by Billy London
As their food was placed before them, Anna listened, making mental notes. The last thing she needed was a Solicitors Regulation Authority review on that file and for her to be up before the Disciplinary Tribunal.
“Don’t worry about him too much, he’s got a good setup. Other businesses that he can trade off to pay up. He’s not poor. I’m angry because he doesn’t need any more fucking money. Has he written anything back to you?”
Anna looked up from the carcass that was the remains of her pigeon. That was divine. “No, he hasn’t. And we’ve given him long enough, so I’ll file your claim today.”
Nonna sighed. “I know my son would be disappointed, but sometimes you need a sledgehammer to crack the nut. The law’s my sledgehammer.”
“Good,” Anna announced, “that’s what it’s there for.”
Nonna looked distinctly crystal eyed. “I need to feel useful, Annie. That way, I don’t feel so fucking old.”
Anna caught her hand and squeezed it. “We’ll sort it. He’s got nothing to stand on.”
Nonna released a breath. “I’ll make your cake if you marry him.”
“Enzo?” Anna spluttered.
“No! Silly girl! Rocky.”
“Nonna, stop it. Rocky and I will sort out Rocky and I when I don’t feel like I’m treading on quicksand with him.” Nonna gave an acquiescing nod. “Would you be cross if I had dessert?”
Nonna grinned. “I was just waiting for you to say it first.”
Chapter Fifteen
Making up for lost time didn’t really involve many words, for the first week at least. How could talking be a high priority, when instead, Anna could spend the majority of her time with her legs around Rocco’s waist, her tongue in his mouth, her nails in his shoulders while she licked the salt from his corded neck and pushed her hips into his to take his cock even more deeply? Her whole body seemed to crave him, and one hit was never quite enough for her body to be satisfied. The wave of an orgasm would keep her need at a muted throb for long enough to either sleep or eat, only for the burn to flare once again. Not that Rocco altogether minded her crawling over him.
She only wished her mind was as easily quieted. Distracting Rocco with a flash of thigh or cleavage worked for a little bit, but she’d chosen a man with a sharp mind, and she knew he’d twigged straight away that she was holding back. He instead waited for her to speak up. For about a week, he used the ample talents of his body to gain her complete submission. With the underside of his cock, he stroked over her clit until she had no idea just what she’d promised or said. Hell, she thought she was speaking in tongues at one point, before he slammed into her, over and over until she felt worn out from the pleasure, and her throat sore from screaming.
She held up a hand to her face as Rocco disposed of the condom. Her fingers were trembling. At the very least, that part of them hadn’t changed a bit. She could only be grateful for that. He lay next to her, just the light tease of his breath over her skin sending tremors over her sensitised flesh.
“Where are you?” Rocco asked on a whisper, his hand pressed to her cheek. His arm felt heavy between her breasts. Even with the weight of him, she pressed him closer.
“What?”
“Where are you? And don’t fib, you just promised to tell me everything.”
“What?” she repeated. God, he’d turned her mind into mush.
“Talk to me, Annie,” he pressed. “Where are you? With you and me?”
“On doubt mountain,” she answered with a shrug. “The ‘but’ is still there.”
He nodded and sat up. “I understand.” Naked, he rose from the bed and retrieved a notepad and pen. “These are all my passwords. E-mails and phone. Work and personal. The work one is already set up so you have access to it.”
She blinked. “Are you serious?”
With a rip of paper, he handed her the passwords. “Just do me a favour and memorise them so you can destroy that.”
“You...you...wow.” She looked down, in a haze of shock that he had just opened that door to her.
“I’ve got nothing to hide from you. If this will help with the doubt thing, then I’ll do it.” He disappeared shortly and returned with two mobile phones. “Give it a try.”
Anna felt slightly ill as she picked up one phone. She kept glancing at him, waiting for him to leap on her and tell her that he couldn’t do it, it was too close to what he had to deal with, family, business. She was scared that she was going to see things from other women that would dropkick her forty thousand steps backwards.
