“Nope.” Marcello opened his door. “But if I haven’t contacted you in twenty minutes, come up to room two-thirty and find me.”
“Maybe I should come along anyway?”
Worry clouded Dave’s usually carefree face, so Marcello beamed a big smile. “I’ve got this. Be right back.” He quickly closed the door before Dave could argue.
He walked under the long portico, nodding to the doorman, and then crossed the lobby at a brisk pace. He punched the button to summon the elevator, silently begging it to hurry. He didn’t want to be recognized in the lobby of a hotel. People might make the same conclusion Dave had about other women. He didn’t need to put any more doubts in Rachel’s mind about his love for her.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the doors parted. An older man carrying two coffee cups entered first before Marcello followed behind. He poked the number two and then moved to the back of the elevator, keeping his gaze on his tennis shoes.
When the elevator stopped and a quiet ding sounded, he walked toward the door. “Have a nice day,” he muttered to the man beside him.
“You too, Mr. Romano.” The man beamed a big smile. “Wait until I tell the missus. She won’t believe it. Say, you wouldn’t mind signing her cup, would you?”
Merda. So much for being invisible.
“I’d be honored.” He forced a smile and drew a pen from his shirt pocket. After he’d signed the cup, he asked, “What gave me away?”
“The redness on your face. Used to be a cop. Recognized chemical burn, had seen the story about you last night, and put two and two together. I never forget a face.”
“Ah. Well, thank you for your years of service on the force.”
“Betcha.” As the elevator doors began to close, the cop leaned his head through the quickly shrinking opening and called out, “Thanks for making my wife’s day!”
Marcello lifted a hand and then waited for the doors to close fully, just in case the cop got any ideas about following him, and then turned to find his father’s room. He steeled himself to face the monster and then knocked.
The door swung open, and without a word, his father waved Marcello inside. He walked across the suite that was entirely too nice for someone like his father and crossed his arms. “What was so important you had to talk to me in person?”
His father, tall, dark haired, and starting to get thick at the waist, downed a glass of what looked like whiskey, then crossed to the mini bar and poured himself another. “You want one?”
Marcello shook his head. It was ten thirty in the morning. “I’m in a hurry. Can we get to it, please?”
“My son is so busy he can’t have a nice conversation with his father? Sit down!” His father pointed to the couch with his drink. “I want to talk about the factory. The one that will be rightfully yours when I’m gone, I’ll remind you.”
Marcello remained standing. “I have no interest in your business. And I’ve given you all the money you’re going to get to save it. You’ll get what we agreed on monthly through the end of the year to pay the employees through Christmas. After that, shut it down for all I care.”
“That factory put a roof over your spoiled little head! It’s been in our family for almost a hundred years. You should have pride in your legacy!” His father’s jaw clenched with an all too familiar rage. For a brief moment, the fear Marcello had felt as a child twisted his intestines. He had to remind himself he wasn’t that helpless kid anymore. Fearful for his life.
Pulling himself together, he said, “Pride? In you and your factory? I have no respect for a man who could do what you did to my mother.”
His father laughed. “You’re such a big man now, you don’t have to respect your papa? You always were a little mama’s boy. You’ll have more money for me, or I’ll go to the police and tell them exactly who you are now.”
Marcello headed for the door. “You won’t go to the police. Because if I’m in jail, you won’t get another dime. The payments for the rest of the year will stop too. Don’t contact me again.”
“Put five hundred thousand euro in my account by next Wednesday, or maybe I’ll have to bring your mother back home to live with me as my puttana.”
His whore?
Marcello forced his fisted hands open as he stalked toward his father. A rage he’d never felt before bubbled up in him, made his hearing shut down and his heart pound. He wanted to choke the life out of Lorenzo Bianchi.
He placed a hand on his father’s throat and then slammed him up against the nearest wall, pinning him to it like a bug. “If you touch my mother, I will kill you myself. Is that clear?” He squeezed his father’s throat tighter. It’d only take a little more pressure and his problems would be solved. And his mother would be safe forever. One hard last push against his throat and he’d die the slow death he deserved. “Do you understand?”
