‘They’re forgeries.’

‘You know perfectly well they’re not. You’re up to your pretty neck in all this.’

‘I’m not up to my neck in anything.’ Elena wanted to scream.

‘You are. But there is a way for you to save yourself. And your father. And that is what I mean about you posing a dilemma for me.’

‘Go on.’

‘The lack of evidence to support my innocence is a setback for me.’

‘That’s because it doesn’t exist.’

‘If I’m such a master forger, don’t you think I would fake it?’ Gabriele demanded. ‘Your father is a meticulous record-keeper. It’s out there somewhere and I will find it … Or I could be persuaded to forget the whole thing. With the right incentive I could also be persuaded to destroy the evidence I copied last night rather than pass it on.’

‘What incentive are you talking about?’ she asked, her anger leaching out to be replaced with wariness.

A smile curved his handsome face. ‘That, you will find, is the crucial question. To secure a healthy future for your father and the rest of your family you will have to do one very simple thing—you’ll have to marry me.’

Wedlocked!

Conveniently wedded, passionately bedded!

Whether there’s a debt to be paid, a will to be obeyed or a business to be saved …

She’s got no choice but to say, ‘I do!’

But these billionaire bridegrooms have got another think coming if they think marriage will be easy …

Soon their convenient brides become the object of an inconvenient desire!

Find out what happens after the vows in

Untouched Until Marriage by Chantelle Shaw

The Billionaire’s Defiant Acquisition by Sharon Kendrick

One Night to Wedding Vows by Kim Lawrence

Expecting a Royal Scandal by Caitlin Crews

Look out for more Wedlocked! stories coming soon!

Wedded, Bedded, Betrayed

Michelle Smart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MICHELLE SMART’s love affair with books started when she was a baby, when she would cuddle them in her cot. A voracious reader of all genres, she found her love of romance established when she stumbled across her first Mills & Boon book at the age of twelve. She’s been reading (and writing) them ever since. Michelle lives in Northamptonshire with her husband and two young Smarties.

This book is for Renata—

thanks for feeding my coffee addiction! xxx

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Wedlocked!

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

Endpage

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE SCREAM PIERCED through the silence of the Nutmeg Island chapel.

Gabriele Mantegna, having just climbed up the stairs from the basement, came to an abrupt halt.

Where the hell had that come from?

He switched off his torch, plunging the chapel into complete darkness, and listened hard.

Had that been a woman’s scream? Surely not? Tonight, only the armed security crew inhabited the island.

Closing the basement door carefully, he walked to the one small window of the chapel not made of stained glass. It was too dark to see anything but after a moment a faint light appeared in the distance. It came from the Ricci house where at that moment an armed gang were helping themselves to all the priceless works of art and antiquities.

The island’s security crew were blind to the gang, their monitors remotely tampered with and feeding them falsehoods.

Gabriele checked his watch and grimaced. He’d been on the island ten minutes longer than planned. Every extra minute increased his chances of getting caught. To reach the beach on the south side of the island, from where he would swim to safety, was a further ten-minute walk.

But he hadn’t imagined the scream. He couldn’t in good conscience make his escape without checking it out.

Swearing under his breath, Gabriele pushed open the heavy chapel door and stepped out into the warm Caribbean air. The next time Ignazio Ricci decided on a spot of peace and contemplation, he would find the code for the chapel alarm scrambled.

For a building designed for peaceable contemplation and worship, the Ricci chapel had been desecrated by Ignazio’s real purpose.

It had all been there, directly beneath the chapel altar, in a basement stuffed with files dating back decades. A secret trail of blood money, the underbelly of the Ricci empire, hidden from the outside world. In the short time Gabriele had been in the basement he’d uncovered enough evidence of illegal dealings to have Ignazio spend the rest of his life in prison. He, Gabriele Mantegna, would personally hand the copied incriminating documents to the FBI. He would be there every day of the trial, seating himself so that Ignazio, the man who’d killed his father, would not be able to avoid seeing him.

When the judge’s sentence was pronounced Ignazio would know that it was he who had sent him down.

But everything wasn’t sunshine yet. The most important evidence for Gabriele, the documents that would have cleared his own name and exonerated his father once and for all, had not been found.

The evidence existed. He would find it if it took him the rest of his life.

Putting the missing evidence from his mind, Gabriele set out into the thick canopy of trees and, crouching low, made his way to the Ricci house, a huge villa set over three levels.

