Uncovering the Correttis (Sicily's Corretti Dynasty)

by Carol Marinelli

  She teetered on legs that were a little unsteady and he tapped in a code that opened a door.

  ‘There’s no-one home, I hope.’

  ‘Just us.’

  She was perhaps the worst investigative journalist in the world around Anton, because until that moment she hadn’t really questioned why he drove such a luxurious sports car. She had been more focused on Anton than the outside appearance of his house, but as she stepped into opulence, as the lights came on and unveiled a home more stunning than any she had been in, she realised there were questions she should surely ask.

  She stood as he opened huge glass doors and looked out beyond the pool and to the ocean behind.

  Anton’s wealth far outreached that of any detective she had ever come in contact with.

  Or rather, any honest one.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘I AM not corrupt.’ It was as if he could read her mind. ‘It is my own money.’ He looked over to her. ‘I worked for ten years in my father’s business and turned it around. One of the nice things about making a fortune is you can then do whatever work you choose. My job now is to flush out certain people. Because of my wealth I get closer than any of them like.’

  ‘Like tonight?’

  ‘The restaurant do not want to say no to me either. They know I always am seated upstairs. It was good to observe them, to see the cousins seated at the same table and hating it.’

  He left her alone for a moment and then returned with a large T-shirt for her. For a moment she considered asking where the bathroom was so she could put it on, but they were a bit past that. Still, he was back to the old Anton now. He turned his back and opened the fridge and pulled out some wine as Emily quickly took off his jacket and slipped the T-shirt on, then removed her shoes.

  She sat on the sofa and tucked her legs under her, a part of her wanting only to find out about him, but she’d sworn no regrets and she did not want to be sitting at her desk on Monday without words for her work.

  ‘Why don’t the cousins get on?’ Emily asked as he handed her a drink.

  ‘Salvatore and Teresa had two sons, Benito and Carlo, brothers but rivals. Salvatore divided his empire up between them. They were killed a few years ago in a fire and the rivalry continued down the line to their children. The cousins are always trying to outdo each other. The only reason they were together tonight is for Teresa.’

  ‘Will they all be at the wedding tomorrow?’

  ‘Not all,’ Anton said. ‘There is Angelo—he is Carlo’s illegitimate son. They like to forget about him, but he has Corretti blood in his veins and he is slowly moving in on them. I doubt you will see Gio. He is one of Benito’s sons but tends to stay away from family things, though he might make an appearance. He is more interested in horses. There is the Corretti Cup in three weeks. He will be there for that.’

  ‘Will you be at that, too?’

  ‘Like a bad smell.’ Anton’s smile was black.

  ‘You hate them, don’t you?’

  ‘More than you could know.’ She could hear the loathing in his voice. ‘My family owned many properties all across Sicily, but we did not conform to the rules. We refused to bow to the Sicilian powers that be. There was a car bomb. My family was in it. I should have been in that vehicle. By chance I was not.’

  ‘The Correttis did that?’ She was horrified but he shook his head.

  ‘I do not know who. That is why I joined the polizia. My only interest now is working out who ordered the hit on my family.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Justice.’

  He was a police officer, Emily told herself. He just wanted the people responsible behind bars. Her imagination was working overtime from reading too much about the Correttis.

  She looked down at the ring still on her finger.

  ‘Is this really your mother’s?’

  He nodded. ‘Tonight it was worn for a very worthy cause.’

  ‘Anton...’ She was more confused than she had ever been. She understood now the guardedness to him, but the loathing in his voice unnerved her. She started pulling at the ring, but an olive-skinned hand halted her.

  ‘You’ll be needing that tomorrow. Why would my guest, my new fiancée, not be wearing her ring?’

  ‘You mean the wedding.’ Emily’s mouth gaped. ‘You’re invited?’

  ‘Of course. They hate me because they cannot buy me, yet they try to keep me on their side, too. So, would you care to join me?’

