by Maya Blake
‘Was he...is his family okay?’
‘He was alone in the car, if that’s what you’re asking. Allegra and the kids were at home in Palermo.’
‘Where did it happen?’
‘He was on a business trip to Brazil when it happened. He lost control of his sports car.’
Her heart twisted. ‘I... I’m sorry for your loss. I know you two were close.’
He nodded briefly, his eyes flashing with something akin to pain before he expunged it. ‘You really expect me to believe Alessandro did this to you? What would have been his motive?’ The questions were sharp, rife with suspicion.
She shrugged. ‘He didn’t like me, Rocco. And that’s not a frivolous or desperate observation I’m casting around because I’ve no one else to pin this on, if you think that’s what I’m trying to do. Alessandro actively despised me for whatever reason. He didn’t want me in the company and he certainly didn’t want me to marry into the illustrious Vitelli family.’
His features darkened, thunder rolling across his forehead as he stared at her. ‘We were together for two years. You never bothered to tell me any of this?’
Again she shrugged. ‘Maybe I was trying to spare your feelings. Or maybe I was misguided enough to think I might be able to win him over eventually with my sparkling personality. What does it matter? You’ll only make up your mind one way or the other, won’t you? Why am I even wasting my breath with this?’
‘Because you spoke his name in the boardroom. And I’d like to think that you wouldn’t speak so ill of the dead.’
Frustration rushed through her. ‘We’re simply going around in circles. Until we know exactly who did this, there’s no point speculating, is there? So can we be done for now?’ She stared at the window and then returned her attention to him. ‘Where are we going?’
‘To my house in Knightsbridge.’
Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘I didn’t know you had a house in England.’
A brittle smile ghosted his lips then just as quickly disappeared. ‘It was meant to be a surprise wedding gift. For you.’
Her heart lurched. She steeled herself against it, determined not to dwell on silly might-have-beens. ‘Why did you keep it?’
He gave a careless shrug. ‘I leave my real estate portfolio to my advisors. If it’d been prudent for them to dispose of it, they would’ve, I’m sure.’
The dismissive comment was meant to sting. And it did. Mia steeled herself harder. ‘Well, I thought I’ll be returning to Hampshire.’
His gaze flicked to Gianni. ‘You think our son will appreciate being cooped up in the car for another several hours?’
She answered reluctantly. ‘No. Frankly, I’m surprised he’s been this calm.’
‘Bene, we’ll stop in Knightsbridge. I’ve arranged for us to have lunch. We have further things to discuss before any of this is resolved.’
‘Like what?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Have you forgotten there is still the matter of your employment to discuss?’
‘My employment?’ she echoed, disregarding the electric cluster that formed in her stomach. ‘If you think I’m taking a job with you, you are very much mistaken.’
Hard amusement lit his eyes. ‘Perhaps you should wait until it’s offered before you refuse.’
She shook her head, unwilling to even accommodate the idea. Her last mistake of mixing business with pleasure had ended disastrously. So much so even the idea of just business with Rocco was unfathomable to her. ‘My future employment is none of your business. All I want is for my name to be cleared so I can get on with my life.’
‘And we will discuss how to facilitate that during lunch.’
She knew she was being manipulated but, short of insisting on being returned home, she had no choice.
‘We’ll come with you. But I’m catching the train this afternoon, once we’re done.’ She didn’t intend to stay in Rocco’s company any longer than was necessary.
‘We’ll see,’ he said, another enigmatic smile ghosting his lips before he turned his attention to his phone.
For the rest of the journey, Rocco conducted several conversations in rapid-fire Italian, which she wasn’t quick enough to grasp save for establishing they were all business calls.
Twenty-five minutes later they pulled up in front of a stunning house in a tree-lined avenue in Knightsbridge. Mia was vaguely cognisant of house prices, enough to know that the dwelling they stopped in front of was well into double figures in millions.
It was set over three stories with a grey slate roof, the pristine white exterior gleaming with a rarefied air of class and timeless elegance that the whole neighbourhood clung to.
Confronted by the heavy white oak door, Mia was suddenly reluctant to enter. She didn’t want to know what her life might have been like if Rocco, and circumstances, hadn’t worked against her.
If she hadn’t taken that meeting.
If someone, likely Alessandro, hadn’t perpetrated such cruelty on her.
If she hadn’t asked Rocco about his London property ten minutes ago!
But she couldn’t change any of it. So she sucked in a breath, and entered the house that Rocco claimed would’ve been hers had they married. All the while conscious of his sharp, unwavering scrutiny.
As she’d suspected, the interior was breathtaking.
Polished marble floors gleamed, reflecting lofty ceilings and crown mouldings. Stunning chandeliers and strategically placed lights spotlighted tasteful objets d’art in the entry hallway.
In the living room, bespoke white furniture with warm accessories were arranged just the way she would have done it, given the chance. But it was the white grand piano taking up pride of place at the far side of the room, with a wall of paintings behind it, that stopped Mia in her tracks.
She knew each painting by heart, having rhapsodised over her favourite English painter to Rocco over many stimulating art and cultural conversations. Just as she’d expressed the desire to learn to play piano at some distant point in her future.