Lights shone from a downstairs window. Any subterfuge by the gang had been abandoned.

Something had gone wrong.

The men in the house were led by a criminal mastermind who went by the moniker of Carter. Carter’s specialisation was in purloining high-end goods for order. Ming vases. Picassos. Caravaggios. Blue Diamonds. There wasn’t a security system in the world, so the legend went, that Carter couldn’t crack. He also had a knack of knowing where the shadier elements of high society kept their even shadier valuables, the type of valuables the owner most certainly would not report to the authorities. Carter took those items for himself.

The front door had been left ajar.

As he approached it, voices could be heard, muffled but undeniably angry.

Knowing he was taking a huge risk but unable to rid himself of the sound of the scream ringing in his ears, Gabriele pressed himself against the outside wall of the window nearest the front door, took a breath, and turned to look inside.

The main reception room was empty.

He pushed the door open a few more inches.

The muffled argument continued.

He crossed the threshold. The instant his neoprene dive slipper trod onto the hard lacquered wood flooring, a squeak rang out.

Swearing under his breath, Gabriele tried another step, placing his whole foot down in one tread. This time there was no squeak.

He took stock of his surroundings. The reception room had three doors. Only one, directly opposite him, was open.

He crossed cautiously, wishing there were at least a life-size statue to hide behind if needed. Reaching the door, he peered through it, taking in the wide cantilevered stairs to his right and craning his ears to the left in an attempt to determine what the men were arguing about. If it was a simple heist-gone-wrong scenario he would return to his plan and get the hell off this island.

But that scream...

It had definitely sounded feminine.

The arguing voices were all male. He still couldn’t decipher what they were arguing about. He needed to get closer.

Before he could take another step, heavy footsteps treaded down the stairs. A huge figure dressed entirely in black strode past the door Gabriele was hiding behind and joined the others. He must have opened the door widely because now everything they said echoed off the great walls.

‘The little cow bit me,’ he said in an English accent, sounding incredulous.

‘You didn’t hurt her?’ said another voice, this one American.

‘Not as much as I’m going to when we get her out of here.’

‘She’s not going anywhere. We’re leaving her here,’ said the other voice sharply.

‘She’s seen my face.’

Much swearing ensued before the first man cut through the noise. ‘I would still take her even if she couldn’t identify me—whoever she is, she’s got to be worth something and I want a slice of it.’

All the men started speaking at once, making it impossible to distinguish their words but the gist of it was clear enough. Upstairs was a woman, probably bound, and these men were arguing over what to do with her.

Suddenly the original man came storming back out, yelling over his shoulder, ‘You pansies can debate it all you want. That bitch is mine and she’s coming with us.’

The door was slammed shut behind him and the man hurried back up the stairs, taking a right turn at the top.

This was Gabriele’s chance.

Not pausing to consider his options, he strode to the stairs then climbed them three at a time.

Half a dozen doors lined the hallway he found himself in but only one of them was open.

He peered cautiously inside.

The man stood in the middle of a pale blue bedroom, his back to him. Before him, her hands tied at the wrists to a headboard, her mouth gagged, her knees raised tightly to her chest, was a woman with terror-filled eyes.

Not giving the man time to respond, Gabriele stepped behind him and struck him in the neck, aiming for the spot that would bring instant unconsciousness. He aimed correctly. The man collapsed immediately, Gabriele only just catching him at the waist before he could fall in a thump to the floor and alert the men waiting below.

Laying him down carefully, he checked his pulse.

Satisfied he hadn’t killed him, he unzipped the waterproof pouch and pulled out his penknife.

The woman’s eyes widened further and she pulled her legs even closer to her chest, whimpers coming from behind the gag.

He crouched beside her.

‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ he said quietly, speaking in English. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’

She whimpered some more but managed to nod.

There was something familiar about her...

‘I need you to trust me. I am not with those men,’ he said. ‘If they hear you scream they will come up here and probably kill us both. I’m going to untie you and remove your gag and we’re going to escape but I need your word you won’t scream. Do I have your word?’

Another nod. The whimpering had stopped, the terror in her clear green eyes lessening a fraction. Now her eyes searched his, the familiarity he felt clearly reciprocated.