  And not for the first time tonight, and certainly not for the last, as his mouth moved towards her, Emily found herself saying yes to Anton.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  EMILY WOKE in an unfamiliar bed with a thumping headache and a body that was so sore and tender she wondered for a moment if she’d been in an accident, which wouldn’t account for the ache between her legs, the luxurious sheets beneath her or the aroma of coffee and the sound of gushing water from the pool.

  Maybe she’d died and gone to heaven, Emily thought for a blissful moment, and stretched and then looked up into the navy eyes of Anton.

  Maybe she had.

  Yes, it all came back in delicious stages.

  Emily drank her coffee and then figured she ought to ring Gina, but she didn’t pick up, so Emily fired off a text to say she would meet her there.

  ‘I hope she’s there,’ Emily said, but Anton was talking on his own phone.

  ‘What size are you?’ He saw her frown. ‘Dress size.’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  He smirked and told whomever it was he was talking to his estimate. Unfortunately he guessed right.

  ‘Shoe size,’ Anton said, and she wished for daintier feet but, for blisters’ sake, she told him the truth.

  He must be seriously loaded, because an hour later when surely anyone who was anyone was, this morning, getting their hair done, she was sitting in one of his shirts on a bar stool having her hair curled and put up as Anton showered.

  She couldn’t wait till he came out of the bathroom for a proper look at herself and, modesty long since discarded, she walked in to where he was shaving at the sink, a towel wrapped low on his hips.

  ‘Bella,’ he said when he saw her hair. ‘Has the dress not arrived?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Emily said, moving to wash her panties, but his hand halted her.

  ‘I asked for a selection of underwear.’

  ‘And a toothbrush?’

  He smiled and nodded to the drawer.

  It was strange for Anton. Usually he loathed getting ready with another. He liked sex but not too much conversation. He did not do the dating thing. ‘Am I taking someone’s spot?’ Emily checked, sure he must have had a date lined up.

  He had naturally RSVP’d plus-one for the wedding but was reluctant to take one of his usual companions.

  ‘I could have gone with someone, but I chose not to. Women tend to think you are serious about them if you ask them to such things.’

  ‘Have you ever been serious about anyone?’

  ‘My wife,’ he said, not looking at her horrified expression. Instead he carried on shaving. ‘She was in the explosion.’

  ‘When you said family, I thought you meant just your parents.’ She was truly lost for words. ‘I don’t mean just....’

  ‘I did,’ Anton said. ‘They were all in the car at the time. Unfortunately I had gone back to the house to get my wallet.’

  ‘Unfortunately?’

  ‘They went to heaven. I went to hell.’

  She could not fathom such pain, just stared for a moment.

  ‘Did you...?’ She was nearly crying. ‘Did you have children?’

  He closed his eyes.

  Fattispecie, Anton thought. ‘No.’

  ‘How could you stand to sit in the same restaurant?’ Emily asked.

  ‘Because I do not yet know if it was the Correttis that were responsible.’ He rinsed his face and forgot to dry it because, yes, he was dreading today. ‘But there will be other family heads there today. Almos
t certainly the one who ordered the hit will be...’ Anton stopped speaking then. She was right—he almost could not stand to be in the church today, had been dreading it since the wedding was announced. The only reprieve was Emily, and he pulled her in for a fierce kiss. His breath was shallow and ragged. He felt her soft lips and it did not match his mood. He loathed sharing and he wasn’t about to. He pulled his mouth away.

  ‘Get ready.’

  ‘I can’t till my dress arrives.’

  ‘Your make-up.’

  He went to leave, to release her, yet at the last moment hauled her back to him, a mire of confusion, for he wanted her but he did not. He could not share pain.

  Emily could.

  She felt the push and then the pull of his hands and the agony in his lips. She kissed down his neck and he held her close. She continued down his chest and he did not halt her as she went to her knees. She kissed his stomach and then down his thighs, heard his moan as she coaxed him from hell with her mouth.

