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Innocent in the Italian's Possession
Janette Kenny
Gemma groaned in protest at the kiss ending too soon, and looked up into Stefano’s eyes.
Suddenly she was all too aware of standing in his embrace, her breasts pressed to his chest, her belly flush with the flat planes of his abdomen, and the hard evidence of his desire.
She scrambled out of his reach, hating his assumption that she was his for the taking now. Hating herself even more for letting this situation spiral out of control.
He was a playboy, arrogantly sure of his prowess. He was rich and sought-after and likely believed every woman he met would gladly crawl into his bed. She certainly didn’t want to feel this burning pull toward him, but she couldn’t squash it either.
Yes, the sooner they got this business over with, the sooner she and Stefano could settle into a suitable work arrangement as secretary and boss.
For as long as Janette Kenny can remember, plots and characters have taken up residence in her head. Her parents, both voracious readers, read her the classics when she was a child. That gave birth to a deep love for literature, and allowed her to travel to exotic locales—those found between the covers of books. Janette’s artist mother encouraged her yen to write. As an adolescent she began creating cartoons featuring her dad as the hero, with plots that focused on the misadventures on their family farm, and she stuffed them in the nightly newspaper for him to find. To her frustration, her sketches paled in comparison with her captions.
Her first real writing began with fan fiction, taking favourite TV shows and writing episodes and endings she loved—happily ever after, of course. In her junior year of high school she told her literature teacher she intended to write for a living one day. His advice? Pursue the dream, but don’t quit the day-job.
Though she dabbled with articles, she didn’t fully embrace her dream to write novels until years later, when she was a busy cosmetologist making a name for herself in her own salon. That was when she decided to write the type of stories she’d been reading—romances.
Once the writing bug bit, an incurable passion consumed her to create stories and people them. Still, it was seven more years and that many novels before she saw her first historical romance published. Now that she’s also writing contemporary romances for Mills & Boon®, she finally knows that a full-time career in writing is closer to reality.
Janette shares her home and free time with a chow-shepherd mix pup she rescued from the pound, who aspires to be a lap dog. She invites you to visit her website at www.jankenny.com. She loves to hear from readers—e-mail her at janette@jankenny.com
Innocent In The Italian’s Possession
By
Janette Kenny
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.Г .r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
В® and в„ў are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with В® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
First published in Great Britain 2010
Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited,
The News Building, 1 London Bridge Street,
London SE1 9GF
В© Janette Kenny 2010
ISBN: 978-1-408-91904-0
Version: 2018-07-18
CHAPTER ONE
GEMMA CARDONE hurried down the hall toward the executive suite of Marinetti Shipyard, heart pounding and nerves snapping like a ship’s sails. Church bells chimed six times, the distant echo clear in the quiet Tuscan morning.
Since the day she’d come to work in Viareggio nine months ago, she’d relished her leisurely morning walk to her office. Even inside the old building, the tall narrow windows reminded her of the arched portals of the stone train tunnel along Cinque Terre, giving a teasing glimpse of endless sky, the Ligurian Sea and the rugged cliffs that crashed into the water.
In the ancient village of Manarolo where she had been born and raised, the old-world buildings scrambled up the steep rocky cliffs as if clinging to the stone face like colorful gems.
On the same rugged cliffs grew the most magnificent grapes used to make a wine found nowhere else.
It was small and remote and older than time. Everywhere there were steps and narrow lanes. Yet she missed it dreadfully at times, for there was a peace there she’d never found anywhere else.
It was just the opposite here in Viareggio. It was close to Cinque Terre by sea, yet a world apart with a festive carnival and scores of ships and industry and more tourists than she’d ever seen in a season.
This seaside coastal town stretched along the endless sandy beaches, meeting the water in a gentle slope. The architecture was pure art nouveau and the pulse of the town was upbeat.
Every day she looked forward to coming to work for Cesare Marinetti at his shipyard. But not today.
Just one week ago a tragic accident had taken the life of Cesare’s wife and landed him in the hospital. Marinetti Shipyard had been shut down ever since, in mourning for Signora Marinetti and out of respect for the family.
Gemma had been on pins and needles since the funeral, worried sick about the heart attack that had kept Cesare hos-pitalized. It was no small wonder that the employees wondered when Cesare would be able to resume control of his shipyard. Until then, who would manage it in his stead?
The answer had come in the wee hours of the morning.
“I do not have long to talk,” Cesare had rasped in a voice clearly laced with pain. “The doctors say I need heart bypass surgery, and I believe them.” His sigh was long and weary, like one resigned to his fate. “The shipyard will open today, but I will not return to work for weeks.”
“Of course,” she said, her heart heavy over what he’d be facing with surgery and recuperation while still burdened with grief over losing his wife. “Who are you placing in charge of Marinetti?”
A thick curse rumbled over the line. “My son is taking over the shipyard.”
No! Cesare had called in the son who’d turned his back on him five years ago? The one who never called, never visited because he was too busy playing the part of consummate playboy?
“I confessed all, Gemma, now I live to regret it. You must go to the office immediately and remove all the documents pertaining to my daughter and you,” he said. “Take them home with you and keep them hidden. I cannot let the truth be known yet, not at this point and especially not to Stefano.”
Of course, Cesare was right. If his secret was made public now, it would rock Marinetti Shipyard and cause his family more hurt. She didn’t want to guess what undue grief it would bring his daughter in her fragile condition.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll take care of things.”
“Grazie! Be careful around Stefano and don’t let him know when you intend to travel to Milan.”
That warning played over and over in her mind as she hurried down the Promenade toward the shipyard. The bars, shops and cafes still slept, but it wouldn’t be long and the town would come awake. What other surprises would this day bring?
She hated to guess as she made her way toward the executive suite on the upper floor of Marinetti Shipyard. The heels on her Italian sandals tapped the wooden floor with an urgent beat that kept pace with her heart.
She simply couldn’t fail Cesare in this. Not now. Not after all they’d been through together.
The click of a door closing echoed up the stairwell just as she reached the end of the hall. She whipped around and went still as death, looking, listening.
Unease arched between her shoulder blades as a tense quiet hummed around her. She saw no one about. But a door had closed in the stairwell below. She was certain of it.
None of the office staff should be here yet. In fact there was no reason for any employee to come to work over an hour early. No good reason, that is.
It must be the security guard making his rounds. Yes, it must be.
Still, Gemma all but ran the last few meters to the paneled door of her office. She couldn’t get caught by anyone. That would raise questions she wasn’t prepared to answer, and she never had been able to tell a convincing lie.
She hurried into her small office painted cheery yellow and furnished with an efficient desk and chair, a quartet of padded chairs along the wall for guests, and a table arranged with a lamp and several magazines. Sunlight streamed through the window in a burst of welcome, but pausing to appreciate its beauty would have to wait.