‘We’re going to escape,’ he repeated. He sat on the side of the bed and lifted her head, enabling him to untie the cloth that had been wrapped around her mouth. As soon as it was freed, he placed a finger to her lips. ‘We don’t have much time,’ he warned. ‘We’re going to have to escape through a window unless you know a way out that doesn’t involve going downstairs?’

She jerked her head to an interconnecting door behind her. ‘The dressing room is above a roof. We can slip out through the window in there.’ Her husky voice was croaky. He guessed the scream she’d given had damaged her vocal cords. He could only hope she hadn’t suffered damage of any other kind.

He admired the fact that through the abject terror she’d just experienced, she’d still had the foresight to plan an escape route in her head.

He thought of Paul, the captain of his yacht, who would soon be on the lookout for his return.

‘Give me one moment,’ he said, pulling his phone out of his pouch and pressing the emergency button that would connect him.

‘Paul, I need the jet ski to be brought to the north harbour immediately.’ It was one of the many contingency plans they had spent two days running through. Gabriele attempting one of these contingency plans with a woman in tow hadn’t been in any of the blueprints.

His call done with, he sliced his penknife through the ropes binding the woman and quickly pulled the lengths away from her. Dark red welts encircled her wrists where the man had cruelly tied the rope so it bit into her tender flesh.

A groan came from the floor.

Gabriele ignored the urge to throw himself on the prostrate man and kick him in the ribs. Avenging this woman might give fleeting satisfaction but they could not afford to waste a single moment.

‘Can you walk?’ he asked, wrapping an arm around her waist and helping her sit up.

The woman was tiny. With white-blonde hair tied in a messy ponytail and those large green eyes, she reminded him of a porcelain doll. Breakable.

She nodded, but allowed him to help her to her feet. He wrinkled his nose. She smelt like a...bonfire? Studying her in more depth, he revised his porcelain doll opinion and altered it to grubby urchin.

Suddenly it came to him why she looked so familiar.

He recalled a small, doll-like girl from his youth, who had dressed like a boy and been able to climb a tree faster than anyone and then shimmy back down it as if a twenty-foot drop was nothing to worry about.

This was Ignazio’s only daughter, Elena.

He was putting his life at risk for his enemy’s daughter?

This woman was his enemy every bit as much as her father was. When Gabriele brought Ignazio’s downfall he had every intention of bringing his entire family down with him.

The man on the floor’s groans were becoming louder. Elena was eying him with a look that suggested she very much wanted to kick him in the ribs too.

‘We need to leave now.’ Gabriele grabbed her hand, having the presence of mind to avoid her wrists, and tugged her away and through to the dressing room she’d spoken of.

Whatever his personal feelings towards her and her family, and his plan to destroy them all, his destruction did not include allowing a vulnerable woman to be at the mercy of four armed men, one of whom he’d heard with his own ears wanted to hurt her.

He might hate Elena’s family but he still wouldn’t abandon her to such a fate.

He pulled the sash window up and looked out. As she’d said, a sloping roof ran under it.

Gabriele heaved himself out, dropping a couple of feet onto the roof.

‘Come,’ he said, righting himself when he was certain the roof was stable enough to hold his weight without crumbling beneath him.

Elena was already hoisting herself over the ledge. He put his hands to her tiny waist and helped her out, holding her tightly until he was sure she was secure on the roof. Apart from her bare feet, she was dressed in the perfect attire for escape, in long black shorts and a baggy khaki T-shirt.

Without exchanging a word, they both shimmied down to the edge of the roof.

‘Rescue is coming from the north beach,’ he said as he tried to get his bearings as to where they were, exactly, in conjunction with said beach. ‘We need to run to the right.’

She nodded, grim determination on her face, and then expertly swung over the edge so she was holding onto the rim of the roof with her fingers.

Being much larger, it took Gabriele a little longer to drop down. Before he could let go, she’d released her hold and fallen onto the wraparound veranda. Immediately she was back on her feet and jumping over the wooden rail and running to safety...except she was running to the left of the beach and not the right as they’d agreed.

He let go. He landed heavily but ignored the pain that shot up his leg and set off after her, calling as loudly as he dared, ‘You’re going the wrong way.’

She didn’t look back. The band holding her hair back had come out, her long, straight white-blonde hair billowing behind her.

* * *

Run, Elena, run.

In her mind’s eye she pictured the tree house her father’s staff had built for her and her brothers when they’d been children. If she could only reach it undetected, she would be safe.

