by Heidi Rice
My head hurt, my scalp stinging as he dragged me closer, close enough to bury his face against my neck. I struggled, trying to pull away from him, revulsion skittering over my skin like a plague of cockroaches.
He twisted his fist in my hair, his tongue touching my neck. ‘Stop acting so high and mighty,’ he murmured. ‘Your mother was a highly priced whore. Carsoni will forget about the debt if you show him the proper appreciation.’
I wanted to scream, but the scream was locked in my throat. If I screamed, Jude would come to my rescue. I couldn’t risk endangering her too. Jude had no idea of the threats I’d already faced from Brutus and his boss, but this was worse. The terror was so huge now, I was almost gagging on it. But I couldn’t let him see that. Bullies, in my experience, were only emboldened if you showed them your fear.
I struggled in earnest. He let me go and I fell back a step.
‘We’re selling the house...’ I pleaded. ‘It’s worth at least the five million we owe.’ Or I hoped it was.
I had no idea where we were going to live. But we would survive. I was young and strong and a hard worker. And so was Jude. Maybe we wouldn’t have Belle Rivière any more. The small chateau was the only place we had felt safe, or important in our mother’s life, growing up. But however beautiful this place was—the meadows and pastures overflowing with wildflowers, the river running through the bottom of the property where we’d swum as children during those long idyllic summers, the elegance of the eighteenth-century design my mother’s grandfather had built as a summer house for his ailing wife—and, however much we loved it, it was just bricks and mortar and fond memories.
My efforts to save it, my refusal to sell it as soon as Jason had incurred the debt, had only got us deeper into trouble. It was way past time I faced reality. And stopped struggling against the inevitable. Or my reality could get a whole lot worse.
The hideous truth of how much worse had my blood running cold as Brutus stepped towards me, the lecherous smirk on his face making my skin crawl.
‘Maybe it’ll fetch what you owe,’ he said, glancing around the empty library, devoid of furniture now and books, because we’d had to sell the lot months ago to service the interest on Jason’s debt. ‘And maybe it won’t,’ he added, his gaze landing back on me. ‘Either way, money isn’t what the boss wants any more.’
Fury rose up like a tidal wave to cover the fear. ‘Tough, because money is all he’s going to get from me.’
The slap was so sudden, and so shocking, I didn’t have a chance to brace.
The pain exploded in my cheekbone, snapping my head back. I slammed into the floor, rapping my elbow on the hard wood as I attempted to break my fall.
‘You think?’ Brutus said, the casualness of his brutality shocking me almost as much as the pain now ricocheting through my tired body as he stood over me.
I tried to slap his hands away as he grabbed my hair again, but my movements were jerky and uncoordinated, my mind entering another dimension of shock and loss and terror as he lifted me off the ground.
‘Let’s see how high and mighty you are once you realise what the alternative is,’ he said, the calm, conversational tone striking terror into my heart.
I kicked out at him and he hit me again. Even prepared for the pain this time, the slap exploded on my cheek and released the scream I had tried to keep locked in my throat. The buzzing in my head became louder, like whirring blades.
Swish, swish, swish. As if a helicopter were landing in the library. I thought of Dante, his eyes burning into mine, telling me he wanted me.
I could hear Jude’s crying, the door rattling.
‘Edie, Edie, open the door. What’s happening in there?’
My dazed mind realised that Brutus had locked it when we came in here—to discuss our latest payment. The fear became huge. I kicked at his shins and he let me go. I stumbled and fell, then scrambled up, trying to run, trying to hide from those cruel fists. But the room was bare—where could I go?
I heard shouting outside, a deep voice I recognised.
He’s not here... No one can save you but yourself.
‘Come here.’ Brutus grabbed me again, strong fingers digging into my arm hard enough to bruise.
An almighty crash startled us both. I watched the door smash inwards and fly off its hinges.
Dante Allegri strode into the room like an avenging angel, followed by his casino manager. My mind whirred like the blades of that imaginary helicopter.
Not imaginary—had Dante come to save me?
‘Call the police, Joe,’ he shouted, reaching us in a few strides.
You’re dreaming. It’s not him. Why would he come to save you?
Brutus’ bruising fingers released me.
‘Who the—?’ The words cut off as Dante’s fist connected with the henchman’s jaw. Brutus’s big body folded in on itself in slow motion.
I watched him drag himself up as Dante approached him. Then, like all bullies, he raced out of the door, shoving past Joseph Donnelly and my sister.
I skittered back, crouched on the floor now, as I watched my attacker run. His footfalls echoed in my aching head—which had been stuffed full of cotton wool.
Was this really happening or was I imagining it all?
The brief jolt of euphoria turned to turmoil. A part of me knew I was in shock. But as Dante walked back towards me, flexing his fingers, the knuckles bleeding, the full import of what had happened smacked into me. The fear, the confusion, the panic cracked open like an earthquake inside me. Until all that was left was the pain.
I wrapped my arms around my knees, my whole body trembling so violently I was scared I might shake myself apart.
He knelt down, that handsome face so close to me I could smell him—spicy cologne and cedar soap and man. But still I didn’t believe it. Why was he here? Why had he saved me? And then I remembered. I owed him a million euros.