She pushed into Cesare’s office and flipped the wall switch with a shaking finger. Before the soft light could chase the shadows to the dark corners of the paneled room, she was heading across the maroon and jade carpet toward the wall safe.
Despite the cool morning, sweat beaded her forehead and dampened her spine and palms. Her silk coral blouse clung to her breasts and her navy blue pencil skirt had ridden up her thighs from her uncharacteristic sprint. But she couldn’t take time to right her clothes, either.
An unsettling energy hummed in the air, as if a storm was moving in. Or trouble was brewing?
Please don’t let it be from within Marinetti.
They’d all been through enough. But she feared that’s just what would happen when Cesare’s son took over.
From what she’d overheard, Stefano Marinetti was ruthless in business and a lothario outside of it. Having seen him at the funeral, she didn’t doubt that rumor one bit!
Yes, he was praised for his rapier-quick decisions and ability to make millions. But he was an international playboy.
He hadn’t taken time to visit his parents in five long years. In her opinion, he could just stay away now.
Just recalling the latest headline splashed across the tabloids had her pursing her lips. Stefano’s superyacht business had skyrocketed while Marinetti Shipyard struggled from week to week to make payroll of late.
Cesare’s business rivals called him washed up. She knew the truth, but she couldn’t divulge where the fortune had gone.
She spun the dial on the safe with trembling fingers, the only sound in the room her pounding heart and the metered tick of the wall clock. Then she heard the heavy outside door snick open, but it was the masculine exchange of, “ciao,” echoing from the hall outside her office that nearly stopped her heart.
She pawed through the contents of the safe and removed the portfolio she needed with her heart in her throat, clinging to the tiny window of time afforded her as the two men outside lapsed into a rapid staccato of conversation. A quick look inside the dark safe proved the photos were stowed there as well.
She stuffed the lot of them inside her carryall, closed the wall safe and slipped from Cesare’s office into her own. Footsteps pounded in the hall, coming closer. Heavy, impatient strides.
Surely not a guard. She doubted he was a worker, either. No, in all likelihood, the man moments from bursting through the door was Cesare’s son.
Her heart raced as she eased onto her chair and tucked her carryall under her desk. She’d done it. Now all she had to do was don a professional air and appear to be dutifully busy.
The door swung open and a tall man strode inside, wearing an Armani suit that emphasized the width of his broad shoulders and fitted his long lean body to perfection. He stopped cold and cut her a quick impatient look, much the same expression he’d worn at his mother’s funeral.
Stefano Marinetti was a younger, more leonine version of Cesare. His wealth of coffee-brown hair had a sexy wave to it and his beautifully sculpted lips curved just enough to keep him from appearing cross.
Just like he’d done at the funeral, his discerning mocha eyes took their time caressing every inch of her until her skin tingled and her thighs trembled. Men had openly stared at her before, but never like this. Never with this open carnal hunger.
It was totally inappropriate behavior even for a flirtatious Italian. He wasn’t just undressing her with his hot gaze, he was getting under her skin and stroking her libido.
With effort, she broke eye contact and struggled to draw air deeply into her too tight lungs. Another mistake, for she inhaled his scent, an erotic spice that sank into her and left her giddy with want.
She hated this electric attraction to him, yet she was drawn to him all the same. It was maddening. Humiliating. Addictive.
Her heart rate trebled from the realization she’d have to work for this playboy until Cesare returned. She couldn’t do it. But she couldn’t not do it, either.
Her promise to Cesare echoed in her mind, but it was the memory of the gamine face of the little girl smiling up at her from her hospital bed that gave Gemma the strength to meet Stefano’s stare dead-on.
His presence dominated the room so completely she couldn’t have looked away again if she’d tried. She’d heard of imposing forces before, but she’d never been faced with one until now.
The tabloids had been right. His classic good looks rivaled the Roman gods. Contemplative. Intense. Sexy.
And impatient.
That was the unsettling energy she’d sensed before. This man was used to giving orders and having them obeyed immediately without question.
She could easily picture him as a Roman gladiator brazenly vanquishing his rivals. Or as a god lounging by a pool with a bevy of maidens at his beck and call.
Yes, his raw masculine beauty paled in comparison to the carnal energy that emanated from him. He was a businessman who oozed sensual charisma and he knew it. He flaunted it. He used it to his advantage, just as he was doing now to throw her totally off track.
Stefano was a dangerous predator here for one reason—to usurp Cesare. She’d do well to bear that in mind.
She forced a welcoming smile and struggled for a neutral tone. “Buongiorno, Signor Marinetti. May I personally extend my condolences on your mother’s untimely passing.”
He gave an impatient nod and scanned her office as if looking for something. “Where is Donna?”
“She retired nearly a year ago.”
His brows snapped together and the sculpted bow to his sensual mouth thinned. “When were you hired?”
“Nearly a year ago.”
“Interesting.” He treated her to another exacting perusal that left her flushed and feeling vulnerable and inadequate, which shouldn’t surprise her for she certainly wasn’t the type who’d appeal to this arrogant jet-setter. “You are?”
“Gemma Cardone.”
One devilishly black brow arched in a universally silent order that she expound on her role here.
She kept her smile in place and counted to twenty before appeasing his curiosity. “I am Cesare’s personal secretary.”
No emotion showed on his classically handsome face, but the expansive line of his shoulders snapped taut. “Are you in the habit of coming to work this early?”
“No,” she said honestly, for she was certain he’d discern a lie if she attempted to voice one now.
He was simply too observant as well as overwhelming to her senses. She’d sensed his dominance—no, his arrogance—at his mother’s funeral.
He’d seemed emotionless then. No, that wasn’t true. He’d seemed angry, like Etna rumbling deep and threatening to spew and destroy all.
She’d never been more aware of a man as she’d been then. She’d thought it a fluke until he’d walked through the door now and took command of the relaxed offices.
He was staring at her with eyes that were hard and nearly impossible to tear her gaze from. But she sensed his silent command for her to finish her thought. His impatient command.
Stefano Marinetti was dangerous.
It took every ounce of fortitude she could summon forth to hold her serene smile when she felt anything but composed. “I knew there would be a surfeit of correspondence to address in regard to Cesare’s heart attack and tragic loss.”
He gave a curt nod as if accepting her excuse. “That is good that you’ve taken the initiative in this delicate and most tragic matter.”
She wouldn’t lie about this. “Actually Cesare asked me to draft letters to his close friends and longtime business associates.”
“Cesare phoned you, then?” he asked, his voice as casual as if they were discussing the weather.
Even if she was good at weaving tales, it was too late to lie now. “Last night.”
“He is on strict bed rest.”
