TAKING THE GOLD DIGGER'S HEART

The Yacht Adventure

Chapter Four

Lorenzo’s POV

“Signorina!” I heard as Captain Francesco gestured Daisy toward the yacht’s gangway.

“They are waiting.”

I looked up to see her board the L'Ombra. She looked almost too perfect for the yacht—her white linen dress billowed in the wind. Only her eyes betrayed her nervousness.

“Careful,” I murmured to myself. This sea has swallowed better men than me. I won't let it swallow me, too.

As she was entering, she stumbled slightly on the polished deck. I moved before I thought, catching her elbow.

“Easy, Daisy,” I said, low enough for only her to hear. “We wouldn’t want you overboard.”

“Unless, of course… you can swim?” I tried to joke away my reaction.

Her eyes flashed fire. “Better than you think.”

I raised an eyebrow. Point taken.

Isabella’s sharp voice cut through.

“Lorenzo, darling! Why don’t you come and enjoy the wine with us?”

But even as I walked away, I knew—I wasn’t free of her. No, not yet.

“Ah, Daisy!” my mother cooed, appearing in an enormous straw hat. “You look far too pale for Italy. The sun will make you bloom. And of course, there are eligible companies aboard—today you must relax, sì?”

“This is Pietro Rossi—you met him last night. And here, Niccolò Viani. Ah, and Alessandro, caro, you came!”

And so today's gold-digging game began. Disgusted, I turned my attention to Isabella.

“Would you join me at the bow later?” I overheard Alessandro ask her.

From nowhere, I felt an unusual feeling like jealousy hit me like a punch to the gut.

Isabella whispered something in my ear, but I barely responded.

I noticed Isabella’s eyes flicked toward Daisy, and she excused herself and walked toward her.

“Cara… Daisy, is it? Such a pretty little guest my future mother-in-law has brought into our circle,” I heard her say to her.

“It’s kind of her to invite me,” she answered.

“Lorenzo tells me you’re on holiday. And you're studying philosophy, right? How… quaint,” she said in a derogatory manner, walking away.

“So, Daisy, do you enjoy philosophy or your gold digger assignment to secure a wealthy husband? I asked her as soon as we were alone.

I wanted to provoke her, to remind her she was playing a dangerous game in my world. But the truth? Watching her spar with me made my blood heat in ways I didn’t want to admit.

“Gold digger assignment! Interesting,” I heard Isabella's mocking voice from behind me.

“Ah, Lorenzo, she is a gold digger. She’s here for money. That's a pity to sell oneself for money” her voice dripped with honey.

I saw pain in Daisy's eyes. But I couldn't care less because that was the truth.

Still, when she sat opposite me, her eyes met mine with quiet defiance. Not pleading. Not coy. Defiance.

Why did that make my chest tighten?

Father’s booming voice cut through.

“To our guest. May her time here be fruitful.”

My lips curved into a smirk as I raised my glass. “Yes. Fruitful indeed.”

She glared at me. Ah, good. Let her hate me. Hate is safer than… whatever this is.

Daisy's POV

I turned, my heart softening as Alessandro smiled warmly at me, his hair tousled by the wind.

“Miss Daisy,” he said, bowing playfully. “Looks like the sea suits you.”

I laughed. “It feels like freedom.”

But my excitement dampened once more when I remembered the cryptic note I had seen on the balcony of my room this morning. It was an unsigned note that read, “All that glitters is not gold.”

Who had placed it there for me to see it.

I remembered my mother's warning and the masked man’s insinuation; my stomach tightened. Whatever the Cassanos had drawn me into, I wasn’t going to let fear show.

“Would you like a tour of the yacht now? There’s a beautiful spot near the bow—it feels as though you’re flying,” I heard Alessandro say.

I smiled and nodded, grateful to have been drawn out of my thoughts. I slipped my arm into his.

“Careful, Rossi,” Lorenzo called lazily to Alessandro. “Before other people begin to think you're a new couple.”

The jab was light, casual—but I heard the undercurrent. Possession. Challenge, a subtle warning Alessandro seemed to ignore. He smiled and nodded, his eyes never leaving my face.

"I think she can handle it," he replied.

“Come, I will show you all the yacht’s hidden corners: the sundeck with panoramic views, the glass-walled dining salon, even the captain’s bridge where the sea stretches endlessly.”

With Alessandro, conversation was easy. He asked about my studies and my dreams, not once making me feel like a pawn in some unspoken game.

Guests stripped down to swimsuits, diving into the blue sea when the yacht anchored in a secluded cove by late afternoon.

“Join us, Daisy. The water is cool. 'You'll enjoy it,' Alessandro coaxed me to join, his voice gentle.

I slipped into the water. It was cool silk against my skin. I laughed despite myself. For a moment, the world felt light.

Then Lorenzo dived in.

He cut through the sea like a predator, surfacing beside me in a shower of droplets. His nearness sent a jolt down my spine.

“Careful, little Daisy,” he murmured. “Sharks like to hide in coves.”

My breath caught. “Are you calling yourself a shark?”

He smirked, circling me slowly, his words brushing my ear. “I’m saying you shouldn’t swim out here alone.”

“I’m not alone,” I shot back, nodding toward Alessandro.

Lorenzo’s gaze flicked briefly to the man, then returned to me with dark amusement. “No. You’re not. And yet…” His voice dropped lower. “You’re looking at me.”

My pulse stumbled. I opened my mouth to deny it, but the words refused to come.

Alessandro swam closer, placing himself gently between us. “Miss Daisy,” he said softly, “perhaps we should return to the deck. The current is stronger here.”

I let him guide me back, my limbs trembling with something I couldn’t name. But when I dared glance over my shoulder, I found Lorenzo still treading water in the cove, watching me and Alessandro. His smirk was gone. His expression was unreadable—hungry, dangerous, intent.

I found myself drawn into a dance with Alessandro that evening, at dinner, which was held on the sandy beach.

“You look troubled,” he said softly, his hand warm at my waist. “Is it Lorenzo? You shouldn't mind him. He delights in unsettling people, but you mustn’t let him. You deserve better than his cruelty.”

But as the music swelled, my eyes betrayed me. Across the lantern-lit beach, I saw Lorenzo dancing too—his hand low on the waist of Isabella's scarlet dress.

The sight of them together was like a blade slipping beneath my ribs. Lorenzo’s laugh, Isabella’s lips near his ear—it shouldn’t matter. And yet, it did.