His father nodded while he clawed at Marcello’s hand and fought for air.
“Say it!”
His father croaked out, “Sì!”
Marcello resisted the urge to end the monster’s life and let go. His father slumped to the ground on all fours, gasping for air.
He grabbed a handful of hair and tilted his face up. “My driver is going to see that you are on the next plane to Italy. Don’t contact me again, and don’t go near my mother. I’ll know if you do. Pack your things and get out. Now!”
It took everything inside him to refrain from kicking his father in the stomach, just as he’d done to his wife and son. Before he fell to further temptation, he turned and walked toward the door. “I have your tainted blood in my veins. Don’t think I won’t do it!” He slammed the door shut behind him.
Shaking from head to toe, he forced himself to draw deep breaths as he waited for the elevator. The beast he’d fought so hard to tame had reared its ugly head within him. It made him sick to his stomach. He wasn’t that person. But he had to protect his mother.
He’d always known that rage lived in him, but never had he been so close to acting on it. He could’ve easily killed his father. Thankfully, some mysterious inner strength had stopped him from committing a heinous act he’d never forgive himself for, even if his father deserved it. Proof that he wasn’t like him.
When the elevator doors opened, Dave stood inside. “Hi, boss. I’m a little early. I was worried.”
“It’s all good.” Marcello pointed down the hall. “Take the man in two-thirty directly to the airport and make sure he gets through security. I’ll text you with his flight information.”
Dave sent him a snappy salute. “Will do.”
“Thank you.” Marcello stepped inside the elevator and closed his eyes. He’d have his aunt and mother relocated before his father got home. This time, he’d set them both up in a villa in the countryside, with round-the-clock nursing care and security. Somewhere his father would never find them. He wished his aunt would reconsider and come to the US with his mother, but she was adamant about staying in her own country. Maybe if he told her what his father had said he’d do to his mother, that would convince her. He’d make sure their paperwork was in order just in case his aunt changed her mind.
His hands still shook as he texted Ally to come pick him up. He needed to pull himself together, or she’d be full of questions he wouldn’t answer.
After making his way outside, he drew a deep, cleansing breath of the fragrant air and walked to the end of the portico to wait. He’d never seen honest fear in his father’s eyes before. It’d been damn satisfying to put it there. But he could never allow himself to become that angry again. Ever.
Rachel’s stomach growled loud enough to earn her an amused look from the actress she was talking to. “Sorry. Skipped dinner.”
“Didn’t we all?” The woman raised her glass in a mock toast.
Probably. There wasn’t a woman in the room with curves like Rachel’s. Most of the ladies had to be size 0. “I’m going to go find something to eat. Would you like to join me?”
“Yes.�
�� The woman smiled. “But I can’t. Enjoy whatever you find for me too.”
“I will. It was nice to meet you.”
“You too, Rachel. I can see what Marcello sees in you. Mostly that you’re not one of us, I imagine.”
Rachel didn’t know if that was a slap in the face or a compliment. But really, she didn’t care, because all she could think about was filling the black hole in her gut. Who didn’t serve real food at a cocktail party? Surely those little leafy things with cucumber the waiters passed around earlier wasn’t all there was to eat.
She glanced around Marcello’s packed house, searching for him to ask where the kitchen was. There must’ve been over a hundred people in his house even though it was getting late. All adorned in expensive cocktail attire, sparkling jewelry, and so much Botox and filler, there wasn’t a wrinkle in sight.
Thankfully, the press who had arrived early and had interrupted her plans for dinner had behaved. She and Marcello must’ve taken a thousand pictures and answered a hundred questions about the kids and their relationship before they all finally left. But at least it’d all been peaceful and civilized.
She finally spotted the top of Marcello’s full head of dark wavy hair. He was surrounded by a group of adoring women. Naturally.