“That’s the personal one,” he said, sitting on the side of the bed. “And you use that code for it.”
Releasing a breath, she did as he asked and the phone made a clicking noise. Rocco reached out a hand and stroked his palm over her arm. “I’ve nothing to hide with you.”
That may be the case for him, but this was singularly the most difficult thing she’d ever done. A touch on the message folder and it opened up in a list. Updates from the Law Society, a conference on fraud he was due to attend next week, promotional e-mails from a gift company that specialised in teddy bears, pharmaceutical companies, lots from Beppe and someone who was apparently managing an apartment in Palermo.
Her stomach was churning, the fear of finding something making her head spin. She closed the phone and handed it back. “Here.”
“You didn’t look at the texts?”
Fuck’s sake. “No, Rocco, I do not want to look at the texts. I do not want to see a billion and one messages from skanks asking if they can come over and suck your dick.”
She risked a glance at him and irritatingly enough, saw the light of amusement in his eyes. “No one asks that anymore. There’s no decorum for hook-ups.”
“So you want to see e-mails from guys asking me for sex?”
His smile was feral. “I could do. But you should understand that I have the resources to trace where those men are and have them killed.” Anna almost laughed, but then saw he was quite serious. “I don’t like the idea of men walking around free and happy on this planet who’ve touched you.”
All right, he was utterly mental. “How did this turn around onto me? We’re talking about you.”
“And you. It’s about the two of us.” He caught her around the waist and pulled her into his lap. A shudder chased over her at the skin-to-skin contact. Her cheeks started to heat and she squirmed a little. “I’m trying to have a conversation with you—stop bouncing on me.”
“I’m not. You could have put something on at least. It’s like the princess and the pea.”
“No, no, no, you do not get to call this,” he nudged her with his hips, “a pea.”
“You know what I mean. Look, you can’t rush this. I know you want things to go back where I don’t have any issues with you and I trust you completely. But I can’t help it. I appreciate the e-mail thing, I really do, but it’s...” She breathed out slowly. “I don’t think it’s the answer.”
He nodded, placing a kiss to her collarbone. “Okay. Let’s try some ground rules, then. One, you need to talk to me.”
“Easy,” she snorted, “I’m good at talking.”
“No, Annie. You’re good at cussing. Talking as in we have a conversation.”
Pouting wasn’t going to help, so she gave a sigh. “Fair enough. Two, you have to be honest with me. We’ve got a retainer now. You can trust me.”
He breathed out in exasperation, dropping his head to her shoulder. “I never not trusted you—I tried to protect you.”
“What I mean,” she clarified, trying to ignore the effect of his warm breath flowing over her nipples, “is that you need to trust me that not everything comes second to my career. I have a heart. Just look after the fucking thing.”
A grin brightened his face. “You look after mine, I’ll look after yours. Anything else?”
“Yes, we keep this out of the office.”
“What? After all our good times?”
“You won’t get any gri
ef. I will get grief. The woman always gets grief. So no office business. Knowing our luck, we were caught on camera in the lift and it’s floating around on the Internet.” The thought all at once repulsed her and turned her on, the idea of people touching themselves watching her with Rocco.
“Fine. Four, you meet my family and I meet yours.”
Holy crap, the man was serious. “Er...”
“It was all a youthful misunderstanding,” he advised. How did he know that she hadn’t really explained to anyone that she was making a nice dent for herself in Rocco’s bed? Youthful misunderstanding would have to do. It wouldn’t be fair to perpetuate the cheating myth, not on Imogen’s lies. Rocco’s hand smoothed over her stomach to gently cup her breast. “Agreed?”
No wonder the man was a smooth negotiator.
“I suppose so,” she sighed. Rocco’s thumb spanned to the nipple of her other breast and grazed.
“Try to sound a little more enthusiastic.”
He gently removed his hand and allowed his mouth to take its place. She moaned, her fingers drifting through his hair. “That sounds amazing.” She tried to inject her voice with a lilt, but it sounded like a plea for more.