“It was a brief call,” she said, absently twirling the ring on her finger then stopping when the action drew his attention. Did anything slip past him? “We talked no more than a few minutes.”
“Did my father tell you to report to him daily?” he said, and this time there was no mistaking the steel ringing in his voice.
“No,” she said, and then certain he’d not believe the truth, asked with as much cheek as she could inflect in her tone, “Should I?”
A ghost of a smile teased those masculine lips that undoubtedly knew how to kiss a woman senseless. “Does my father call you Gemma or Ms. Cardone?”
“Cesare prefers an informal working environment.” Something Stefano would know if he hadn’t turned his back on his papa and the business years ago.
His features looked carved from stone, leaving her to guess he didn’t like the fact that she and his papa were on a first name basis. Fine, she was here to do all she could to help Cesare, not to please Stefano Marinetti.
Anger streaked through her as she thought of how much Cesare had needed help over the past nine months. If he’d only called on his son then. And what of Stefano? How much heartache could have been avoided if he’d been an attentive son?
Was he even aware of the financial troubles plaguing Marinetti Shipyard? Surely he’d heard the rumors. He should have contacted his papa then. He, with his boasted billions, should have offered to help his father.
But no, he’d waited until Cesare was grieving and in ill health before slithering back.
For Cesare’s sake, she’d count the days until Stefano took his leave. But heavens, she suspected it would be a struggle to keep her temper and her dignity around this spoiled, arrogant man.
“Very well, Gemma,” he said, her name rolling off his tongue like a caress that was so inappropriate she blushed. “As my father and I agree on this, we will continue to operate on an informal basis. Alert the department managers that I expect them in my office at two o’clock for a company meeting.”
“Today?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
“Not at all.”
Stefano walked into the office and closed the door behind him with a firm click that signaled he wished privacy until then. Fine! She wanted the same.
She desperately needed it after the rush to remove Cesare’s documents followed by her first meeting with Stefano.
She dropped onto her chair, shaken and angry and so relieved that she’d have a moment’s peace. But how long would it last?
Too long!
He was a handsome, virile man. A handsome, virile, arrogant man who was taking over and placing her in a very precarious position.
That’s what she needed to concentrate on. His unrea-sonable demands. And the fact that his father hadn’t trusted him with his deepest secret.
Oh, Cesare! She’d do anything for him. She’d done it already. But she’d do more.
Her unwanted attraction to Stefano had temporarily blind-sided her. Nothing more. She’d be better prepared the next time she was in his company.
“Scusi, Gemma,” he said, startling her with his nearness which came far too soon for her liking. “A moment, please.”
Never mind that her name rolled off his tongue like an endearment and feathered sensual awareness up her bare arms. So much for her vow to remain unaffected by him.
She forced a calm demeanor she surely didn’t feel. “What do you need?”
A smile teased his mouth which was at odds with the hot look he cast her. “Would you help me make coffee? I can never do it right.”
And he thought she could? She bit back that question and the sarcastic tone that begged to be loosed. “If you wish.”
“Grazie.”
She rose and smoothed down her skirt which had the annoying habit of creeping up her thighs. His heated gaze watched her every movement and she damned the warmth flooding her face as much as she damned the fact he had a knack for keeping her on edge. Purposely, she would bet!
Make his coffee indeed, she thought as she went about the simple task. Yes, she always prepared a pot for Cesare. She would do the same for his infuriating son from now on—before he arrived at the office.
“How do you take it?” she asked.
“Ristretto.”
She wasn’t surprised he preferred his strong and black. But she hadn’t expected his attentiveness to her every move. It was unnerving in the extreme.
“You make it look so easy,” he said when she had the coffee on and the rich aroma began filling the room.
She glanced up at him and was instantly ensnared by the hot promise in his eyes. Good grief, was he flirting with her?
Of course he was. All Italian men flirted, and Stefano was reputed to be an outrageous flirt. She’d just not had the opportunity to witness it before now.
“Is there anything else you need?” she asked, aiming for a cool voice that would let him know she wasn’t the least bit interested in him.
“Not at the moment,” he said, though the lusty gleam in his eyes contradicted his reply.
Her spine went stiff as she left the room that seemed far too close with him in it. How dare he be so cavalier with her one moment and charismatically male the next!
He’d likely find some task to interrupt her work later. She was certain of it.
Back at her desk, she set to work contacting the department managers. Most asked when Cesare would return to work. Others expressed concerns about what would happen if Cesare was forced to retire or if he died.
The last left her with an ache in her stomach and a heaviness in her heart. It hadn’t been that long ago that she’d lost her own papa in a boating accident.
She certainly didn’t want to think about losing Cesare! But she was worried about him. A deep unsettling worry that would likely rob her of sleep and keep her on edge.
Some months ago, Cesare had confided in her that he and his son hadn’t been on speaking terms in years. The old man didn’t have to tell her that upset him. She could tell.
He loved his youngest son, but according to Cesare, Stefano had disagreed with him and his eldest son over how to run Marinetti Shipyard. So he had left the company and struck out on his own and their estrangement had remained.
Interesting that Stefano had returned and stepped into the role of CEO now. Surely he wouldn’t take advantage of Cesare’s illness to disrupt the way things were done here? Surely he wouldn’t make drastic changes?
Her intercom buzzed, a long discordant sound that rifled the calm she’d desperately sought. So much for getting a reprieve from Stefano this morning.
She jammed a finger on the call button. “Sì, signor.”
“Stefano.” The silken timbre of his voice stirred a restless energy in her—something that was better left sleeping around him. “I have need of your services.”
“Coming.”
She stood and smoothed a hand over her skirt that had crept up her thighs, picked up her pen and notepad, and marched into the lion’s den. She was immediately thrust into another breathless moment of sensual awareness as her gaze locked on the sexy man lounging at Cesare’s desk.
He’d removed his jacket and slung it carelessly on the leather sofa, as if settling in to work. He’d even rolled up his shirtsleeves and left his cuff links lying on the desktop, the stones glinting the fire of diamonds in the light. But he still looked more the playboy than executive.
His silk tie hung loose around the strong column of his neck. His stark white shirt was open at the collar, revealing a wedge of olive skin sprinkled with black hair.
The same dark hair sprang from his forearms that were corded with muscle. A Gucci watch banded one wrist.
Anger knotted her stomach. Everything about him screamed money and sophistication. He was the consummate billionaire flaunting an extravagance that Cesare certainly couldn’t afford.
Up until nine months ago, Marinetti Shipyard had made a marginal profit building fishing boats and ferries. Some called Marinetti Shipyard antiquated.
Of late, she’d heard the rumors that it was on the verge of collapse. The last hurt the most because it was true.
Cesare had been forced to dig deeply into the profits and a failure of new orders coming in had been unable to compensate for the loss. If she could, she would’ve given back the money Cesare had insisted she take.
