by Jayne Castel
Italian
Undercover
Affair
JAYNE CASTEL
Italian Undercover Affair
A contemporary romantic suspense set in Rome. An Italian celebrity chef, an American private investigator—and a secret that could destroy them both.
Deception is a dangerous game.
Sabrina Bennett, an ambitious private investigator in New York, can't believe it when she's offered a new assignment in Italy. It seems like the dream case—with a vacation thrown in!
Her target is Adriano Bellini: a celebrity chef and wealthy entrepreneur. Powerful and driven, Adriano's determined to keep custody of his son after his wife abandoned them—but he has no idea that she has hired Sabrina to gather evidence against him.
Sabrina goes undercover as a waitress at Adriano’s restaurant in the heart of Rome—only her new case is not as straightforward as it first appears. Adriano turns out to be hard to handle. He's rude, arrogant—and he's used to always getting his way. The volcanic chemistry between them makes it difficult for Sabrina to keep her mind on the job.
When she can’t find the proof her client needs, Sabrina embarks on a new strategy—one that involves giving in to her attraction for Adriano Bellini. Deception and passion collide in a dangerous game that can only end badly … for them both.
Contemporary Romances by Jayne Castel
Italian Romance (novella)
Italian Passion (novella)
Omnibus: Italian Romance and Passion
Italian Undercover Affair
Historical Romances by Jayne Castel
The Kingdom of the East Angles series
Night Shadows (Prequel novella)
Dark Under the Cover of Night (Book One)
Nightfall till Daybreak (Book Two)
The Deepening Night (Book Three)
The Kingdom of the East Angles: The Complete Series
The Kingdom of Mercia series
The Breaking Dawn (Book One)
Darkest before Dawn (Book Two)
Dawn of Wolves (Book Three)
All characters and situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
Italian Undercover Affair by Jayne Castel
Copyright © 2016 Jayne Castel. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Edited by Tim Burton.
Cover photography courtesy of www.istockphotos.com
Visit Jayne’s website and blog: www.jaynecastel.com
Follow Jayne on Twitter at: @JayneCastel
***
To Roma—she will always be my eternal city.
***
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Epilogue
More by Jayne Castel
About the Author
Chapter One
There was no denying it—she was lost.
Sabrina lowered the map and looked around her, frustration welling. Buildings of ochre and fawn stone with peeling, shuttered windows reared up either side. A strip of cloudy sky pressed down overhead. It was a muggy, slightly overcast afternoon in late May, and the air was heavy with the promise of rain. The fitted shirt Sabrina wore stuck uncomfortably to her back. Her new leather boots were pinching her feet.
Frowning, she glanced back down at her map and tried to make sense of the labyrinthine tangle of streets—so different from the orderly grid of blocks she was used to. Sabrina had completely lost any sense of direction. She couldn’t even remember where her apartment was in relation to her present location.
Get over it, she told herself. Rome isn’t New York.
Huffing in irritation, Sabrina marched up the lane and peered up at a street sign in an attempt to orient herself: Vicolo del Fico. Fig Alley.
She smiled at the street name, inhaled the scent of jasmine, and looked up to see the clusters of white flowers tumbling from window boxes and balconies. Yes, she most definitely wasn’t in New York anymore. Rome was another world.
Events had moved so fast of late, Sabrina was still catching her breath. One moment she’d been half-way through a busy week—completely caught up in her work—the next she was packing her bags and buying a plane ticket to Italy.
And she had Helen Bellini to thank.
Helen had walked into the office of Bennett Private Investigations with a clear goal in mind. Impeccably dressed, her pale blonde hair pulled back into a chignon, Helen had gotten Sabrina’s attention with her first words: “I want you to investigate my husband. I want you to help me take him down!”
Concentrate. Sabrina pushed aside thoughts about her new assignment and refocused on her map. It really couldn’t be this hard.
Eventually, she located Vicolo del Fico. She hadn’t wandered as far off track as she’d thought. If she was reading the map right, her destination lay just a few streets away.
Confidence bolstered, Sabrina continued down the narrow street. She passed by many doorways with lowered corrugated iron shutters; restaurants that would not open until later in the day. A straggly tabby cat stalked across her path before disappearing behind a large skip full of stinking rubbish. She held her breath and hurried past.
As she walked, Sabrina’s thoughts returned once more to the case that had brought her here. She went over the details Helen had given her about the man she was about to investigate.
Frankly, Adriano Bellini sounded like an asshole—the kind of man who enjoyed keeping a mother from her son. He was supposed to be a household name in Italy, a celebrity chef who owned a chain of restaurants all over the world. He and Helen had met five years earlier in New York while he was opening a new restaurant. Sabrina knew it—The Bucatini had been one of Manhattan’s hottest Italian eateries for years now.