  His hands bunched at his sides as he stopped hating and loathing and thought of nothing but Emily on a morning he had dreaded for so long. He felt soft lips become firm, felt the comfort of her tongue and mouth and gave in.

  She swallowed his tension—there was no other word for it—but she relished it a moment on her tongue and then, a bit shocked at her own boldness, she just knelt there until he pulled her up to him and held her fiercely. They clung on to each other for a long moment, Emily scared of her own feelings toward this very dark man, Anton basking in the calm she had just allowed, both holding each other till a bell rung out.

  ‘That will be your wardrobe.’

  ‘I hope you’ve got good taste.’

  He thought of his wife for a moment and then he looked at Emily, and his answer, even if she did not fully understand it, was completely true. ‘I do.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘WHERE ON earth have you been?’ Gina asked when she saw Emily. She had been snapping away as they approached, and only when they had drawn near had Gina realised it was her colleague. ‘You look stunning.’

  Emily was dressed in lilac with pale grey stilettos, but it was not the designer wardrobe or the rather hastily applied make-up that had Emily glowing, nor was it the answer she gave to Gina.

  ‘I’ve managed to get into the wedding.’

  ‘How?’ Gina wailed. ‘There’s security everywhere. They’re not letting in press.’

  ‘She’s coming with me.’ Anton stepped forward then and Gina’s mouth literally gaped, and Emily didn’t blame her. He looked amazing in a dark suit. The dark glasses were back on and he looked groomed yet brooding and slightly menacing.

  ‘Lucky, lucky you,’ Gina said, and she wasn’t talking about the wedding. ‘Are you going to the reception?’

  ‘No,’ Anton said when it was clear that Emily didn’t know. ‘They would not be so foolish to ask me there.’

  He headed off and Emily stood for a moment with Gina. ‘Meet up after?’ Emily asked, while secretly hoping not, but thankfully Gina shook her head.

  ‘I’m flying back to Rome. I’ll get a few shots of guests going into the reception and then I’m out of here.’ She gave a naughty smile. ‘Don’t tell Adam.’

  ‘Of course not. I’ll see you back at work on Monday, then.’

  ‘Emily?’ Gina picked up her hand and looked at the yellow diamonds and seed pearls. ‘How the hell did you swing this?’

  ‘That’s for me to know,’ Emily said, smiling.

  She caught up with Anton, but instead of taking her hand, he seemed distracted. From behind his glasses he was scanning the crowds, his expression unreadable as he observed the guests all mingling outside the church, but then he seemed to remember she was beside him.

  ‘That is Rosa Corretti.’ He nodded in the direction of a very beautiful woman who wore a flower in her hair that didn’t match her strained expression. ‘She was the apple of Benito’s eye and her brothers keep her on a very short leash.’ As they entered the church and took their places, he pointed out a few others. ‘Over there is Zach Scott. His father is a U.S. senator. Zach was shot down in the war....’ His voice trailed off and he looked around.

  It almost killed him to be here.

  To watch the groom standing where he once had, though unlike Anton all those years ago Alessandro showed no nerves. This was surely not a love match. Unlike his own wedding.

  Emily didn’t notice his sudden pensiveness. Instead she was trying to keep her eyes from popping as they landed on Taylor Carmichael, an American actress who had been off the radar for ages and was making a return. She looked stunning, of course, breathtakingly so. She was wearing a dress so tight she must surely have been sewn into it.

  It wasn’t just the guests who were stunning. Her eyes lifted to the stained windows, taking in the architecture as the anticipation built for the bride’s arrival.

  ‘It’s a beautiful church.’ Emily said it more to herself but her heart stilled for a moment when Anton responded.

  ‘I was married here.’

  There was nothing she could say. Just like earlier, there were no words, so Emily slipped her hand into his.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, surprised how much it helped.

  ‘Well, I could hardly...’

  He smiled, not a big one, but there was a lift to the edge of his lips as she referred to earlier, and he never thought he would stand in this place and want another beside him, let alone be able to smile.