But it was gone and her only source of income now was her salary. Without Cesare running his business, how much longer could they go on?
Just last week Cesare had confessed that he’d had to sell a good deal of his shares to Canto Di Mare in order to make payroll. He barely held controlling interest in his own company. No wonder his health had broke!
Without another word or glance Stefano’s way, she settled into the chair before Cesare’s desk, ready to take dictation from her temporary boss. She would surely count the days until Cesare’s return.
“I will be dividing my time between Marinetti and my own company,” he began, rocking back in the chair with lazy insouciance and surprising her with that announcement. “After my father’s surgery, of course.”
“Of course.”
Good! Stefano would only be here part-time. He was likely bored already with his papa’s business.
Cesare Marinetti was old school and his schedule at Marinetti Shipyard was relaxed. Everything here was done in slow precision as it had been done for generations.
Even a good many of the employees were extended family with sons following in their fathers’ footsteps. But what would Stefano know of that?
He’d walked away from his family. He’d found fault with the way this shipyard was run years ago. He’d shunned tradition.
“As my own secretary is on holiday,” Stefano said, snaring her attention. “You will accompany me as I commute between both locations.”
Was he joking? She had no intentions of being at his beck and call, especially since she had so much to do for Cesare in Milan. That took precedence over bowing to Stefano’s whims.
“That is impossible. My work is here,” she said.
CHAPTER TWO
THE mouth she’d earlier admired curved into a devilish smile that sent her stomach cartwheeling. She knew before he said a word that she’d just baited the lion. And lost.
“Your work is wherever and whatever I deem it to be for the foreseeable future. And,” he said, raising one finger when she opened her mouth to voice a weak objection, “to make myself clear, my father is on strict bed rest before his surgery and throughout his recuperation. That includes personal business.”
Those last four words shot ice down her spine. He was ordering her to keep away from Cesare. The wall had been thrown up. It was a small wonder Cesare was able to contact her when he had. Which was likely what his son had anticipated when he took over.
At least she’d gotten the files out in time. She’d simply have to keep them hidden until Cesare returned. And she would guard them with her life.
“Am I forbidden to visit him, as well?” she asked, worry seeping into her bones when she thought of the little girl waiting for Cesare in Milan.
They couldn’t just abandon her now. If Cesare was unable to see to her care, then Gemma would have to do so for him. But first she’d have to get away from Stefano.
That could prove difficult, considering he planned to take her away from here in the capacity of his personal assistant.
“You may visit my father.” He stroked the chiseled line of his classically strong jaw with a thumb as if carefully considering her question. “After his surgery.”
If she thought he was genuinely concerned about the older man’s health prior to the heart bypass, she’d not take this personally. But the hard glint in his eyes mirrored the undertone in his warning—one meant just for her. Could he know of her deep relationship with Cesare? Had he somehow discovered his papa’s secret?
No, that was impossible. She and Cesare had been discreet to a fault. Cesare had doled out a fortune to ensure privacy at the hospital.
Stefano was just throwing his weight around in hopes she would make a mistake. Well, it was time she reminded him that she worked for his papa first and him second.
She got to her feet, still clutching her notepad like a shield. “Cesare wanted me to prepare a detailed list of the ships we are contracted to build during the next year. If you are through, I’d like to get started on it.”
“This is to be included in the prospectus for the new stockholder?”
“Yes,” she said, unsettled by the mesmerizing intensity of his eyes that seemed to look right through her.
He lifted one broad shoulder in a careless shrug. “It can wait.”
“No, it can’t,” she shot back. “Cesare made it clear that the paperwork must be completed today.”
“I am telling you it can wait.”
She threw a hand in the air, disgusted that Stefano wasn’t taking his papa’s wishes seriously. “You may not care if your father’s business flourishes or fails but I do. Until I hear otherwise, he is my boss, not you.”
Gemma could have crawled under the table, for she’d never, never, let her emotions get the better of her until now. But Stefano Marinetti seemed to know what buttons to jab to push her over the edge. And wouldn’t that be a crime!
If she walked out, Cesare would have nobody in his corner. He’d have to reveal his secret and face the consequences. And a little girl would be exposed and branded a bastard.
Her shoulders slumped, for that realization was all it took for her to pull in her claws. She’d been the object of scorn before. She certainly wouldn’t wish it on another innocent. Besides, she’d given Cesare her word that she’d carry on with her role here.
“Forgive my lack of manners,” she said.
He toyed with a pen, and she had the distinct feeling he thoroughly enjoyed baiting his adversaries, especially her. God knew they were on opposite sides.
She was Cesare’s personal secretary and loved her job and her boss. He was estranged from his father and had made no attempt to bridge the breach. Until now, when his papa was incapacitated.
That bald fact instantly put her on the wrong side of Stefano. Was he here to help his papa, or did he have a personal agenda?
“You are a fierce champion of my father,” he said.
“I am simply doing my job.”
“You are doing far more than that.”
She didn’t delude herself into thinking he was handing out a compliment. She simply clung to the hope that he’d decide to hire a temporary secretary and release her to go about Cesare’s business uninterrupted.
“You should know that I’m aware of why you refused to work for your father.”
“And that reason would be?”
She lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed. “Your rivalry with your brother and your refusal to take orders from him.”
He stared at her for one long, uncomfortable moment. “Did my papa tell you that?”
“Most of it,” she said. “The rest I heard shortly after I came to work here.”
“Gossip. Let me tell you the truth.” He slammed across the office, fists clutched at his sides. “My brother’s wife drove me from here.”
This was getting far too personal for her liking. “Really, you don’t have to explain your differences—”
“Before she married my brother, she was my lover. I thought myself in love with her, so I brought her home to meet my parents.” He faced her, and the anger on his face was a terrible thing to witness. “She decided my brother was the better catch as he was the heir to the company. Davide had no compunction about sleeping with her behind my back.”
No wonder he demanded loyalty and honesty from his employees. “That’s why you left Marinetti Shipyard. You couldn’t stand to work with your brother and be around her.”
“That was the deciding reason for me to leave. There were other clashes over designs and management.” His gaze met hers, and the cold finality reflected in their depths made her shiver. “Are you satisfied now?”
Shocked was more like it. “I’m sorry you were betrayed by your brother and lover.”
“I don’t want your pity, Miss Cardone.”
He stared at her a long, uncomfortable moment, the intensity in his eyes searing through her as if branding her. Or perhaps burning her at the stake for dredging up such painful memories.
“May I go now?” she asked.
His chin dipped. “See to this list that you’re determined to complete.”
She turned and hurried to the door, a heartbeat away from escaping him when the deep velvet rumble of his voice ribboned around her and brought her up short.