Helen and Adriano had gotten married after just six months of meeting and moved to Rome shortly after. That was when things fell apart. Helen described her ex as ‘cold, distant and work-obsessed’. They spent so much time apart that she suspected him of cheating—only she’d never been able to get any proof.
Sabrina already had a fair idea of Adriano Bellini’s character. Helen had shown her a video clip of him on TV, on a show called BestChef Italia. It had appeared to be a bit like Masterchef, where contestants went through rounds of challenges under the eye of demanding judges. Adriano had been the youngest of the three judges. He was tall, dark, and brooding; and Sabrina had to admit he was hot. Although, she hadn’t liked the way he’d humiliated one of the contestants. The man had cringed as Adriano wordlessly dumped his plate of food in the bin before walking off.
Sabrina emerged from Vicolo del Fico onto a broader street. Here, she encountered a throng of tourists clustered around a busy g
elateria. She watched them emerge bearing huge ice creams crowned in whipped cream. Her mouth watered; she was tempted to join the queue but it was getting late.
She had a job to do. Sabrina wasn’t taking a leisurely stroll through Rome’s historic center. She needed to get to her destination before it got too late in the day.
Helen was counting on her.
Her client had contacted her because her husband was trying to get custody of their son, Luca. He was accusing Helen of ‘abandoning’ the family a year earlier, when she’d left Italy to escape him. Talking about her son was the only time Sabrina had seen her client’s polished veneer crack. Helen had broken down when she spoke about Luca.
Although Sabrina had initially played it cool—it was never a good idea to look too keen in front of a client—she’d jumped at the chance of going back to Rome. She had fond memories of her only visit to the city, many years ago with her parents. She’d loved the city’s grandeur and vibrancy. She remembered the warmth of the Mediterranean sun on her skin, the taste of gelato; and the thin-crust, wood-fired pizza.
However, she’d hesitated. Taking the job would mean she’d have to put everything—her work, her life—on hold for a month.
Then Helen had offered her twice her going rate and the offer had been too good to refuse.
A smile spread across Sabrina’s face as she walked. Here she was, a week later, on assignment in one of the world’s most beautiful and romantic cities. It was an effort not to stop and pinch herself.
At the end of the street, she stepped out onto a large cobbled square with a tinkling fountain in its center, where she stopped and consulted her map once more. La Pasta D’Orata—The Gilded Pasta—should be on the far side of this square.
A deafening roar made her look up from her map.
A silver Vespa rocketed across the piazza toward her. Bent low over the handlebars, his wrap-around sunglasses glinting in the afternoon light, the teenage boy onboard did not even register her presence. Sabrina leaped out of the way and flattened herself up against the wall, only narrowly missing being run over.
“Cretino!” Muttering the insult under her breath, Sabrina peeled herself off the wall, her heart still slamming against her ribs.
Does everyone in this city drive like a lunatic?
Gathering her wits, Sabrina gingerly crossed the uneven san petrini, Rome’s ubiquitous cobblestones, which were perilous even in low heels. Then she spied the restaurant up ahead.
For the first time since taking the case, doubt suddenly filled her.
Maybe, this isn’t such a good idea. It had seemed clever at the time—Helen had left it to her to find a way to infiltrate her soon-to-be ex-husband’s life, and Sabrina had decided the best way to do that was to find work in one of his restaurants. Only now, with La Pasta D’Orata—the largest of his two eateries—looming before her, her plan seemed poorly thought-out.
At least she spoke the language. Helen Bellini had come to her because Sabrina knew Italian. She needed someone who would ‘blend in’. She’d also assumed that because Sabrina had briefly worked as a cop she’d have no problems going ‘undercover’ in Rome. Sabrina had attempted to let her know she hadn’t been that kind of cop, but Helen had brushed her excuses aside.
The truth was that Sabrina had never taken on a case like this before. In New York, she’d been confident she was up to the job; now she wasn’t so sure.
Located in a low building, its plastered façade mottled brown and cream, and covered with ivy, La Pasta D’Orata didn’t look like a Michelin-starred restaurant. There was nothing on its signage that gave it away. An empty terrace sat out front, and although the iron shutters weren’t pulled down, the glass frontage appeared locked up.
Sabrina stopped and put her map away. Then she took a deep breath. Pull yourself together, Bennett. Standing here worrying about it wasn’t going to get the job done.
Slowly exhaling, she straightened her back, walked up to the glass doors, and knocked.
Chapter Two
Adriano Bellini was in the middle of helping his team prep for the dinner service when he heard someone knocking on the restaurant doors.
