Married for His One-Night Heir

by Jennifer Hayward

  “Castiglione has a bigger reach,” Lazzero pointed out. “Don’t let your personal feelings about this cloud your professional judgment.”

  “What personal feelings?” Santo responded curtly. “The man is a criminal. Just because he’s bought half of Washington and Hollywood with his money and influence doesn’t mean I want to do business with him.”

  Lazzero had grown up around the corner from the powerful Castiglione family, just as he had. Knew that along with being one of the most powerful real estate and gambling czars in the United States, his empire reaching from New York to Las Vegas, Stefano Castiglione was reputed to carry darker connections beneath that smooth, charismatic facade of his as the head of an international crime syndicate.

  “We aren’t doing business with him, Laz.” He dismissed the notion with a shake of his head. “End of story.”

  His brother hiked a lazy shoulder. “I wasn’t actually suggesting we do business with him,” he drawled. “I was merely yanking your chain to see how you would react. Which was predictable.” His brother narrowed his gaze on him. “You’re still hung up on her.”

  “Who?”

  “Gia.” Lazzero waved a hand at him. “You’ve gone on a tear through half the women on the planet since her, but you’re not even remotely interested in any of them. Take tonight, for instance. You could have had that redhead—the publicity girl. What’s her name... Sylvie? Sophie? Instead, you are completely distracted.”

  “Because I should be back at the office working.”

  “Says the man who likes to socialize more than he likes to breathe.” His brother rolled the Scotch around his tumbler, the amber liquid flickering in the torch light. “So if I were to tell you that Gia is standing behind you it would be of no interest to you?”

  He turned to stone. Fingers locking around his glass, he swiveled, his scan of the crowd pinpointing the woman he’d spotted earlier talking with Delilah and another guest. His heart stalled in his chest as he took her in. Confirmed what he’d instinctively known. It was Gia.

  Clad in a vibrant coral dress that hugged every inch of her curvaceous figure, she was thinner than he remembered, her gorgeous long, dark hair cut into a sophisticated blond bob that gave her a completely different look. Her cheeks were gaunt under her perfect, dramatic bone structure, her eyes deep, dark pools of green that seemed to vibrate emotion.

  Exactly as they had that night four years ago when she’d given him her innocence, then walked away, as if what they’d shared had meant nothing. When she’d married another man.

  Turn around, he told himself. Pretend she isn’t here. Do exactly what you said you would do if you ever saw her. But he stayed where he was. Gia looked up. She froze as their gazes collided, her eyes widening beneath long, dusky lashes. Like a curtain coming down over her face, the blood fled, rendering her whiter than a sheet.

  A midnight storm darkened those beautiful eyes. Twisted something in his insides tight. Maledizione. Why tonight? Why here, when she hadn’t been seen in public for an eternity?

  “Santo,” Lazzero said on low note. “She is bad for you. Nothing good ever came of the two of you. Leave it alone.”

  He was wrong, Santo corrected silently. They had been good that night. Perfect. Before she’d torn out his heart. And even though he knew he should stay away, he couldn’t seem to do it.

  He set down his glass on the bar, ignoring his brother’s muttered imprecation as he threaded his way through the crowd toward where Gia stood. But when he got there, she was gone, Delilah and the other guest immersed in conversation. Instinct took him to where Gia stood at the edge of the terrace, looking out at the water, a silent, delicate figure silhouetted against a sparkling, dark blanket of blue.

  The image struck him as particularly appropriate, because hadn’t it always been Gia against the world? Gia, who’d hovered on the outside, sitting by herself in the high-school cafeteria the first time he’d ever seen her, shunned by her fellow students because of who she was. Because she’d been escorted to and from school by her bodyguards, her friendships vetted and discarded by her powerful father before they’d ever had a chance to take flight.

  He would never forget the shy smile that had lit up her face when he’d plunked his tray down beside hers and asked if the seat beside her was taken.

  She turned as he approached, as if she’d sensed his presence, that same invisible thread tethering them together that had always defied reason. Her spine rigid, her face set in a mask he couldn’t possibly decipher, she looked haunted. Guarded. Vulnerable. It awakened a primitive need to protect inside of him that was as instinctive as it was irrational.

  “Santo,” she said huskily, unleashing that insanely sexy voice that had haunted his dreams. “I had no idea you would be here tonight.”

  He came to a halt in front of her. Dug his hands into his pockets. “Delilah is hot on the idea of putting our boutiques in her hotels. Lazzero and I were on the way home from a golf tournament in Albany. She suggested we drop in.”

  Her long lashes brushed the delicate line of her cheeks. “That’s exciting. Delilah has some of the biggest key influencers on the planet on her client list. It would be the perfect partnership.”

  “We think so.” He held her gaze. “I was sorry to hear about your husband.”

  She inclined her head. “Thank you. It was a shock. It’s taken me some time to process it.”

  He would have bought her cool, collected act if it wasn’t for the white-knuckled grip she had on her clutch. The tremor in her voice that dismantled his insides. “Gia,” he said softly, stepping forward to sweep a thumb across her jaw. “Are you okay?”