“Bring me the portfolio when you’re done,” he said. “I wish to review it before handing it over to my accountant.”
It wasn’t so much his words as it was the assurance in his voice that filled her with dread. She turned to face him, only to find him staring at her as if he could swallow her up whole and enjoy every second.
She hiked her chin up, annoyed that she couldn’t stop him from getting to her, that he could make her tremble with anger and an emotion she barely understood. He was certainly bringing out the worst in her!
“Why should your accountant review Cesare’s files when we have one employed who can do the same?” she asked, holding back the burning question of why he needed to see the list in the first place. In her heart she knew it couldn’t be a good reason.
“Simple, Gemma. I am the CEO and owner of Canto Di Mare.”
It took a moment to process that news. When it did, her thoughts tossed between outrage and awe.
“You are the new stockholder of Marinetti?”
He dipped his arrogant head in answer. “Now if you will excuse me, I have work to do. I expect those files before you leave for the day.”
She took that curt dismissal as a godsend and slipped from the room. But peace eluded her.
Stefano wasn’t doing his father a favor by stepping into his shoes now. He had a vested interest in the shipyard. She trembled with annoyance and fear of what this arrogant, domineering and ruthless man intended to do.
Worry stacked on her narrow shoulders like a child’s wooden blocks, weighing her down, each new burden threatening to send the whole toppling around her. The company. Cesare. His love child.
She could certainly imagine Stefano meting out vengeance with great relish. Is that why Cesare had warned her to keep his secret close to her heart? Was he afraid of what his son would do if he learned the truth?
Gemma had only one way of knowing those answers, and she simply couldn’t take the risk. A child’s future was at stake. If Cesare hadn’t made proper provisions for her…Well, then Gemma would have to see to the child’s care herself.
She’d have to mind her own errant thoughts as well regarding one arrogantly handsome Italian who commanded too much of her time and thoughts.
Stefano had controlling interest in Marinetti. She was at the mercy of a man who clearly had none to spare. No matter what, she had to stay in Stefano’s good graces, for too much was at stake if she failed.
Stefano Marinetti watched the tempting secretary flounce from the office and allowed a smile of appreciation. His papa had impeccable taste in women.
Gemma was more tantalizing than most with her thick, wavy hair that was kissed with streaks of blond and her naturally fair skin that had acquired a golden tan. Her wide eyes were the same mysterious blue as the Aegean Sea. Her mouth was a perfect bow that begged a man to kiss her.
Yes, she had an Italian surname, but he would bet she had a good deal of English blood in her. Perhaps she was the daughter of an expatriate who’d come to Italy to find a rich husband. Instead that woman had gotten snared by a fisherman.
Not that Gemma’s heritage made a damned bit of difference to him.
She was still doing all she could to cushion her life. Too bad the little piece of fluff had sunk her claws into his papa when the old man was at his lowest.
He shoved Gemma from his thoughts and rang up the accounting department. By now every one in Marinetti’s employ would know that he’d assumed the reins of the company.
Now it was time to get down to business.
“Buongiorno, Umberto,” Stefano said in greeting as the little man he remembered so well from childhood answered the phone.
“Stefano? Buongiorno,” the man replied warmly, and Stefano smiled, certain the older man would have kissed his cheeks had they met in person. “It is good you are back to manage the company.”
“Sì.” Though he imagined not everyone at Marinetti would share his relief.
His papa’s employees had always been loyal. To a fault? He’d soon find out.
“I am acquainting myself with my father’s recent business dealings and I need your help. Last month, did my father make a substantial withdrawal of company funds?”
The riffling of papers came over the line. Papers, when the company should be solely using computers!
“Sì, Cesare requested an expenditure.” Umberto noted the date.
Stefano set his teeth. It was the same time of month that his father and Gemma set aside for their jaunt to Milan.
“What was the purpose of this advance?”
“It wasn’t my place to ask,” Umberto said.
Stefano smoothed a thumb and forefinger over his brow, frustrated by the old-world attitude of his father’s employees. The misappropriation of funds should have thrown up red flags to the man in charge of finances.
Stefano gave a clipped thanks and ended the call.
He’d been able to launch a swift investigation on Friday, but he’d only been able to discern one damning thing. In the past nine months, his papa had taken monthly trips to Milan with Gemma Cardone. Each time a substantial amount of funds were removed from his personal account.
Clearly any money his father gave Gemma was for services rendered in her role as his mistress. Considering the staggering amount she’d gained, she must be very good in bed!
That was a thought he didn’t wish to dwell on.
Never mind that his body thrummed with sensual energy whenever she was near. She was a desirable woman and he was a red-blooded Italian who loved to love women.
That was all there was to it. That’s all there would ever be! He wouldn’t dally with his father’s leavings, nor would he fall under the charms of a scheming gold-digger again!
He would make her regret milking his father out of a fortune and causing his mamma such heartache. He could still hear the pain and fury in her voice when she’d phoned him just a week before she died.
“I have been publicly humiliated,” his mother had said. “I went shopping with your aunt Althea, only to be taken aside in the store and told that there was a block on my account!”
He could guess how her Sicilian blood must have boiled. “What did Papa say about this?”
“He told me that times were hard for the business. That he hadn’t said anything earlier because he didn’t wish to worry me,” she said. “But that was a lie. The old fool has taken a mistress. After thirty-three years of fidelity, he suddenly decides to take a lover.”
“You’re sure of this?”
“Positive,” she’d said. “Ever since he hired that woman nine months ago, he pays little attention to me.”
The woman being Gemma Cardone with her innocent smile and seductive body. “You’ve based your suspicions on Papa hiring a new secretary?”
That heaped more coals on his mamma’s fiery temper. “They work together all day. They go away on business trips every month, yet Cesare denies he is branching out the shipping business. So I ask you what are they doing on these trips to Milan?”
Stefano hadn’t a clue, but his mother’s suspicions convinced him to look into his father’s affairs. It had been simple to follow his papa’s treks to Milan.
Each month he and Gemma drove the same route to Milan. They always lent the same suite in the hotel. They’d hole up there for three or four days. Stolen moments. A tryst de amore, he was sure.
Perhaps his father needed a young woman to fire his blood and make him feel virile again. These things happened. But Stefano wouldn’t tolerate his papa abusing his mother.
If Cesare Marinetti took a mistress to satisfy his lust, he must make concessions to his wife to soothe her pride.
As for Stefano, he damn sure couldn’t let a gold-digger bankrupt his father’s company! However, a car wreck one week ago had taken his mamma’s life and had nearly done the same to his papa. There had been no time to think about righting the wrong until now.
He splayed his hands on the desk and felt his blood pounding at his fingertips. Two things topped his agenda: Get Marinetti Shipping back on track and send Gemma Cardone packing.