‘Bella,’ he murmured as gentle fingers touched my cheek.
I flinched, tears leaking out of my eyes. Tears I knew I shouldn’t shed. Because they were tears of self-pity.
Jude appeared by my side. ‘Edie...he hit you? That bastard...’
I flinched again as she cried, her sobbing making the pain in my head and my heart so much worse. I pressed my bruised face into my knees. I didn’t want Dante to see me like this. Brutalised and terrified and unable to defend myself. I was so ashamed.
But I couldn’t run, or hide. I hurt all over now—the pain in my face, and my elbow, and my ribs, no longer dull and indistinct but sharp and throbbing as the adrenaline of my scuffle with Brutus wore off. I was so weary, my bones felt as if they were anchored to the floor.
I shrank into myself, with some childish notion that if I couldn’t see him—and the pity on his face—he wouldn’t be able to see me.
‘Stop crying,’ Dante said to Jude, his voice soft but steely. ‘And call an ambulance for your sister.’
‘Already done,’ Joe, the casino manager, interrupted from above me. ‘Hey, colleen, come with me; your sister’s going to be okay. Dante will take care of her now,’ he said.
My sister’s crying became muffled and distant, the casino manager’s soft Irish brogue comforting her as their footsteps faded away.
Dante will take care of her now.
I stifled the pang of something agonising under my breastbone at the words. How pathetic, to want it to be true. I wasn’t Dante’s responsibility.
I kept my head buried in my knees and began to rock, even though each movement made the pain increase. The yearning would show on my face and I couldn’t bear for him to know how much his kindness meant to me.
‘Look at me, bella.’ The gentle demand reminded me of the night before, the moment when I’d lost everything on the final turn of the cards. Or thought I’d lost everything. Why did this feel so much worse? Perhaps beca
use, even now, I wanted to cling to the kindness he was showing me. Wanted to believe it meant something, other than the obvious thing. That he pitied the pathetic creature I had become.
I shook my head, unable to speak, still unable to look at him.
‘How badly did he hurt you?’ he asked and I heard the suppressed fury in his voice. ‘And who was he?’ he added. ‘That he dared put his hands on you like that?’
I could hear more than just fury in his voice now. The underlying thread of protectiveness, and outrage, speaking to a place deep inside me which I had kept buried for so long. I couldn’t allow those needs to consume me again, the way they had when I was a little girl, or they might very well destroy me.
‘I’m okay,’ I managed. ‘Please could you leave now?’
I heard a rough breath—halfway between a sigh and a curse—and sensed him sitting on the floor beside me.
‘Not going to happen, bella,’ he said, the gruff endearment as painful as the aching pain in my cheekbone where Brutus had struck me. ‘You owe me a million euro, remember.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
EDIE LIFTED HER HEAD. That had got her attention.
Rage fired through my body when I saw the red mark on her cheek where that bastard had attacked her. Who was he? A boyfriend? A husband? A pimp?
I dismissed the last possibility instantly, knowing it was beneath me and her. Just because her mother had enjoyed the protection of a string of rich men did not mean Edie was willing to sell herself to the highest bidder.
Dressed in jeans and sneakers and a T-shirt, her face devoid of make-up and her arms clasping her knees as if she were trying to hold herself together, she looked impossibly young and vulnerable. Too vulnerable.
I stifled the renewed pang of sympathy making my chest ache. The medics arriving stopped me from questioning her further about the scene I had interrupted. It was a welcome pause. I needed a chance to get a grip on the emotions rioting through me.
But as I stepped back to let them check her for a concussion and assess her injuries, it was a major struggle to remain calm and focused.
I’d come here in anger to demand she pay the money she owed me. To punish her for cheating me. And running out on me. Instead I’d walked in on a scene that had turned my fury with her—a fury which I knew now had been about a lot more than just the money—into something a great deal more complicated.
Seeing that bastard with his hands on her had ignited not just my natural rage—against any man who would treat a woman in such a way—but something more personal. As my fist had connected with the bastard’s jaw and I’d felt the satisfying crunch of bone on bone it hadn’t been the instinct to protect a being more vulnerable than myself, but rather the spark of something dark and possessive—a spark that had been ignited the night before, the moment I had touched my lips to hers and felt her livewire response to my kiss—that had been driving me.
I was forced to acknowledge that it was that possessive instinct too which had propelled me all the way to Northern France from Monaco this afternoon in the first place.
After all, I’d never felt the need to track down a fraudster personally before.
As she answered the paramedic’s questions, I struggled to even my breathing and compose myself. The bright afternoon light flooded through dusty windows and I noticed for the first time the complete lack of furniture in the room, which must once have been some sort of library. Paint peeled from the woodwork and the faded wallpaper on the ceiling had old stains where water had leaked through from the floor above. As I studied the rundown state of the room’s décor, I recalled the generally dilapidated state of the stonework on the building’s exterior and the overgrown gardens which I had noticed when the helicopter had touched down outside.
The place was virtually derelict. The opposite of what I’d expected to find when I’d been obsessing about confronting Edie on her home turf in the helicopter ride from Monaco.
