The Italian's Revenge

by Michelle Reid

  ‘A language thing, obviously,’ his mother suggested. ‘Marietta said something to Santo the last time he was here that he clearly misunderstood, and he said something to Marietta that she misunderstood. Such a silly thing to get fired up about.’

  ‘I didn’t misunderstand,’ Santo insisted.

  ‘Santino!’ Vito turned his attention back to his son. Everyone had been talking in Italian until that point, but Vito’s next sentence was delivered in clear, crisp English. ‘You will apologise to Marietta now! Do you understand that?’

  The little boy was close to tears; Catherine could see that, even though he was determined to face the whole thing out with an intransigence that was promising to be his downfall.

  ‘Oh, don’t make him do that, Vito.’ It was Marietta who came to Santo’s rescue. Marietta sounding beautifully placating. ‘He meant no offence. He’s just a little angry because I corrected his Italian.’

  ‘No, you didn’t!’ the little boy protested. ‘You said I was a nuisance and that when papà married you he wouldn’t want me any more! And I hate you, Papà!’ he turned to shout at his father. ‘And I won’t say sorry! I won’t—I won’t—I won’t!’

  Shocked surprise at his son’s vehemence hardened Vito’s face. ‘Then you—’

  ‘Santo,’ Catherine said quietly, over whatever Vito had been about to say to him, and brought all four pairs of eyes swinging around in her direction.

  And if Catherine had never been made to feel like the poor relation in this house before, she was certainly feeling that way now, as she stood there in her scrap of cheap cotton and took in with one brief, cold glance Marietta, looking smooth and sleek and faultlessly exquisite in her shiny black dress and shiny black shoes and with her shiny black hair stroking over one shoulder.

  ‘Oh, Catherine!’ It was poor, anxious Luisa that burst into speech. ‘What must you be thinking?’

  ‘I am thinking that this—altercation seems to be very lopsided,’ she answered, without taking her eyes from her belligerent son. Silently she held out a hand to him, and with that simple gesture brought him running to her.

  Vito was glaring at her for overriding his authority. Luisa was wringing her hands because her peaceful little haven had been shattered and she never could cope with that. And Marietta watched sympathetically as Catherine knelt down so her face was at her son’s level.

  ‘Santo, were you rude to Marietta?’ She quietly requested his opinion.

  He dropped his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he mumbled truculently.

  ‘And do you think that deserves an apology?’

  The dark head shook, then came back up, and Catherine could see that the tears were real now in big brown eyes. ‘I never said what she said I did, Mummy,’ he whispered pleadingly. ‘I just wouldn’t,’ he added simply. ‘I like Papà being married to you.’

  Catherine nodded. As far as she was concerned Santo had stated it as honestly as he knew how and the conflict was now over, because she was not going to make her son apologise to a woman she knew from personal experience could twist any situation round to suit her own purposes.

  ‘Then you go off to your room,’ she told Santo. ‘And I’ll come and see you there in a few minutes.’

  ‘Catherine—’ Vito wanted to protest, seeing his influence being thoroughly undermined here, but Catherine continued to ignore him as she came upright and sent her son off without offering anyone the chance to do anything about it.

  When she turned to face all of those that were left, she found three completely different expressions being aimed right back at her. Vito—angry. Luisa—upset. And Marietta—smiling like a cat who’d pinched the last of the cream.

  And why not? Catherine allowed. Within minutes of arriving here she had managed to stir up trouble between every single one of them.

  ‘Good grief, Catherine, what a temper your son has!’ Marietta broke the silence with a mocking little laugh. ‘Sadly, I seem to have a knack of inadvertently sparking it off! I shall attempt to stay out of his way while I am staying here,’ she determined ruefully.

  Staying here? Catherine turned to look at Vito, who was looking as puzzled as she was by the comment.

  ‘Marietta arrived home from the States this morning to find her apartment under water,’ Luisa jumped in hurriedly. ‘A burst water pipe while she was away has ruined everything, so of course I invited her to stay here while the repair work is being done.’

  Of course, Catherine parodied, feeling an old-remembered weariness begin to settle over her like a thick black cloud.