His muscles clenched in anger—and desire—as he thought of her seducing his papa out of so much. Too much to let her get off easy.
His papa must have been over the moon for her. And why wouldn’t he?
She was more tempting than he’d imagined. Despite knowing what she was, he’d been powerless to stop the desire that had erupted inside him and flowed hotter than lava off volatile Mount Etna.
Hotter still than the Sicilian blood inherited from his mam-ma that demanded the satisfaction of vengeance and desire. He could hold a tight fist on his explosive anger, but he was powerless to control his desire for Gemma, and that admission angered him all the more.
No woman had ever had that much power over him. Not even the young gorgeous lover he’d brought home from college. He’d been unsure of the depth of his love for her. He’d questioned her profession of love for him.
But he hadn’t realized she’d been a gold-digger until she had seduced his brother. How ironic that she’d have had more wealth had she remained with Stefano.
It was a hard lesson learned. He’d not be duped again—especially by his father’s mistress!
Maledizionel She’d caused his mother untold grief, and made a fool of his papa. She’d not do the same to him.
But even as his heart thundered with the need for retribution, he knew a swift punishment wasn’t enough. No, Gemma Cardone should be made to suffer as his mamma has suffered the last few weeks of her life.
He strode to the window and stared out at the shipyard that had been in his family for generations. Marinettis had made their mark in quality ships, thanks to the seafaring men of Italy and the Mediterranean. Fishermen needed boats and ports needed ferries.
Like his papa and grandpapa before him, Cesare had embraced that simple prescription for success. He saw no reason to deviate or expand.
Stefano did. He had dreams of a bigger empire. A larger, cleaner international empire.
He’d wanted to build eco-friendly vessels. Sailboats, ferries, trawlers and d’elite superyachts. Ships that would rule the seas yet not destroy the fragile environment.
The superyacht would be the starship of his company. Floating pleasure palaces for the ultrarich, each custom made to suit discerning tastes.
His papa thought his idea was an adulteration of the principles of the company. They had butted heads. They had argued fiercely as only Italians do.
His papa insisted they were shipbuilders for Italians. Cesare was a millionaire and was content to move in that circle, refusing to cater to the whims of the ultrarich. He expected Stefano to fall into step with him just as his brother Davide had adhered to the niche Marinetti had carved for itself.
In fact, he and his brother had clashed the hardest. Over business, and the woman who’d come between them.
Stefano couldn’t or wouldn’t comply, not when he was nothing more than the second son in charge of menial tasks. Not when his papa refused to consider his ideas, preferring to adhere to the routine that he and Davide had hammered into place. Not when he had to watch his former lover’s belly grow with his brother’s child.
His heart hadn’t been broken, but his pride had surely been kicked hard.
Stefano didn’t regret leaving this old-world business mired in old-world attitudes. He’d made his fortune and continued to build on it. He’d made a name for himself. But it hurt his pride that his papa hadn’t praised his business sense or his daring once in the past five years.
He rested his fists on the windowsill, the wood as unyielding as his papa. Pride and honor ran deep in his veins.
One kept him away, even after the tragic death of his brother and his family.
One brought him back.
He flicked another impatient glance at the connecting door. Marinetti Shipyard had operated the same for years, making a profit that had allowed his papa to maintain his millionaire status. But all that had changed one year ago.
That’s when his papa had hired Gemma Cardone. That’s when his papa had begun spending more time with her in Milan than at his shipyard. That’s when thousands upon thousands of euros had vanished.
Stefano returned to the desk and lounged in the chair from which his papa had ruled for so long. He opened the file his accountant had assembled and welcomed the bite of anger nipping along his nerves.
He abhorred deceit. Gemma had smoothly deceived his papa.
She deserved to be treated in kind.
He jabbed the intercom button. “Join me, Gemma. Now.”
“Yes, sir.” Was there a touch of annoyance in her voice?
It pleased him that she was peeved to be at his beck and call. He wanted her to finally earn her paycheck by actually working.
She stepped inside and faltered, her pen and notepad clutched tightly in hand again. “What do you want?”
Due compensation. His blood heated, his muscles tightening as his gaze slid over her curves. You, bella. I want you.
This carnal attraction to her annoyed the hell out of him. He favored sophisticated women who wanted nothing more than a physical relationship. He had neither the time nor patience to suffer manipulative women.
Never mind the fact that Gemma Cardone stared back at him with a wide-eyed vulnerability that made his mouth go dry. He had the proof that she was a schemer, out to get all she could out of his papa. She’d certainly achieved that end!
He wouldn’t be surprised if she hoped to lure him into her silken trap as well. That would never happen.
She would not seduce him as she had Cesare Marinetti. It would be a waste of her time to use her wiles on him for he was immune to such machinations.
He meant to give her tempting body a dismissing look, but found himself appreciating the way her silk blouse draped over her full breasts. How her skirt nipped in at her slender waist only to flare over her womanly hips.
His muscles tensed and blood pooled in his groin just at the thought of pressing her back on his desk and making love with her. He curled his fingers into fists and pressed the knuckles into the wood, vexed that his body was still not listening to his brain where she was concerned.
Perhaps he’d be wise to sever all ties with Gemma Cardone now. He could certainly afford to replace his papa’s lost fortune.
He’d be free of this temptation and could devote his attention to the shipyard.
But a swift dismissal would let her off scot-free to practice her duplicity on another victim. Word would quickly spread that Cesare and Stefano Marinetti were easy marks.
No, he had to make an example of her. He had to venerate his mamma’s cry for vengeance. He couldn’t let Gemma Cardone get away with such duplicity.
His gaze narrowed on the mistress who seemed too damned poised.
Sì, too much pride and honor was at stake to sweep this nasty business under the rug. He had to publicly ruin this little schemer. The sooner, the better.
Stefano waved a hand at the chair before his desk, impatient to get this unpleasantness finished. She hesitated in the doorway a heartbeat before quickly crossing the room.
His pulse began racing as his gaze lingered on the brief skirt that hugged her thighs and showcased long, elegant legs that could cling to a man’s flanks as they writhed in the throes of passion. Maledizionel He didn’t want to think of seducing her.
He damned sure didn’t want to think of her doing the same to his papa. That image sent anger bolting through him with the burning intensity of a lightning strike.
Damn seductive gold-digger.
Damned beautiful gold-digger.
As soon as she was seated, he began. “I want to know what business my father and you conducted in Milan for the past nine months.”
She went still as death, fixing those expressive blue eyes on him again. Her small fingers tightened around the edge of her notepad and her back stiffened, as if ready to defend something that wasn’t defendable. “That is between me and your father.”
“Not anymore,” he said, gaining satisfaction in watching her glare at him as if he were in the wrong—the guilty always tried to divert attention away from themselves. “I hold majority shares in Marinetti Shipyard. The profits and debts are now mine to manage.”