  The music was starting. All in the church were standing and Emily craned her neck to get a glimpse of the bride as she entered. The dress was all lace, with long sleeves and a high neck, and, though beautiful, Alessia looked terribly wary.

  Someone’s phone went off, and remembering that she hadn’t turned hers off, Emily went to do just that but noticed there were a couple of people filming the blushing bride on their phones.

  ‘Can I?’ she said, remembering the no-press-allowed rule.

  ‘You’re a guest,’ Anton said. ‘Go for it.’

  It was a new phone, though, and instead of filming, she took a shot, just not the one she had intended. She had captured the bride turning, running the wrong way down the aisle. There was commotion all around—the church doors opening, the shocked congregation starting to ask questions, the press going into a frenzy outside.

  ‘Oh my!’ Emily said. ‘Did she just run off?’ Emily simply could not believe it. ‘This is huge.’

  ‘You have no idea,’ Anton said. ‘And neither does the rest of the world.’

  There was a man running after her, yet it wasn’t the groom. Alessandro stood, shoulders back, taking it on the chin as he was jilted at the altar.

  ‘I have to ring my boss.’

  ‘Why?’ Anton asked. ‘So Dianne can first report it?’ He took the phone from her hand and opened it to her social media account, quickly typing.

  Developing story—Alessia Battaglia jilts Alessandro Corretti at altar, Matteo Corretti seen chasing bride—back soon with more.

  More than that, he attached the photo she had accidentally taken. Unlike Emily, he knew all their names without checking notes. ‘While the rest of the world is wondering if there is a security breach or if, indeed, the bride has fled, you, Emily, have just confirmed it.’ Anton handed her back her phone.

  They just stood there grinning as she broke the story, her phone practically melting in her hand as responses poured in. But she really did have to call Adam. ‘I’m in the church.’ Briefly she explained what had happened.

  ‘Keep on it,’ Adam told her. ‘How the hell did you get inside?’

  Emily didn’t even try to explain. Instead she stood behind a pillar, her hand shaking slightly but working her phone like a pro, just caught up in the rush of being in the centre of the storm in a breaking story. ‘Is it wrong how turned on I am right now?’ she asked as she frantically texted.

  ‘If it is, then we are both in trouble.’

  He took her hand and helped her through the
crowd outside, but he steered her in the opposite direction when she went to follow the masses who were heading over to the reception venue.

  ‘We go back to the hotel.’

  ‘Anton! We can’t.’ There was her career to think of, except she couldn’t think clearly right now. She had, after all, just broken the news; surely she was allowed a teeny celebration. Her feeble protest was a short-lived one. ‘Oh, okay, then.’

  He gave her a smile, one she couldn’t work out, and they ran down the street and raced to get to her room. In the elevator she was so busy being kissed she paid no attention to the button he was pushing.

  ‘Wrong floor,’ Emily groaned as they stepped out of the elevator, but again, Anton, in everything, was a step ahead.

  ‘We go to my room.’

  ‘Your room? But—’

  He kissed her through the doorway. Emily started stripping off the second they were inside, but then she halted, frowning, when she saw him standing beside a small, high-up open window.

  ‘Given they didn’t want me at the reception, I booked a room with a view.’ She teetered over, her cheeks scalding as she peered out. No, he hadn’t been racing back to make frantic love to her. Instead he’d been bringing her back for a bird’s-eye view of the reception. Emily could see everything—the manicured gardens, the streets filled with press and police and excited onlookers.

  ‘What did you think we were coming back for?’ Anton asked.

  She cringed and went to retrieve her dress, embarrassed at her own presumption, but if it was a cruel tease, it was a brief one.

  ‘Come here,’ he said, his voice thick with lust as she joined him at the window.

  Her arms leant on the window and he stood behind, wrapping his around her and making her smile as he whispered into her ear. ‘Now that’s pole position.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT WAS heaven to watch the chaos, though there were more than a few distractions.

  Namely Anton.

  He was working her neck but Emily’s mind was on work.