  ‘I have just placed my things in the rooms next to Vito’s rooms,’ Marietta inserted sweetly. ‘If you want to know where to find me.’

  ‘No.’

  The harsh negative did not come from Catherine’s lips, though it very well could have done, since she was thinking the exact same thing as Vito obviously was by the way he had stiffened his stance. Was he remembering a conversation they’d had recently, where the question of which rooms Marietta used when she stayed here had been the one of too many points of conflict between the two of them?

  The woman had a special knack of making other people out to be liars.

  ‘Whoever put you there has made a mistake,’ he said tersely. ‘If you need to stay here, Marietta, then stay in my mother’s wing of the house. Catherine and I desire our privacy.’

  ‘Of course,’ Marietta instantly conceded. ‘I will move rooms immediately. And I apologise that Luisa and I did not take into consideration the—newness of your reconciliation when we chose my rooms.’

  And the poison barbs fly thick and fast, Catherine observed as Luisa began to look anxious again, which made her wonder if her mother-in-law had had any say at all in which room Marietta had chosen to use.

  On top of that, Vito was getting really touchy now, she noted, as his frown deepened into a real scowl. First his son had annoyed him, then his wife by interfering, and now his mother, by placing Marietta where he didn’t want her to be.

  In fact the only person he did not seem cross with was dear Marietta. Clever girl, Catherine silently commended her as Marietta deftly flipped the conversation over to business things and proceeded to dominate his attention to the exclusion of everyone else.

  Catherine left them to it to go in search of her son, whom she found sitting slouched over a large box of building blocks from where he was picking one up at random then throwing it sullenly back into the pile.

  Chivvying him up with a determined brightness aimed to overlay the ugliness of the scene downstairs, she helped him with his bath then curled up on the bed beside him to read a couple of his favourite stories to him. Then, when she saw his eyes begin to droop, she kissed him gently goodnight and got up to leave.

  ‘I don’t like Marietta,’ he mumbled suddenly. ‘She’s always spoiling things.’

  Out of the mouths of babes, Catherine thought dryly.

  ‘Do you like her?’ he shot at her.

  Well, do I lie or tell the truth? she wondered ruefully. And on a deep breath admitted, ‘No. But Nonna does. So for Nonna’s sake we have to be nice to her, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ he agreed, but very reluctantly. ‘But will you tell Papà for me that I’m sorry I shouted at him? I don’t think he likes me now.’

  ‘You can tell me yourself,’ a voice said from the doorway.

  They both glanced around to find Vito leaning there, looking as if he had been standing like that for ever—which probably meant he had overheard everything.

  A quick glance at his face as she walked towards him told Catherine he didn’t look pleased. But then, who did around here? she wondered grimly.

  ‘We need to talk,’ he murmured as she reached him.

  ‘You just bet we do,’ she replied. And once again the mutual antagonism was rife between them. Whatever they had managed to achieve in bed today had now been almost wiped away by one very clever lady.

  They met in their bedroom when it was time to change for dinner. Catherine was already there,
waiting for him when he came through the door with all guns blazing.

  ‘Right,’ he fired at her. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing undermining my authority over Santo like that?’

  ‘And what the hell did you think you were doing forcing him to take no other stand in front of everyone?’ she shot right back.

  ‘The boy was rude,’ Vito gritted unapologetically.

  ‘Our son was upset!’ Catherine snapped. ‘Have you any idea how it must have felt to him to have his own words twisted around like that?’

  ‘Maybe he was the one who did the twisting, Catherine,’ Vito grimly pointed out. ‘Marietta was only trying to make pleasant conversation with him and...’

  Catherine stopped listening. She’d heard more than enough as it was. On an angry twist of her heel she turned and walked out onto the balcony, leaving Vito talking to fresh air.

  Out here the air was warm, after the air-conditioned coolness of the bedroom, and tiptoe quiet—soothing in its own way. Leaning her forearms on the stone balustrade, she tried breathing in some deep gulps of that warm air in an effort to dispel the angry frustration that was simmering inside her.