She blinked and the steel in her spine seemed to bow, as if burdened by that news. “Are you actually taking over your papa’s company?”
“My plans are not open to discussion,” he said. “We were discussing your role in my father’s life.”
The color drained from her face. “I told you I’m his personal secretary.”
He snorted. She must think him as gullible as his papa.
“Were you aware that my father is nearly bankrupt?” he said.
Her face turned as white as marble. “I—I knew he was having financial difficulties of late.”
“Yet you continued to take thousands of euros from him every month, even though he could ill afford such lavish gifts.”
“It wasn’t a gift.” She pressed her lips together and downed her head, convincing him of her guilt but not her remorse.
“Then what was it, Miss Cardone? Payment for services rendered?”
Her head snapped up and her eyes sparked with indignation and some other emotion he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “How dare you think that I—That Cesare and I were more than friends.”
“Do not lie to me, Miss Cardone.”
“I’m telling you the truth. Cesare is a dear friend and my employer. Nothing more.”
He pressed his palms on the desk when he longed to grasp her narrow shoulders and shake the truth from her. “Where the hell did the money go? You certainly haven’t spent it on designer clothes or a fancy apartment.”
“How would you know?”
“I’ve seen the small flat you live in and rent.” He snorted. “You don’t even own a car. Look at me!” he commanded when she looked away. “I want the truth. Why was my father giving you thousands of euros every month on top of your salary?”
She trembled the slightest bit, like a hare cornered by the wolf. “It was a loan.”
“A loan,” he repeated, and she bobbed her head.
It was a lie. He was sure of it. But he didn’t hold any hope that she’d divulge her secrets. Not yet anyway.
“What are the terms of your loan?” he asked, forcing a lighter tone with her now.
She blinked and her soft mouth parted slightly. Could it be she hadn’t thought that for every loan there was an agreement of repayment?
She shifted uneasily on the chair and looked everywhere but at him. “It was interest free for the first nine months, so I’ve not actually made a payment. Cesare agreed that I could wait until the inn was making a modest profit.”
This time it was his turn to frown, for his hasty investigation of her revealed she was the daughter of a fisherman from Cinque Terre. Her only family was a grandmother who lived in Manarolo, and a brother who had a weakness for gambling.
He’d been unaware that she owned property, but the fact it was a business raised his suspicions.
“What inn?” he asked, careful to keep his tone casual.
“My family’s inn in Manarolo.” Her eyes blazed with such passion that his own anger cooled for a heartbeat. “It has been in my family for generations, passing from mother to daughter. Since my mamma died long ago, my nonna and I own it. But it was falling into disrepair. I’ve refurbished much of it with the money Cesare loaned me. It is beginning to do quite well with tourists.”
As well it should, since she’d likely poured a small fortune into the restoration of it. Money that was drained from his father’s business!
“Your nine months are up,” he said. “Where is your contract so I may review the loan details?”
“Cesare and I had a verbal agreement. He never got around to deciding on a monthly cost I could afford.”
“Then I must remedy that for my father,” he said, and had the satisfaction of seeing a damning flush steal over her pale cheeks. “I’ll have Umberto draw up the papers. Can we agree on payment in full within three months with the first installment due the first of the month?”
Her lush lips thinned and he saw a second’s uncertainty flicker in her eyes. “Yes, of course.”
She agreed far too quickly. More than likely she’d been salting the excess money away. Possibly she’d invested it and could pay back the loan in due time.
But there was the possibility she thought to disappear and then he’d be cheated of his vengeance.
He couldn’t let that happen. He had to hold her to their agreement and he knew of only one thing she seemed to prize above everything.
“For collateral, I’ll hold your half of the inn until the loan is repaid in full,” he said.
“No!” The worry lines deepening on her brow proved she didn’t like that idea at all.
“Do you have something else you can put up in its place? Something of similar value?”
“No, nothing,” she said.
“Then we have a deal?”
“Yes,” she said, though it was more a hiss.
Though Stefano Marinetti prided himself on being a passionate lover, he excelled at coming out on top in any business transaction he entered into.
This was cold, hard business.
Still, his fingers curled around hers, gauging the strength of the delicate bones and admiring the texture of her silken skin. If he was a brutal man, he could crush her hand as surely as he intended to crush her future with Marinetti.
He lifted her hand to his mouth and dropped a kiss on the back of her smooth, small hand. Her gasp echoed in the stillness and vibrated over his skin in a featherlight caress. He felt her telltale tremble before she jerked her hand away, seeming as shaken by her reaction as he was.
“You surprise me, Miss Cardone. I expected a more—” he paused to let his gaze touch the tense curve of her mouth, the too rapid rise and fall of her breasts, then back to her tempting mouth again “—personal deal from you.”
“What could be more personal than me placing my family’s inn up as a guarantee on my loan?”
He sent her a heated smile that deepened her blush. “You. But it is just as well you didn’t make such an offer for I would have refused your favors.” In fact he’d looked forward to doing just that so she’d know he couldn’t be beguiled. So she’d know he was in charge here—in business and in seduction!
Her expressive eyes flared with the fire of anger. “You’re vile.”
He smiled, for he’d been called far worse. “I simply play to win in all things. Should you fail to make your first payment, I will seize your family’s inn.”
Then she’d regret the day she set out to deceive his father. Then he’d have the satisfaction of hurting her like she’d hurt his mother.
“You shall have the first payment before the month is out,” she said.
“I should hope so, bella, since this is the first of the month,” he said, and saw genuine shock register in her eyes. “Today is the due date for your first payment.”
“No! It can’t be.”
“I assure you it is. You have until midnight tonight to meet the terms of the loan or forfeit your collateral. Do not bother to ask for an extension or alteration to the terms for the answer will be no. Remember that, Miss Cardone.”
CHAPTER THREE
THERE was little chance she’d ever forget that Mr. Arrogant was in total charge of his father’s company. And her?
Only temporarily.
“That’s less than twelve hours away,” she said, fighting the panic that left her trembling inside.
He gave another lazy shrug. “You’ve owed a first payment for months. Are you conceding defeat?”
“Not at all. I’ll have the money by tonight.”
Gemma just wished she felt half as sure as she let on.
She had a little money put back and hoped her brother could loan her the rest. It shouldn’t be a problem as he’d told her countless times of late that he’d had excellent luck at sea with his fishing business.
But even after that deadline was met, another one loomed in thirty days. And another after that. What a nightmare she’d entered into!
She couldn’t continue borrowing money from her family. No, her only recourse would be to take out a loan at the bank. At least then she could get more favorable terms. At least then she wouldn’t be subjected to Stefano Marinetti’s lurid suggestions.