She whirled towards him and encountered his expectant, mocking expression. Her lips moved, but no words emerged.
Asking him if he’d deliberately brought her here to rub her face in what she could’ve been would only invite further hurt. Not to mention be far too revealing.
‘Nothing to say?’ he invited when a terse minute passed.
She turned away without answering, her gaze rushing over the rest of the space, awed but not surprised that Rocco’s steel trap of a mind had stored away bits and pieces of her dream home wish list and effortlessly replicated it.
Sternly, she pulled her gaze from admiring the beautiful interior; reminded herself that she wasn’t here to gawp at the stunning paintings or the interior design plucked straight from her heart. She was here to finalise the next step of her life. A life that had been cruelly and ruthlessly halted by this man, who now leaned against the doorway, gazing at her as if he owned every cell in her body.
‘Shall we get on with this?’
‘So impatient,’ he commented, a smirk playing around his lips. ‘You haven’t even mentioned what you think of the house.’
Her shoulder felt leaden as she shrugged. ‘It’ll make a gorgeous home for someone once you get bored of it, I’m sure.’
His mocking expression evaporated and his jaw clenched once but Mia didn’t congratulate herself on landing the blow. Not when her insides were clenched tight with the need to hold herself together.
‘Perhaps I’ll hang onto it, set down roots for Gianni. He’s half English, after all,’ he drawled.
‘Are we really discussing real estate? I would’ve thought you’d be upset by the events of the last few hours.’
He lifted one masculine shoulder, drawing her attention to the sheer breadth and magnificence of his towering body. ‘I’m lear
ning not to sweat the details. My investigators will uncover the truth in due time.’
‘You’re just prepared to shrug it off until it all comes together for you?’
‘What’s the point of stressing about it? Like you’re so eager to, we need to get on with other discussions. But first things first.’ He strolled over to a console table, lifted the phone and spoke in Italian. Almost immediately, Mia heard the click of approaching footsteps.
The middle-aged woman who entered the room was conservatively dressed, and pleasant-looking. She greeted Rocco before glancing at her.
‘This is my Mrs Simpson, my housekeeper,’ Rocco introduced. ‘She’s already prepared Gianni’s lunch.’
The older woman smiled at Mia. ‘I have three grandchildren of my own so I know just what a two-year-old likes to eat. It’s all set up in the kitchen. If you don’t mind him coming with me?’
To respond any other way would have been discourteous. So Mia nodded. ‘Thank you. If you need me, I’ll be...’ She paused, glancing at Rocco.
‘We’ll be in the dining room, having our own lunch. But Gianni is going to be a good boy for Mrs Simpson, aren’t you, mio figlio?’
Gianni, who had looked up from his drawing with interest when the housekeeper entered, nodded at his father. She’d been concerned about how her son would take to having a male figure in his life. Judging from the look that passed between father and son, he was coping brilliantly. A part of her wanted to be disappointed but it was a small, selfish part that she managed to smother as Mrs Simpson and Gianni walked away, hand in hand.
‘He’s only going to the other room, Mia, not Outer Mongolia,’ Rocco quipped.
She sent him a sharp look. ‘I’m not used to other people taking care of him, okay?’
He regarded her steadily. ‘I’m becoming aware of that. I recall you disliked talking about your family. Do I assume hiding away in your little village was by choice?’
‘If by choice you mean was I alone once my grandmother passed away soon after Gianni was born, then yes.’
His eyes shadowed. ‘Were you close?’
A swell of sadness filled her heart. ‘Close enough to make me regret not spending more time with her,’ she said before she could trap the revealing words.
‘Meaning?’ Rocco pressed.
‘Meaning we all have regrets. Less time with my grandmother is one of mine.’
His gaze probed. Deep. Making his next words unexpected. ‘Le mie condoglianze.’
Condolences.
‘Thank you.’
He nodded. ‘But things are going to change. You know that, don’t you?’
She raised her chin, unwilling to divulge that she suspected the very same thing. ‘Do I?’
‘Sì, cara,’ he said far too softly, ambling to a halt in front of her. For an eternity, he stared down at her, then lifted a finger and traced it down her cheek. ‘For starters, you are no longer alone.’
The words echoed through her, sinking into unguarded spaces inside her, awing and terrifying in equal measure. She tried to read his face, but Rocco gave nothing away.
‘Come.’ He held out his hand, his command softer but imperious.
The urge to take his proffered hand was far too tempting. So she refused it, and walked past him. Only to stop when she got to the door, having no clue where the dining room was. Still she forced herself not to look at him, not to be overwhelmed all over again by the ever-morphing Rocco, who seemed to have changed from ruthless strategist in the car to something bordering on...charming?
‘This way,’ he said when he joined her, directing her down a short hallway and into another opulently appointed room with a long, antique dining table she was willing to bet had belonged to a prince or a lofty aristocrat once upon its lifetime.
At the top of the table, an elaborate setting for two was arranged with gleaming silver and crystal ware.
Rocco pulled out a chair, saw her seated and took his own seat. In silence, he uncovered dishes and served her before indicating the wine resting in the sterling silver ice bucket.