“Good. This will work. Because I will not let anything or anyone take you away from me again.”
“Keep calm and carry on what you were doing,” she ordered. “I’m not going anywhere.” And for now, it was nothing but the truth.
“No, no, no!” Mimi exclaimed as soon as Anna answered the phone. “You do not get to tell me you got under Rocco in a text message.”
Anna had tried to be clever, only because she didn’t want to do the whole post mortem, which generally made her feel very uncomfortable and about five years old, explaining why she’d spent all her pocket money on sweets. The text message was supposed to be her escape route. But the sneaky cow called her from an unknown number. “You want details?”
“Of course I do!”
“What can I tell you that won’t gross you out?” Anna shrugged.
“I’m a doctor, nothing can gross me out any more.”
“So I came like, eight times...”
“And I’m done. Speak to me when you’re going to be sensible.”
Mimi ended the call and Anna started laughing at the receiver. Her phone tinkled with a text message. “If I don’t talk to you for about three weeks, that will work, won’t it?”
Anna called her back. “No, that won’t work for me. By the way, we’re not speaking to Imogen.”
“Who’s we?” Mimi demanded. “I was never speaking to her except with the assistance of valium and a glass of Pinot Grigio.”
“We as in you and me.”
“She lied, didn’t she?”
“Yup,” Anna replied without emotion.
“Am I allowed to scalp this bitch now?”
“Meems, no violence. You can’t afford to be struck off.”
“Meh, I spend any more time with Beppe, it’s going to happen. But in any case, I’m glad you’ve sorted things out with the Italian sausage. So very happy.”
In Mimi’s voice was nothing more than pure genuine joy for her. Now that was a friend. “Thank you. You can come to dinner with me and the bad Sicilian. And you can meet Beppe properly.”
Mimi snorted, “Not unless you want dinner all over your sparkly walls. Leave that well alone. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
“What the actual fuck? Did you just say the L word to me? You never say the L word!”
Anna grinned. “I know.”
“Eight times, eh? Please Lord, let Rocco Mamione always provide my greatest friend with satisfaction so she can tell me that she loves me.”
“You know I do.”
Mimi was quiet for a moment. “It’s just lovely to hear it. I’m going before you make me cry!”
Again Mimi put the phone down and Anna cracked up. Bernie called her.
“You need to stop cackling. You are freaking out your three o’clock appointment.”
Anna frowned at her appointment diary. Oh, that dude. He could be scared—he needed it. “Good. My plan is working.”
Chapter Sixteen
Nonna fitted her glasses to her nose, frowning at the case file in front of her while Bernie set up the refreshments in the centre of the conference table.
Enzo Vitale looked uncomfortable and shifty as ever, sitting on the right side of his two solicitors. He had good reason to look uncomfortable. The mediation session had been his solicitors’ idea, before going for the full tribunal hearing, set for the next month. Their defence had been pathetic at best and at worst laughable. Tempting as it was to see what an employment judge would make of it, Anna had a responsibility to mediate first and see if the hearing could be avoided. The mediator sat at the head of the table, tapping his pen to a notepad.
“Are we ready?”
“I’m ready to kick Italian ass, yeah,” Nonna claimed.
Anna winced. “Mrs. Mamione is simply concerned that she receives what is due to her.”
The mediator looked wary. “All right. Ms. Taylor, it’s your client’s claim, so why don’t you set out the background?”