One more thing she’d have to get used to. But who could blame the women? Marcello’s fit, tall frame rocked a tux better than any of the many attractive men at the party. And his accent, when he wasn’t hiding it while acting, upped his sexy appeal.
The way he looked at those gorgeous women wasn’t the way he looked at her, though. He was bored but being polite, as usual. His guests had no idea because they didn’t know him like she did. Very few did, because he wouldn’t let them. It was his way of maintaining a small sliver of privacy.
As if he’d felt her stare, Marcello glanced up, and their eyes met. When he beamed his real smile at her, the one that made his deep brown eyes light up, it made her heart do a little jig. She mouthed, I’m starving!
He nodded in understanding, then shifted his eyes to the right. She followed the direction he’d indicated and caught the back of a waiter disappearing down a hallway. Pay dirt.
She mouthed, Thank you, then snaked her way through the little clusters of the rich and famous who stood between her and nirvana.
Rachel poked a swinging door and found Judy using tweezers to place microgreens on top of miniature pieces of sushi in the huge kitchen. “Wow. Those are really pretty. Bet they pack a whopping fifteen calories each, huh?”
Judy grunted. “This is LA. The land of the starving.” She put her tweezers down and wiped her hands on her apron. “What can I do for you?” Her tone was brisk but polite.
“I don’t want to interrupt. If you’ll just point me in the direction of the bread, I’ll make myself a sandwich.”
Judy quickly crossed to a pantry. “Sour dough okay?”
“Better than okay. My favorite.” She walked to the fridge and tugged the giant stainless-steel door open to see what she could forage.
“Marcello mentioned you liked turkey and swiss. Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll make it for you? Don’t much care for people poking around my kitchen.”
“Oh. Sorry.” She quickly closed the fridge. “I’m not used to having people do things for me. Didn’t mean to intrude.”
Judy cut two slices from the loaf and then went to the fridge. “Lettuce and tomato too?”
“Yes, please.” Rachel sat on a barstool at the center isle where Judy had been making her pretty little bites of food.
Two waiters returned, silently filled up their trays, then quickly left again. Like they were tiptoeing around Judy. She didn’t strike Rachel as the temperamental-chef type. Maybe something was wrong.
“Has Ally talked to you about working for me?”
“Yes. She’s too smart to be a babysitter.” Judy sliced a tomato with an ease Rachel wished she could do.
“I agree. That’s why we insisted she take classes while she works for us. We’re hoping she’ll figure out what she wants to do while saving some money. Marcello said he liked that she’d be away from LA too. Less temptation to act that way.”
Judy sighed and then went back to the fridge for something. “There’s that, I suppose.” When she came back, she set a pitcher of tea on the center island with a thud.
Someone wasn’t a happy camper. “Just say the word, and we’ll call the whole thing off. I don’t want to upset you.”
“No.” Judy held up a hand. “I’m sorry. I’ve been snapping at everyone all day. It’s just that . . . It’s always been me and Ally against the world, you know? I need to let her go, but it’s not easy.”
The tears in Judy’s eyes poked at Rachel’s heart. “I can’t imagine what that’s going to feel like one day, and I’ve only had kids for eight months. Not eighteen years.”
Judy scooped out some fruit and plated it alongside the sandwich. “Going to college here was just postponing the inevitable anyway, I suppose.”
“I promise to take good care of her. Ally reminds me a lot of myself at her age.”
Judy smiled. “So, you were surly and rude and thought you knew everything there is to know about life too?”
“Pretty much. And while you probably don’t believe it, I turned out okay.”
Judy poured a glass of tea and handed it over. “I know you’re better than okay. Ally researched you thoroughly today. We’re pretty protective of Marcello around here.”
“I’ve noticed.” She tasted the tea. It had a touch of peach in it and was fabulous.
“Well, all I know for sure is that Marcello has been miserable these last few months, and now he’s not. Anyone who makes him happy, makes me happy. I love him like a brother.”