He put down the knife he was using to crush garlic, and cursed under his breath. “Daniele, vai tu!” he ordered the young man kneading pasta dough beside him. “You go—I’m not telling another tourist we don’t serve meals at 3.30 in the afternoon.”
Daniele laughed before wiping his hands on a damp cloth. Tall and thin, with a mop of curly black hair, Daniele was his nephew. He was also the restaurant manager, and as such it was best to send him to deal with uninvited visitors.
Daniele disappeared into the front of the restaurant. Adriano heard the low timbre of his voice as he greeted someone, and the rise and fall of a feminine voice. Moments later, Daniele reappeared.
“There’s a woman to see you, Adriano.”
“Me? Who is it?”
“She asked for you specifically—said her name’s Sabrina.”
Adriano frowned. He didn’t know anyone by that name, and he had a mountain of work to deal with this afternoon. He didn’t need interruptions. “What does she want?”
Daniele went over to the sink and washed his hands. “She didn’t say.”
Adriano glowered at him. “Great—I may as well have answered the door myself.”
Daniele grinned at him. “Don’t look so sour. She’s attractive.”
Adriano pushed past him. “What do I care?”
Wiping his hands on a damp cloth, Adriano emerged into the front of the restaurant. He wove his way through the tightly packed tables, covered in checked tablecloths, his gaze shifting to the young woman who awaited him in the doorway.
Despite his comment a moment earlier, Adriano’s gaze slid over his visitor appreciatively. Daniele’s description didn’t do her justice. Dressed in tight jeans and a fitted cotton shirt that was open just enough to show off her cleavage, the woman had luscious curves. She wore silver-hooped earrings, her mane of dark hair rippling over her shoulders, and she held herself proudly.
He had thought her Italian but, as he strode toward her, he took in her pale skin and jade green eyes and revised his opinion. Few Italian women had skin like that. It looked as if it had never seen a Mediterranean summer.
“Buonasera,” she greeted him. Her voice was slightly husky. “I’m sorry to bother you.”
“Well you have,” he replied shortly. “What do you want?”
Her emerald gaze widened at his abruptness. “I’m here to ask about work.”
“What kind—can you cook?”
She shook her head. “I’m a waitress. Do you have any positions available?”
Adriano sighed. She was a lovely creature, but she was wasting his time. “We’ve got all the wait staff we need at present.”
The young woman’s face fell. “I’m a hard worker,” she continued, “and I’ve got a lot of experience—you won’t have to waste time training me.”
Adriano gave her a cool look. “You speak Italian, but I can’t place your accent. Where are you from?”
“New York,” she replied. “My mother’s Italian.”
Adriano noticed she had full, sensual lips and long, dark eyelashes. Lust arrowed through him, catching him off guard.
Daniele appeared at his elbow then. His nephew was grinning at Sabrina. “We need someone front of house who’s fluent in English,” he told Adriano. “Roberto struggles serving tourists. Yesterday, he completely mixed up the orders. He served a man a plate of peas when he asked for pizza!”
The young woman smiled at this, although Adriano clenched his jaw. He would need to have a chat to Daniele later about discretion.
Still smiling, she met Adriano’s eye. “See—sounds like you need me?”
“The answer’s still no,” he replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse us—we’ve got a dinner service to prepare.”
Her smile faded, and the disappointment that flared in her eyes nearly made him reconsider. She ope
ned her mouth, as if to argue the point, before reconsidering. “Thank you for your time,” she said stiffly before turning away.
Adriano watched her make her way toward the doors, admiring the gentle sway of her hips.
Daniele stepped close to him. “You know Marco called in sick?”
Adriano gave him a dark look. However, Daniele had a point—he’d forgotten that Marco wasn’t working today.
“You made me manager so you wouldn’t need to bother with staffing issues,” Daniele reminded him.
“It’s still me that pays the bills,” Adriano growled back. Daniele’s recent promotion had made him even cockier than usual.
“We’ve got a mountain of prep she can help with,” Daniele pressed. “Call her back—we need help.”
Sabrina was pushing the glass door open when Adriano called out to her in English. “What are you like at chopping vegetables?”
She swiveled, her sensual lips curving into a smile. “Great.”
“Va bene. We’re a man down in the kitchen tonight. You can help us prep for dinner. The wage is twelve euros an hour. Come and see me at the end of your shift, and I’ll pay you.”
Her face lit up and she walked back to him. “Does this mean I’m hired?”
“For tonight only. Follow Daniele through to the kitchen. He’ll get you an apron.”
“Thank you,” she said, extending her hand for him to shake. “You won’t regret it.”
Adriano shook her hand, and the frisson of heat that shot up his arm as their skin touched gave him a jolt.
Letting go, he frowned to mask his sudden discomposure and turned away. “Just keep your head down and keep out of everyone’s way, and you might last the night.”