“Mrs. Elisabetta Mamione is a brand herself. The deli she worked in for thirty years relied on her talent, her recipes, her astuteness and her passion. Mr. Vitale here saw a business venture, a thriving one that owed its success to Mrs. Mamione. He bought that venture from two owners more than ready for retirement. It was a successful business that had no need for change or alteration, and without Mrs. Mamione the business would instantly fail. Not a single recipe was written down. Each invention, weight and measurement of ingredients is in Mrs. Mamione’s head. The question is why did Mr. Vitale sack Mrs. Mamione? He could have done so for a number of reasons. Mrs Mamione is a woman past the age of retirement, but has never received a disciplinary. Has never been late or taken more holiday than permitted. She is a woman who has strong opinions, but a mind that has carried this business to unimaginable profits. Knowing that a business relied on the talents of that one woman, why dismiss her, if not to discriminate against her—on the basis of her age, her sex, or simply to victimise her because of her surname. Mrs. Mamione’s employment was part of the deal when the owners sold the deli. To fire her was not only a breach of contract, it was a breach of the Transfer of Undertakings Regulations—it was a breach of the law. Mr. Vitale has yet to explain himself in a manner that fully divulges his reasoning for sacking Mrs. Mamione, but I am sure one will be forthcoming. Mrs. Mamione seeks what she is entitled to. Unfair dismissal damages, discrimination damages, redundancy, unpaid wages, holiday and bonus payments.”
The mediator turned to Enzo’s solicitors. “Your response?”
“Whilst no one can doubt Mrs. Mamione’s dedication to her previous employers, Mr. Vitale felt he had no option but to fire Mrs. Mamione for gross misconduct. Mrs. Mamione did not own the deli and treated the business as if it were hers. She behaved in an insubordinate manner on several occasions and Mr. Vitale tried to accommodate her demands, but when it comes to technical definitions, Mrs Mamione was just an employee. A cook. As such, it was within the range of reasonable responses for Mr. Vitale to terminate Mrs. Mamione’s employment.”
The mediator looked up. “Good. Just point me to the letter of warning or the minutes of the disciplinary meeting with Mrs. Mamione.”
Enzo’s solicitor glanced up. “Excuse me?”
“The letter of warning or disciplinary meeting. The letter giving reasons for her dismissal. It’s here, surely.”
“I’ve never seen one,” Anna said helpfully.
“Sir, Mrs. Mamione was told in person...”
“In this day and age, Mr. Peterson, I would expect some form of notarial confirmation of what Mr. Vitale and Mrs. Mamione discussed when Mr. Vitale felt he had no choice but to sack the person on whom the very business relied.”
“The business didn’t necessarily rely on Mrs. Mamione.”
“Can Mr. Vitale cook?”
Anna asked.
“What?” Enzo blustered.
“Can you cook?” she repeated. “If the business, a deli, which necessitates food being prepared and served, wasn’t reliant on Mrs. Mamione, I am assuming you can cook.”
“No, I’ve closed the business. It will reopen as a wine bar.”
Brilliant. The mediator looked astounded. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s going to be a wine bar. Not a deli. It’s my business and I’ve made that decision.”
“Then why buy the deli at all?” the mediator asked. “If you didn’t want to continue that business, it makes no sense.”
The solicitor with Enzo put a placating hand on his arm, but he thrust it away. “The owners wanted to retire, so they sold it to me. What I did thereafter was up to me.”
“I do have to disagree with you there, Mr. Vitale,” Anna interrupted. “You’ll see on page forty-seven of the bundle, the agreement for sale with the previous owners. Clause Eight requires that the business continues to operate as a deli and Mrs. Mamione continues to run the deli.”
Enzo worked his jaw. “Mrs. Mamione didn’t want to work with me.”
The mediator’s frown deepened as he continued, “Then I repeat, why buy a thriving business if just to close it, make the necessary employee redundant if you weren’t going to continue the business as it was. It’s like buying a McDonald’s restaurant and turning it into a carpet shop. Why? The business was doing fantastically well. I even looked it up online—” He paused to pull out some printed papers. “‘Authentic Sicilian breads, cakes, treats and snacks, handmade on the premises by Nonna.’” He glanced at Nonna. “You, I assume, did all the hand-making.”
“Yes sir, I did.”
The mediator put down the papers. “What are we doing here?”
“I’m wearing a suit from Dolce and Gabbana. My grandson bought it for me. I know why I’m here. But I don’t think he does.” Nonna nodded toward Enzo.
“She cannot control what I do with my money!” he spat.