“Thank you, Judy, that means a lot. Ally, on the other hand, might take a little more convincing.”
Judy handed over the plate and a fork. “Marcello told me you two are just alike. Hard on the outside, but nothing but marshmallow fluff inside.”
Rachel took a bite of the sandwich before she passed out. “And we hate when people figure that out about us. Makes us feel like we’ve lost our armor.”
“Yes.” Judy tilted her head. “The softer the heart, the deeper the cut. But you can’t be so worried about losing the game that you don’t play it. Ally hates to do anything she can’t master instantly and often misses out on what she could’ve learned from the struggle. She got that from me, I suppose.”
Rachel was the same way. She hated to fail at anything. “But don’t you find you want to protect Ally from feeling the hurt you’ve experienced in life? So she won’t have to experience the pain?” The same way she wanted to shield her kids from the pain if Marcello left again.
Judy picked up her tweezers and went back to her microgreens. “Yes. And that’s why I’ve found myself alone and scared to death to lose my daughter. Kids are more resilient than we think. I should’ve lived my life too.”
“It’s not too late, right? To live your life?”
“We’ll see, I guess. Thank you for making sure she’s able to come home once a month.”
“Of course. And thank you for saving my life with this wonderful sandwich.”
“Anytime.” Judy smiled and went back to cutting fish and plating her little dishes.
Rachel took another bite and pondered. If she didn’t want to end up alone in eighteen years too, it was probably time to stop letting her fears hold back that last part of her heart she wasn’t giving to Marcello. Even if things didn’t work out.
As Judy pointed out, there might be things to learn from the struggle.
Marcello said his meeting had gone very well earlier and that he’d been assured by a man who would know that there was no longer a threat of Marcello going to jail. And they could move forward with their relationship, because by the end of the year, there’d be no more trace of his childhood crime.
When she’d asked if the statute of limitations had saved him, he’d said he d
idn’t understand all the legal terms and asked her to let it go. So, she’d reluctantly try.
Lance, Marcello’s exuberant agent, came bursting into the kitchen. He reminded her of a member of a boy band with his fancy hair and bleached white smile. “Rachel. I’ve been meaning to talk to you all evening. I’m glad I caught you alone.”
Rachel glanced at Judy, who rolled her eyes. “I don’t count. I’m just the help.”
“Don’t give me a hard time, Judy. This is serious.” Lance frowned as he pulled out a stool next to Rachel. “Listen. I don’t mean any offense here, Rachel, but I need to know what your long game is. Taking Marcello off the market won’t be good for his career.”
“My long game?” What the hell was Lance after? “Since when can’t a handsome star be married?”
“Marcello’s brand has always been of the eligible bachelor no one can bag. But beside that, Marcello needs to work to stay on top of his game. A wife and family will cut his production in half. If not more.” He cleared his throat. “Is it money? Because I can get you that, honey. Millions. Name your price.”
Honey?
Spraying Lance with her pepper spray suddenly sounded like a good idea.
After the initial surge of temper passed, she put her sandwich down and wiped her hands. “I don’t want your money. And there’s no game here. Marcello and I have been together for years.”
“I know being with a star might seem glamorous—”
“Stop. I’m acutely aware of exactly how unglamorous his life can be. Last night was a pretty great example.”
Lance huffed out a breath. “He turned down a film deal today that he’d wanted very badly before you showed up. And he’s telling me not to book him for any more shoots in the short term. If he keeps this up, he’s going to become irrelevant within six months. That’s how it works here. He has to take parts. You’re going to ruin him if you won’t let him do that.”
Judy mumbled under her breath, “And Lance’ll lose his meal ticket.”
Lance turned and pointed a finger at Judy. “Do I have to state the obvious here, Judy? You rely on his money to live too. Instead of making pals with Rachel, you should see her for what she is.”
Truly A Match (Rocky Mountain Matchmaker Book 4) Page 12