to the carpet on the tarmac by the stairs, the captain waited to welcome them.

  At the top of the stairs, a flight attendant smiled and greeted them. She picked-up the overcoats and Sophia’s carry-on and put them away.

  Sophia walked past single seats that faced each other, noticing that every detail had been chosen with care. Halfway down the aisle, there was a four-place mahogany conference table with double seats on each side. She sat on the one next to the window, putting her bag on the aisle seat.

  Leonard leveled a look at her and smiled as he noticed the maneuver, seating himself opposite her.

  The seats were handcrafted with black leather mixed with white-and-gray hues. It was very masculine and subtly stylish. The inside of the airplane resembled its owner.

  “Mr. Ashford, may I fix you your drinks?”

  “What are you drinking, Sophia?” Ethan politely asked.

  “Water. Sparkling, thank you,” she said.

  “The same for me, Ashford,” Leonard added.

  “The usual for me, Vanessa.” He leaned on the table, two big hands flattened, to look at Sophia. “Want a tour before takeoff?”

  “A tour?” She eyed him, amused, a playful smile on her lips, looking at the rear of the aircraft, where a three-seat black divan with silk pillows faced a mahogany credenza topped with a wide-screen plasma TV. “What for?”

  “I can show you the cockpit, all the modern technologies that are at hand, as in a fully functional office, and the stateroom,” his eyes flashed as he ended in a husky voice. It’s quite comfortable, Sophia.

  Sophia laughed to hide her embarrassment. “No, thank you. I’m good here.”

  You’re a difficult one, aren’t you? He stared at her for a moment, but said nothing more, easing his six-foot-three stature on the seat beside Leonard.

  The flight attendant served the water and a tomato juice for Ethan, put some mixed nuts and canapés on the table between them, and vanished from the cabin. The captain announced takeoff. It was smooth and elegant.

  “Portuguese, aren’t you?” Ethan said.

  She laughed, shaking her head.

  “No?” He was puzzled. “But your passport…your answer to the officer…”

  “So?” She shrugged, and saw that Leonard was paying attention to the conversation. “Let’s see if you can guess where I’m from, on
e chance each.”

  “Three each,” said Ethan.

  “Uh-uh. One.”

  “Two,” countered Leonard.

  “Hmm,” she mused, “the odds might turn against me.”

  “What’s the prize?” Ethan asked hoarsely. “A dinner with the winner?”

  “No winner. Let’s settle for lunch, us three. Deal?”

  “Deal. Please, call me Ethan.”

  “Let’s see…” said Leonard. “Not Portuguese. Although with a Portuguese passport. With clear Latin heritage. Based on your looks I’d say you’re…Italian. But it makes no sense…”

  “Good. Very good. But, no! And you can’t take it back.” She turned to Ethan, waiting. “A hint. My passport has nothing to do with where I was born.”

  “Not Portuguese, not Italian. Very black hair, light skin, hazel almond eyes.” He narrowed his eyes and grinned at her, “Curvaceous, sexy. Hmm…I dare say Spanish.”

  “Why! Thank you,” she giggled. “But far from it, Mr. Ashford.”

  “It’s Ethan. Drop the Mr. Ashford. Please.”

  “Told you that you wouldn’t guess.” She smiled. “One more chance each. Think carefully before you answer.” Sophia. You don’t want them to discover where you are from. Stop this childish nonsense.

  “Not Portuguese, Italian, or Spanish. I’d bet that you’re not from the Nordic countries and not American, for sure.” Leonard looked at her, assessing her face. He paused. Observed her again and whispered to himself, “No, it can’t be. Skin is too light. Speaks perfect British English, without an accent.”

  “Greek,” Ethan guessed and he shook his head to dislodge the beautiful face that appeared in his mind, making acid burn in his throat. Go away. Just go away.

  Sophia smiled. “I’m flattered. Greek women are known for their beauty. But again, no.” Her mouth twisted at the corners. “Mr. Allenthorp, you still have one more chance.”

  “Please, just Leonard.” He waved his hand distractedly, his eyebrows furrowed, immersed in thought.

  “Come on, Allenthorp,” Ethan coached.

  His blond eyebrows drew even closer. He wasn’t really sure, but he went for it any way. “Brazilian. Rio de Janeiro or São Paulo.”

  Did…did he recognize me? She stared at him. “Why, yes. Exactly. Rio. How did you guess?”

  “My dear, in my profession we have to be very attentive to detail. You hinted I made a point when I alleged Italian. You have a Portuguese passport. I started putting the pieces together. Where are there lots of Portuguese and Italian descendants? South America. Brazil. You do look like a Carioca that has been out of the sun for a long time. Except you dress like a Paulista.”