There was no time like the present to appeal to Cesare’s banker, either. Being indebted to Stefano was simply too stressful for her. Being in the same room with him was nearly more than she could bear.
Since Signora Marinetti’s funeral when she’d first seen Stefano across the crowded room, she’d had trouble tearing her gaze away from the man whose bearing commanded her full attention. She’d known he’d bring trouble and change.
She just hadn’t dreamed it would touch her so personally. She hated the power he exerted over her as much as she hated the untenable position she was in.
“Your ability to meet the deadline deserves celebration,” he said, his voice a rich blend of arrogance and sensuality that whispered over her senses like silk on skin.
“That isn’t necessary.” Or wanted.
The less she was in his company the better.
He lounged back in his chair and stroked his lower lip with one long, blunt finger, the gesture masculinely contemplative and sexy as hell. “I insist.”
“Fine,” she said when this arrangement was anything but. “Is there anything else you need?” she asked in her most bland business tone, a contradiction to the riot of emotions going on inside her.
“No, bella, that is all,” he said.
She stiffened at the endearment, for it was just a phrase to him. Just a toss of words that meant nothing. He likely used it to charm women all the time.
And Stefano Marinetti certainly knew how to flirt!
She marched across the room on legs that trembled, refusing to give in to the urge to run from the man. He’d enjoy seeing her distress, her fear. She’d deny him both.
It was imperative that she maintain her dignity and go about her duties as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As if her entire future didn’t depend on her meeting this damnable deadline at midnight.
“One more thing,” Stefano said the second she’d reached the door and freedom, the velvet timbre in his voice ensnaring her as tightly as a mariner’s net. “Make dinner reservations for us at Gervasio.”
“I already have dinner plans.”
“Cancel them,” he said in an obnoxiously imperial tone.
Everything was happening too fast as it was and quickly spiraling out of her control.
She wasted no time leaving the confines of his office where every breath she drew brought the taste of him to her tongue and the clean, spicy scent of him filled her head. The fact that he expected she would prostitute herself infuriated her. But then he believed she was more than his father’s personal secretary.
And she could only defend herself so far without revealing Cesare’s secret. Dear God, could this get any worse?
Her gaze flicked to the clock and her insides knotted. It wasn’t even close to noon and she already felt as if she’d put in a full day’s work. She’d be a jumble of nerves well before the deadline tonight.
She took a steadying breath and let it out slowly. Dinner with Stefano at Gervasio. At one time she’d have looked forward to dining in the elite restaurant. But now it loomed as the place where she stood to lose everything, including her pride.
But what choice did she have but to go through with this mad plan?
The money that Cesare withdrew every month was for Rachel’s care. But she couldn’t tell Stefano that. She couldn’t trust him to do what was right for the little girl.
So she’d blurted out that the money was a loan for the inn. Her inn. And now he’d set his eye on her half of that!
If only she could tell him the truth. But Stefano had abandoned his family before in their time of need. He seemed to possess no concept of family. He didn’t seem to care for anything but money and power.
Now he was taking charge of his father’s company and would certainly change Marinetti forever. Her heart ached for Cesare for he’d lost his wife, his health and now control of his own company.
In regards to Rachel, Cesare didn’t have any other family he could trust with her care. Nobody but her.
Their bond was so strong. So unshakable. She’d do anything for Cesare. Anything for Rachel. Anything.
Which is why she’d agreed to Stefano’s terms. If Cesare didn’t trust his son to ensure Rachel continued to receive the best care, then neither could she. Take care of Rachel until I am able to do so again, Cesare had told her.
But when would Cesare return? How could she possibly satisfy that staggering loan every month? And the bigger question, how would Cesare continue to care for Rachel if he was indeed close to bankruptcy?
He couldn’t, which meant that, too, passed to her.
With a curse, she crossed to her desk and phoned her brother. Since her association with Cesare and her move to Viareggio, she’d rarely seen Emilio.
Though they’d spoken on the phone, even that was difficult to arrange for her brother was at sea for long stretches of time, often out of range of his mobile. That must be the case now for the phone rang and rang.
She hung up and thought it ironic that she was contacting him to beg for a loan. How the tables had turned!
Two years ago it was her brother who was constantly asking her for money. Neither she nor her papa had realized then that Emilio had adopted the Machiavellian lifestyle.
His reckless gambling had caused their papa untold grief for years. But after the last bout of rehabilitation, her brother had finally settled down and married.
After their father’s death, Emilio had taken great interest in the shipping business he’d inherited. His wife helped Nonna with the reopening of the inn and day-to-day management.
Why, her brother had boasted that the money she’d sent home to refurbish the inn had made a tremendous difference in their lives. She could hardly wait to see the changes made to the old inn, but her obligations to Cesare had prevented her from visiting all these months.
Now because of her promise to Cesare, she could lose half of the inn she’d struggled to save. Without pausing to consider the ramifications, she phoned Cesare’s banker.
As expected, the man was more interested in Cesare’s health than her business, but she managed to gain his promise that he’d assess the market value of the refurbished inn and get back to her on the particulars of a long-term loan. It was a good start, and she’d have thirty days to finalize the details.
Just thinking of the sum left her light-headed. She cradled her head in her hands and fought off a wave of stress-induced nausea. She’d never get out of debt!
But bringing Rachel’s image to mind was all it took to convince her she was doing the right thing. Never mind it was the only thing she could do and keep her word.
The intercom came to life and she swallowed a startled squawk.
This wasn’t the short zing that Cesare often used to alert her. No, the intercom made a continual buzz like a swarm of angry bees, a sound made possible only if a finger was held on the button to make a noise she couldn’t ignore. And God knew she wanted to ignore Stefano at this moment.
“Yes,” she answered when the buzzing finally stopped and she could respond.
“I will be meeting with the yard supervisors, managers and assistants throughout the day,” Stefano said. “Alert me when the first employee arrives.”
“Of course,” she said, relieved to know she’d be spared his company.
“I have ordered appetizers for the meeting,” he said. “Send the caterer in the minute he arrives.”
“I will,” she said with gritted teeth, and moments later she did just that.
The caterer had no more than left when the production supervisor strode in. Treating the workers to appetizers was a generous touch and she didn’t want to think of Stefano as generous, not when he was being anything but with her.
Gemma shoved thoughts of Stefano’s smile and imposing demeanor and heated gazes from her mind. The man had commanded far too much of her time. And wasn’t that an ingenious ploy of the playboy billionaire to keep her off balance?
She grabbed the chance alone to ring her brother again. But like before, Emilio didn’t answer then or any of the times she tried during the next four hours while Marinetti managers and assistants took their individual meetings with Stefano.
Frustration nipped along her nerves as she tried to contact her brother one last time. If she couldn’t reach him and secure the money for that first installment, she’d lose the inn!
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