‘Would you like some wine? Or are you...?’ He paused, an almost bashful look on his face as his gaze dropped to her chest. ‘You are not still breastfeeding, are you?’ he asked, his voice curiously husky.
She spluttered, an unwilling laugh rising in her throat before she could stop it. ‘Gianni’s two and half years old, Rocco.’
His gaze lingered for another heated second on her breasts before he shrugged, a wry smile curving his lips. ‘I’m still learning, cara. So is that a yes to wine?’ he drawled.
She needed to keep a clear head for what was coming. But what harm would a small, confidence-bolstering glass do? ‘A small one, thanks.’
He poured a half-glass for her and then filled his. The first bite of poached salmon was heavenly, but anxiety over the upcoming discussion eventually killed her enjoyment of the meal. After a few minutes of pushing it around her plate, she looked up, noting that Rocco was equally uninterested in his food.
Almost in accordance, they gave up pretence of eating and sat back. When the silence stretched, she folded her napkin and dropped it next to her plate. ‘We need to discuss next steps.’
‘Agreed.’
‘So?’ she pressed when he didn’t elaborate.
‘So, you’re not returning to Hampshire, Mia.’
‘Maybe not right this minute, but I’m definitely...’ She stopped when he gave a brisk shake of his head.
‘No. To get what you want you need to give me what I want and neither of those scenarios involve you returning to the back end of nowhere. I think we need to agree on that before we go forward.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
ONCE UPON A TIME when she’d dreamed of being exonerated of these fraudulent charges, she’d imagined a scene when Rocco would grovel at her feet, beg her forgiveness for all the wrong perpetrated against her. Over time that dream had morphed, reality throwing harsh light on that fairy tale, reminding her of the ruthless being she was spinning whimsical webs around.
In the much more realistic scenario, Rocco had perhaps thrown a brusque apology her way for the treatment she’d suffered, perhaps even tossing lawyers at her, tasked with providing adequate compensation to ensure she kept her mouth shut, but ultimately Rocco had walked away, shrugging his mile-wide shoulders as if nothing besides a pesky irritation had occurred.
Nowhere in those scenarios had she accommodated sitting down to lunch as a prelude to negotiating a deal with him. ‘You want me to give you more than I already have? You don’t think what you’ve put me through is enough?’
For one blazing second, raw emotion flashed across his face. ‘What was done to you was deplorable, regardless of who perpetrated it. For that you have my regret. Mi dispiace.’ He spread his hands in a typically Latin gesture she couldn’t help but follow before she could rein in her composure.
He was sorry.
It wasn’t the grovelling she’d dreamed of, but it was...enough to ease something inside her.
‘You will get the chance to name your price and necessary reparations will be made.’
That soft place hardened, ejecting a bitter snort. ‘This all sounds like a business transaction to you, doesn’t it?’
Another flash of emotion threw doubt on her assertion. ‘You forget that I suffered by this course of action too,’ he said, his voice a rough rasp.
Her heart lurched for a foolish moment, before she registered that he was talking about Gianni. Not her.
Never her.
‘If you would hear me out, perhaps my solution might salve your feelings of...hurt?’
‘Nothing will repair what I’ve endured. Right now, I just want move on. Forget it, and you, ever happened.’
His eyes roved lazily over her face, clocking her agitated breathing before he leaned forward. ‘It was nev
er going to be as simple as stating your case, wrapping this up, and walking away, Mia. Surely you knew that?’
‘You keep implying that I owe you something. Let’s get things straight between us. I owe you nothing.’
He eased back in his chair, but Mia wasn’t fooled for a moment. Tension coiled within him, the barely bridled domination emanating from him all but screaming at her that he intended to win this argument. Whatever it might be.
‘What about Gianni, Mia? You told me three years ago that you didn’t intend to have children. So you’ll excuse me if I find all of this new, devoted-to-motherhood part of you a little bit surprising?’
She gasped, felt the blood drain from her head as she stared at him. ‘You think I’m faking it?’
‘Are you?’
‘How dare you!’ She whirled around, heading blindly for the door with one intention in mind—to claim her child and leave this place.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Whatever the hell I want. And right now the thing I want the most in this world is to never see your face again. I’m going to get my son and we’re leaving.’
‘Calm yourself, Mia. You really want Gianni to see you in this state?’
She reversed direction, her emotions boiling as she faced him. ‘You’re unbelievable, do you know that? Now you’re accusing me of upsetting my son?’
He spread his arms again, his eyes narrowing as he approached. ‘Don’t put words in my mouth, cara. From what I’ve seen so far, you’re devoted to our child.’
Again, his unexpected words weakened the hard knot in her chest. But she knew better than to trust it. ‘Thank you, but I sense a but in there.’
‘But this display of...emotion serves no purpose. Like I said before, you have cared for Gianni alone but it doesn’t need to be the case going forward. You can deal with me now or you can deal with my lawyers before you reach the home you are so determined to run back to. Which is it to be?’
She inhaled sharply, surprised at herself for momentarily forgetting the depths Rocco could sink to to achieve what he wanted. ‘You haven’t changed even a little bit, have you?’