  She flinched away from his touch, a quick, reflexive movement that sent a hot rush of emotion through him. “I’m fine. You know I didn’t love him, Santo. What my marriage was and what it wasn’t.”

  “I’m not sure what I know and what I don’t,” he growled, “because you walked away without a word.”

  “Santo—”

  He waved a hand at her. “You dropped off the edge of the earth for two years, only to show up here tonight. Forgive me if I had to ask the question. Old habits die hard.”

  She anchored her teeth in her lush bottom lip. “I work for Delilah. I have for the past couple of years.”

  He frowned. “You live here?”

  She nodded. “You know I never wanted that kind of a life for myself. When Franco died, it was my opportunity to reach out and take everything I had been denied. Delilah,” she explained, “is an old friend of the family on my mother’s side. She offered to help me create a new life for myself. Gave me a job as a designer for her hotels and a place to stay. No one,” she stated evenly, “knows me as Giovanna Castiglione here, they know me as Giovanna De Luca.”

  And she wanted to keep it that way. He struggled to wrap his head around that revelation. “And what does your father think of all of this?”

  Her chin hiked, a tiny, but imperceptible movement. “He doesn’t know.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean, he doesn’t know?”

  “I mean he doesn’t know where I am. No one does, Santo. I left the life. I walked away.”

  She’d left the life? Walked away? A surge of astonishment coursed through him. “You ran away?”

  A fire darkened her emerald eyes. “I am a Castiglione, Santo. You know who my father is. What was I going to do? Tell him I wanted out? Tell him I was done? You don’t simply walk away from a life like mine. You run and you don’t look back.”

  He ran a bemused palm over his jaw. “So let me get this straight,” he began. “You married a man you didn’t love because your father decreed it. Because your family means everything to you. And then, when your husband is gunned down in broad daylight outside of his casino, you walk away from that family and all the protection it affords to hide in the Bahamas, where you are open and vulnerable prey?”


  “It’s been two years. There is no longer that kind of a threat.”

  There was always a threat. He dealt with it as one of the world’s richest men. She faced it because of who she was. But apparently, he conceded dazedly, no one knew where she was.

  He arched an eyebrow. “And what do you intend to do? Run for the rest of your life?”

  “No.” Defiance was painted in every centimeter of her ramrod-straight spine. “I intend to live the life I’ve always dreamed of. I have everything I’ve ever wanted here, Santo. I’m never going back.”

  He studied the visible tension etching the sides of her eyes and mouth. Two and two weren’t adding up to four here. Something was way off. But he didn’t have the opportunity to push it further because Delilah descended upon them with an effusive “Darlings” to talk about the pop-up retail she envisioned for the Elevate launch.

  Gia had designed one of the retail spaces he’d admired earlier on his tour of the hotel, done in partnership with a French high-fashion brand. Delilah thought Gia and his own designers would be the perfect working combination, a suggestion Santo couldn’t refute because he’d loved the poolside boutique space Gia had created, an oasis that drew the hotel’s clientele in the highest heat of the day. She clearly knew how to meld two distinct brands into a show-stopping, utterly unforgettable space.

  Unfortunately, his brain wasn’t functioning on all cylinders at the moment as he attempted to follow the conversation, because none of what Gia had told him made sense. Why did she look so terrified if she had the perfect new life? Why would she leave her family to live on her own in the Bahamas when the blood ties that had always bound her had been sacrosanct?

  Why had she not come to him?

  Four years of not knowing, of wondering why she’d left that morning, piled up in his head until he couldn’t think of anything else.

  He needed closure—once and for all.

  But first, he needed answers.

  CHAPTER TWO

  GIA PLEADED A headache and escaped the party shortly after her conversation with Santo and Delilah ended. She’d barely managed to keep it together during that encounter with Santo, terrified she’d say something she shouldn’t, reveal something she couldn’t. But the need to ensure he didn’t blow her cover had been paramount.

  She’d thought she was safe. That she was finally free after all of this time spent creating a new identity for herself, avoiding any kind of a social life where she might have been recognized. Delilah would have comprehensively vetted the guest list. But Delilah couldn’t have known about Santo. No one knew. Apart from her mother and Franco.

  She said good-night to Desaray, her babysitter, then went to check on Leo. Her son was fast asleep, his thick, long lashes shading his cheeks, his thumb stuck in his mouth, his sturdy little body curled in the fetal position in his cozy, white-framed bed. She smoothed a hand over his glossy blond hair and pressed a kiss to his soft, scented cheek.

  He was so peaceful, her love for him so all-encompassing, he calmed her nerves. But she still couldn’t settle enough to sleep, so she changed and got ready for bed, then headed to the kitchen for some warm milk.

  She had the feeling Santo hadn’t bought her story for a minute. That he’d thought it was as full of holes as she’d known it was. But she was also sure he would never betray her trust—that he would keep her secret. The bigger problem was the business he was conducting with Delilah. If he was considering putting his Supersonic boutiques in her hotels, he would have ongoing interests in the Bahamas. Which would never work.

  Dismay clogged her throat. Surely, he would send one of his minions to oversee the project? Chances were, he’d never be here.

  But what if he was?