I’d convinced myself, after she’d run out on me and Joe had alerted me to the fraudulent bank draft, that she was a spoilt, indulged young woman who didn’t like to pay her dues. It was a picture she’d deliberately helped to create during our evening together. But the sorry state of her mother’s chateau told a very different story.
The skirmish I had interrupted between her and a man twice her size had been shocking enough—and I intended to find out exactly what that was about as soon as the medics had given Edie the all-clear. But, from everything I’d seen so far, it was clear to me that, far from being spoilt brats, Edie and her sister were destitute, or close to it.
While her desperation didn’t excuse her decision to enter the poker game fraudulently and then flee, I felt strangely vindicated that she was not what she had originally appeared to be. Perhaps this explained my confusing responses to her.
The young female paramedic finally finished assessing Edie. I escorted her and her colleague from the room. When we reached the door I murmured, ‘How is she?’
‘She’s okay. No signs of concussion, just some nasty bruises,’ the female paramedic told me in French as she hefted her case back onto her shoulder. ‘I’ll wait outside for the gendarmes and apprise them of her condition when they arrive so they can add it to their report.’ The medic glanced over her shoulder at Edie, who sat alone on the room’s window seat, staring out at the chateau’s overgrown garden. ‘I hope they find the bastard who did this.’
Not as much as I do.
‘Will she need a follow-up appointment?’ I asked, trying to keep my fury under wraps.
The woman shook her head. ‘Keep an eye on her for the next few hours. If she becomes lethargic or disorientated call us back immediately. She’ll have some impressive bruises tomorrow, but otherwise she should be okay. Apart from the psychological trauma, of course,’ she added darkly.
Thanking her again as she left, I returned to Edie, who looked small and frail in the empty room.
She turned towards me as I approached. ‘You’re still here?’ she said, the wistful tone disconcerting me.
‘Of course,’ I replied, annoyed at the implication that I would leave without ensuring she was all right. ‘I need to speak to the gendarmes. I intend to give them a detailed description of the man who attacked you.’ I glanced at my watch. Joe had called them a good fifteen minutes ago. ‘When they finally arrive.’
‘Would you consider...?’ She hesitated.
‘Would I consider what?’ I asked, the weariness in her voice and her body language making the pang worse.
‘Would you consider not telling them about the bank draft? I’ll pay you back every penny, I swear. But I can’t do that if you press charges.’
I had absolutely no intention of informing the police about the bank draft, but I decided not to tell her that yet. There were a lot of questions I wanted answered... No, I needed answered. And the one million euros she owed me was the only leverage I had.
‘How will you pay it back?’ I asked, giving the empty room a pointed once-over. I didn’t give a damn about the money any more, but I wanted to know exactly how bad her circumstances were. ‘You don’t appear to have much more left to sell.’
She blinked furiously, then looked away in a vain attempt to hide her distress. The pang sharpened in my chest. The sunlight shining through dusty glass illuminated the sheen of anguish she was trying so valiantly to contain.
‘I...’ She swallowed, the bold determination in the green depths reminding me of the woman who had captivated me so comprehensively at the poker table last night. ‘We still own Belle Rivière,’ she said. ‘Even in its present state, it should fetch just about enough to pay off the mortgage we have on it and what we owe you and Carsoni.’
‘Jean-Claude Carsoni?’ I snapped. What the hell did that bastard have to do with this situation? ‘You owe him money? How much?’
I did a quick calculation. It had to be a subs
tantial sum because her home, however forlorn it might look, would be worth well over ten million euro.
And she’d said ‘we’.
So whose debts was she paying off here? Because, from the cautious, clever way she’d played Texas Hold ’Em, right up until that kiss had distracted us both, she hadn’t struck me as a problem gambler. Not only that but, after the bank draft had bounced, Joe had wired the picture taken by the security cameras when she’d entered The Inferno to all our competitors to identify her, and not one of them had ever seen or heard of her. I’d dismissed the possibility she might be a novice gambler this morning during the helicopter ride to Chantilly, because I’d been way too busy fuming about her deception.
But now I wasn’t so sure. Was it possible she had little or no experience at the tables? My admiration for her—and the way she’d played—increased, which only disturbed me more.
I wasn’t usually drawn to vulnerable, needy women—and under that tough cookie shell that was exactly what Edie Trouvé appeared to be—especially if she was up to her eyeballs in debt to a bastardo like Carsoni.
‘You know Carsoni?’ she said, sounding surprised.
‘Enough to have him banned from operating his money-lending services anywhere near my casinos.’
Carsoni was a leech who preyed on problem gamblers then charged them criminal levels of interest they couldn’t possibly repay.
I flexed my fingers, the slight throbbing in my knuckles reminding me of the creep I’d dispatched. ‘Was that one of his men, bella?’ I asked, my concern for her increasing tenfold.
She wasn’t my responsibility. Or shouldn’t be. But the slow-burning anger smouldering in my gut—and the desire to take Carsoni by the throat with my bare hands and strangle him for daring to let his goons touch her—was telling me I was not going to be able to walk away from this mess. However much I might want to.
She looked out of the window again. ‘I don’t see how that’s any of your business.’