  Because the hurt she felt, the disappointment and frustration at Vito’s dogged championship of Marietta, only made her wonder why Vito had gone chasing all the way to London when it was so very clear to her that Santo came in a poor second-best to dear Marietta.

  Pulling the glass French door shut behind him, Vito came to lean beside her. He knew as well as she did that the earlier row was not over.

  ‘You can be so aggravating sometimes,’ he censured. ‘Did no one ever tell you that it is rude to walk out when someone is speaking to you?’

  ‘Which makes me rude and Santo rude all in one day,’ she said tartly. ‘My, but we must be hell to live with.’

  His sigh was almost a laugh, his sense of humour touched by her sarcasm, which actually managed to cool some of the angry heat out of her. And for the next few moments neither said anything as they gazed out at the view.

  It was fully dark outside, but a three-quarter moon was casting silver shadows on the silk-dark water, and Naples was sparkling like fairy dust on a blanket of black velvet.

  A beautiful sight. A sensually soothing sight.

  ‘Did you tell Santo off just now?’ she asked eventually.

  ‘No, of course not,’ he denied. ‘I apologised to him for losing my temper. I’m not a fool, Catherine,’ he added gruffly. ‘I know I behaved no better down there than Santo did.’

  Well, that was something, she supposed. ‘So you’re both friends again?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, but he wasn’t comfortable with it all. ‘Marietta’s right,’ he muttered frowningly. ‘He does seem to have developed a temper—’

  ‘Marietta can keep her opinion about my son to herself!’ Catherine returned tightly. ‘And while she’s at it she can go and stay at a damned hotel!’

  ‘Hell, don’t start on that one, for goodness’ sake,’ Vito pleaded wearily. ‘You know I can’t stop her from staying here!’

  ‘Well, either she goes or we go,’ Catherine informed him. ‘And while we are on the subject of Marietta,’ she added tightly, ‘you lied to me about her.’

  ‘I did?’ he sighed wearily. ‘When was that, exactly?’

  ‘When you led me to believe that you would be marrying her after we divorced. But the question of marriage between you two was never an option, was it?’

  ‘Ah.’ Vito grimaced. ‘Would you care to tell me how you came to that conclusion?’

  ‘Marietta herself told me,’ she replied. ‘When she was forced into twisting Santo’s words around to cover up her own lies.’

  ‘Or corrected a misunderstanding between two people who naturally speak two different languages?’ he smoothly suggested.

  A shrug of her shoulders dismissed the difference. ‘Whichever, it still means that our son upset himself badly over nothing, and you brought me back here under a threat that was a lie.’

  ‘I did not lie,’ he denied. ‘In fact I told you quite plainly why I wanted you back here with me.’

  ‘You mean the revenge for your hurt pride thing?’ she said, turning to look at him.

  He was already looking at her, and their eyes clashed with a heat that set her insides burning. ‘Did what we shared today feel like revenge to you?’ he countered very softly.

  No, it hadn’t. Catherine silently admitted it. But the only other alternative she could come up with for his motives was just too unreliable to contemplate.

  So she changed the subject. ‘But you did promise me that if I came back here, then Marietta would be kept out of our lives.’

  ‘I never made that promise.’ He denied that also. ‘If you remember, Catherine, I told you that I couldn’t make that kind of promise.’

  She released a small sigh, anger coming to life on the wings of frustration. ‘In the name of decency, Vito. A man does not keep his mistress under the same roof as his wife!’

  ‘I’m not telling you again that she isn’t my mistress,’ he snapped.

  ‘Ex-mistress, then. Whatever.’ She shrugged. ‘She should not be here and you know she should not be here!’

  ‘I know that you are crazy, obsessed and just downright delusional,’ he told her.

  Catherine’s chin came around, eyes flashing green in the darkness. ‘Okay, so I’m crazy.’ She freely admitted it. ‘You have married yourself to an absolute lunatic with obsessive tendencies and paranoid delusions. Now deal with the lunatic’s delusions before she does something about them herself!’ she advised.

  Despite himself, Vito laughed. ‘Now I do know you are crazy, for admitting all of that,’ he murmured ruefully.

