Sweet Little Lies

Chapter Five

"Patrick Styles."

The sound of her voice made Patrick pause. He had been leaving the gentleman's club, Lola's, after meeting with a supplier and one of his favorite girls. It was well past midnight, but the city was still alive. The sound of heavy rainfall pelted against the pavement, cabs honked at the hoards of drunken fools milling about, and music poured in from nearly every threshold on the block.

And the last thing he expected was to see Isabella Bianchi waiting for him in the rain. It was a shame an umbrella was keeping her dry. He would've liked to have seen the witch melt.

"Isabella."

Her lips turned up in a sinful smile, "I always did like the way you said my name."

There were too many people around to have the conversation he figured she wanted, so he stepped into the downpour, and held his awaiting car's door open for her. She took its without word, shutting her umbrella and gracefully shaking off the pellets of water, then scooted in, making room for him.

"Just like old times, Patrick." Isabella purred once he shut the door, the city's music quieting.

Before beginning, he glanced at his driver through the rearview mirror, a barrier slowly gliding up, blocking them from view.

"What do you want?" Patrick said shortly.

"I heard something interesting today."

He didn't bother saying anything, instead giving her a bored look. Isabella Bianchi was known to play games by most, but Patrick knew her intimately. He knew the raw need she possessed to play with her prey before she ate it. She was made for this city. It was one of the reasons he had been drawn to her in their youth.

"That little stunt your son and that heiress," she made a face as she mentioned the young Malone, "wasn't such a stunt at all. Apparently, they've fallen for each other."

"So, you're here to gossip about my child?" He drawled.

Her gaze sharpened, "No, I'm here to ask if you think I'm a fool."

"I don't know what-"

"Don't patronize me, Patrick." She interrupted harshly, "No one's falling for this power play of yours. Like you would let someone like her marry into your bloodline."

He raised an eyebrow, "Ivy Malone is a very accomplished young woman. My son's enthralled by her."

She snorts, "She's Irish."

"The Malone's own one of the most successful Whiskey companies in the world."

"They're savages. Only a step up from those Czech fools at the docks."

He stared at her, the bitterness rolling off her, "Things have changed since we were children, Isabella."

He saw the tick in her jaw, her fingers clenching into a fist at her side. But, in true Bianchi fashion, that cold mask of indifference slipped back onto her face. "Honestly, Bello, if you needed to marry off that son of yours, you needn't have stooped to that girl. My Greta would've been a better fit."

"Feels a bit incestuous considering our past, doesn't it?" Patrick said lazily, "Besides, Cillian and I have become good friends in recent years."

"I'm offended you don't think we're that close anymore." She shoots back.

It had been decades since they were that close, minus the few slip-ups throughout the years they've had. When his father had found out about them, he had put a stop to their budding romance immediately. Knowing the wrath of his father, he listened to his demands and stopped seeing her. It had been hard, but not as hard as he thought it would. Patrick wasn't foolish enough for love. His heart had gone black long ago - maybe even was born with it that way. Isabella was lying to herself if she thought they had anything more than lust between them. He liked how she didn't shy from the brutality of his nature, but she was nothing more than a good fuck in the end.