  A rap at the door brought her back to reality. Thinking Desaray must have forgotten something, as she was apt to do, she turned off the burner under the milk, padded to the front door and swung it open. “What did you—” She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of Santo, lounging against the door frame.

  Her heart slammed against her ribs. Acutely aware of the expanse of bare skin her silk nightie revealed, she wrapped her arms around herself as the humid, floral-scented air pressed in on her lungs. “Santo,” she croaked, “what are you doing here?”

  “Getting some answers.” He brushed past her into the house before she’d even registered he’d moved. Scared her heart might jump right through her chest, she turned to face him.

  “How did you know where I live?”

  “Your joke to Delilah about sliding down the hill to get home.”

  Dammit. She bit the inside of her mouth. Really, she hadn’t been in her right head. She’d simply been desperate to get out of there.

  She had to get rid of him. But how?

  She looked up at him, then wished she hadn’t, the connection between them crackling like an electrical storm. It reverberated all the way through her, right down to the tips of her toes. Sucking in a deep breath, she corralled her racing thoughts, reaching desperately for the aura of outward calm she had perfected as a Castiglione. “About what?” she enquired evenly, pressing a palm against the frame of the door.

  “About why you are really here. What’s really going on with you.”

  “We’ve been through that already. It is also,” she said pointedly, “far too late for this type of a discussion.”

  “I wholeheartedly agree. I would have preferred to have had it four years ago, but better late than never.”

  Her stomach dropped. He wasn’t going to give up. She knew Santo. He was like a dog with a bone when he wanted something. “My head is pounding,” she prevaricated. “If you insist on doing this, can we do it in the morning?”

  “I’m flying out tomorrow, so no.” He gestured toward the living room. “Should we talk in there?”

  Panic surged through her veins. “No,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “We can do it on the porch. It’s cooler out there.”

  He waved a hand at her. “Lead the way.”

  She closed the door. Directed him out onto the veranda that ran the length of the villa and overlooked the sparkling midnight waters of the bay. A gentle breeze lifted the leaves of the palm trees, the sweet smell of bougainvillea and frangipani filling the air. But she was too frozen to take in any of it as Santo lounged back against the railing and regarded her with a silent look.

  Feeling far too exposed, she wrapped her arms around herself and lifted her chin. “What would you like to know?”

  “Why the hell you are hiding in the Bahamas when your mother must be worried sick about you. What were you thinking, Gia?”

  She hadn’t been thinking. She’d been doing what she’d needed to do to protect Leo. And she’d do it a million times over.

  “I left them a note. They know I’m safe.”

  A flicker of dark emotion moved through his gaze. “Why didn’t you come to me?” he growled, the undertone of frustration raking a path across her skin. “You know I would have helped you.”

  Her lashes lowered. “We were over, Santo. We had both moved on. What was the point?”

  “That’s a lie,” he countered softly. “Why did you leave that morning without saying goodbye, Gia? Why run?”

  “Santo,” she breathed. “Don’t.”

  His mouth twisted. “Don’t ask why you walked into my arms that night and gave me your innocence? How we could have shared what we shared only for you to walk away and marry another man? Why I woke up the next morning alone, without an explanation? Not a note. Nothing.” A lift of his eyebrow. “Which of those things do you imagine confounds me the most?”

  She closed her eyes, a hot, searing pain moving through her until it hurt to breathe. “You knew I was promised to him, Santo. You knew I was going to marry him. There was never any doubt about that.”

  “I thought you’d changed your mind.” H
e threw the words at her in a charged voice that skittered through her insides. “You were emotional that night, Gia. Intensely vulnerable. You didn’t want that kind of a life for yourself. You wanted better.”

  “And then I realized what I was doing. I was getting engaged in front of half of Las Vegas the next night. How was I going to walk away? It would have destroyed my father’s honor. His reputation. The Lombardi family’s reputation... It was not undoable, no matter how much I wanted it to be.”

  She was Sicilian. A Castiglione. That she would marry Franco Lombardi, the heir to a Las Vegas gambling dynasty, was a fact that had been cast in stone since the day she’d turned fourteen, when her father had approved the match between his only daughter and the eldest Lombardi son. A match that would cement his empire.

  Pursuing the career she’d always wanted, marrying a man she loved and walking away from her destiny had never been options for her, something she’d foolishly forgotten during that impulsive, explosive night with Santo.

  There had been no more time left to wonder what if. To look for solutions that didn’t exist. To want what she could never have.

  She drew in a deep breath. Then exhaled as she met Santo’s dark, tumultuous gaze. “I convinced myself it would be easier if I simply left,” she said huskily. “There was no future for us, Santo. You know that.”

  He stepped closer, his expensive aftershave infiltrating her senses with devastating effect. “You know what I think?” he murmured, his warm breath skating across her cheek. “I think we will never know because you walked away, Gia. Because it was easier for you to surrender to the inevitable than to face what was between us.”

  The brush of her bare leg against the muscled length of his thigh unearthed a shiver that reverberated through her. Heat pooled beneath her skin at the memory of what all that hard muscle could do. How it could take her to heaven and back. How it might have been worth every disastrous moment that had followed.