  ‘Comes with the hair and the green eyes,’ she explained. ‘I believe I can cast spells too, and ride on a broomstick. Which also means I can tell a fellow witch when I meet one.’

  ‘Meaning?’ He was still smiling, fooled by her light tone into thinking the other subject was over.

  But the smile died when she said. ‘Marietta. Wicked Witch of the North, complete with black hair, black eyes, black heart—and a yen for other people’s husbands.’

  ‘She has been a close friend of this family for as far back as I care to remember,’ Vito reminded her. ‘I will not, on that point alone, think of alienating Marietta simply because you cannot like her.’

  And that, Catherine acknowledged, is telling me.

  ‘What about doing it because your son cannot like her?’ she therefore suggested.

  ‘He dislikes what you dislike.’

  ‘Ah, so it’s my fault,’ she mused dryly. ‘I should have expected it.’

  But what really annoyed her was that he didn’t deny it. ‘I refuse to pander to unfounded prejudice,’ he stated firmly instead.

  Staring out across the bay, Catherine’s eyes changed from flashing green to winter-grey, as if they were absorbing the bleakness in the moonlight. So he wanted sound proof of Marietta’s prejudice towards them? she pondered. Well, she had that proof, circumstantial though it was.

  The point was, did she tell him? For the last time she had brought up the subject she had demolished him so utterly that she’d vowed never to do that to him again.

  Then she remembered their son, and the kind of depths Marietta’s obsession with Vito had forced her to sink to—and with a sigh that told of a heaviness which went too deep for words, she made her decision. ‘On the day I started to lose our baby,’ she began, ‘I rang around everywhere looking for you. I eventually tracked you down at Marietta’s apartment.’

  ‘I know that.’ He was already stiffening. ‘I have never denied to you where I was.’

  Only his excuse for being there had been to get drunk and find oblivion from his nagging wife. Marietta’s version had been very different.

  ‘Why, then, if Marietta woke you immediately, did it take you six hours after that call to arrive at my hospital bed?’ she asked. ‘The traffic bad, was it?’ she taunted
softly as his face began to drain. ‘Or maybe you ran out of petrol? That is another male euphemism for being busy in bed with someone else, I believe. Or maybe—just maybe,’ she then added grimly, ‘Marietta didn’t bother to pass on my message until she felt like it, hmm? What does that tell you about your precious Marietta?’ she demanded—only to instantly withdraw the question.

  ‘No, don’t tell me,’ she said. ‘Because in truth I don’t really care what it tells you, when really there is no excuse you can offer as to why you went from me to her that day, or why you weren’t there for me when I needed you to be. But from now on when I tell you that that woman is poison where I am concerned, you believe me,’ she insisted. ‘And you keep her away from both me and my son or we leave here. And if that is prejudice, then that’s fine by me. But it is also a rock-solid promise.’

  After that, the silence droned like the heavy pulse of a hammer drill while they both stood there watching Naples twinkle. How much of that Vito had already known and how much he had been stubbornly hiding from himself was impossible to tell. But Catherine knew one thing for sure, and that was if he still persisted in standing in Marietta’s corner after what she’d just said, then it really was over for them.

  Okay,’ he said finally, deeply—flatly. ‘I will see what I can do about the situation. There are a couple of new ventures on the planning table at the moment,’ he murmured—thinking on his feet again, Catherine made note. ‘One in New York, one in Paris. Marietta would be the ideal person to oversee either one of them. But it will take time for me to set it up,’ he warned. ‘She is going to need time to clear any outstanding projects from her desk before she can go anywhere. And my mother’s birthday is coming up,’ he then reminded her. ‘It will be her sixty-fifth and she is planning a big party here to celebrate. She will expect Marietta to be here for it, Catherine, you must see that.’

  Did she? she asked herself. No, actually, she didn’t. But she could accept that Vito had a right to protect his mother from hurt just as Catherine had a right to protect herself and her son.

  ‘Two weeks,’ he repeated huskily. ‘And I promise you that she will be gone from this house and gone from Naples...’