But no matter how quickly she ran along the beach, she could hear him gaining on her.

Gabriele Mantegna. A man she vaguely remembered from her childhood. A man who scared her as much as the armed men in her family’s holiday home.

This was the man who had spent two years in an American federal prison and tried to implicate her father in his criminality.

In the distance ahead was the pathway that led into the forest and to her sanctuary.

She pushed on even harder but still he gained ground. His breaths were heavy behind her.

She wasn’t going to make it.

A burst of fury rent through her, overriding her fear. She would not allow herself to be captured by this man.

Coming to an abrupt halt, she turned on the spot and charged, propelling her entire body at him. It was like charging at a brick wall.

But her ruse worked. Taken by surprise, Gabriele stumbled back onto the sand. Unfortunately he wasn’t so off guard that he didn’t immediately hook his foot around her ankle, sending her tumbling on top of him. Within seconds he had gained the upper hand, twisting her onto her back and pinioning her beneath him.

‘Are you trying to get yourself killed?’ he demanded, his angry breath hot on her face.

Bucking beneath him, she tried everything she could to throw him off but she was too tightly caught.

Gabriele swore and, panther-like, sprang back to his feet. There was no way for her to escape again for he unceremoniously pulled her up, hooked an arm around her waist, and slung her over his shoulder.

No sooner had he started running than shouts echoed from the house.

Terror as she had never experienced, not even when she’d unexpectedly stumbled upon the gang, careered through her.

Yet, even with the indignity of being carried like a naughty child and the pain in her stomach as it jostled against his shoulder, when the first gun shots rang out she squeezed her eyes shut and thanked God for Gabriele’s strength, and prayed for the shots to fire wide.

She had no idea how long he ran with her thrown over his shoulder. It could have been one minute, it could have been an hour. All she knew was that the men were chasing and firing at them.

And then he was no longer running with her on the sand but wading through the sea. An engine ran close by. She hardly had time to register that a jet ski had appeared from nowhere before Gabriele had climbed onto it and shouted, ‘Go!’

Whoever was driving didn’t need telling twice. The jet ski shot off over the still waters.

Somehow Gabriele manipulated her body so she was no longer draped over his shoulder but secured on his lap, sandwiched between him and the man riding the jet ski.

Within minutes they approached an enormous yacht. To Elena’s amazement, they steered straight into an opened hatch on the side and parked, exactly as if they were parking a car in a garage.

Gabriele and the man who’d ridden the jet ski helped her off.

‘Are you all right?’ Gabriele asked, looking at her closely.

She opened her mouth to retort defiantly that of course she was all right when the magnitude of everything she’d gone through that evening and the exhaustion that had brought her to Nutmeg Island hit her.

A hot fog formed in her brain, perspiration breaking out all over, her hands suddenly clammy.

And then it all went black.

CHAPTER TWO

ELENA AWOKE TO find herself cocooned in a heavy duvet on a bed so comfortable that for a moment the fact she didn’t have a clue where she was didn’t matter.

She stretched then sat bolt upright as memories flooded her.

She’d fainted. She remembered feeling all...wrong, remembered strong arms holding her, overriding her protests.

Gabriele Mantegna .

He’d kidnapped her. He’d given chase, thrown her over his shoulder and spirited her to his yacht via a jet ski.

Or had he saved her?

Yes, that was right. He’d certainly saved her from the criminal gang who’d done the unthinkable and overridden her father’s state-of-the-art security system and broken onto their island.

But he was Gabriele Mantegna and instinct told her she’d be no safer with him than those men. The danger he carried was of a different kind.

He’d carried her away from the hail of bullets that had rained on them. God alone knew how they’d escaped without being shot.

What was he even doing there?

So many thoughts crammed in her brain it was a struggle to think straight.

Another memory came to her, of being placed on the bed and Gabriele’s rich voice murmuring in their native Italian that she should sleep.

The only comfort she could take was that her clothes were still on.

Climbing out of bed, she held onto the frame until she was certain her feet were steady, then drew the floor-length curtains.

Light flooded the cabin, almost blinding her with its brilliance. She opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony. The Caribbean Sea—at least she assumed they were still on the Caribbean—was calm, the yacht powering through it at a remarkable rate. If she closed her eyes she wouldn’t know they were sailing.

Movement behind her made her turn and find a woman dressed in a maid’s outfit standing at the door of her cabin.

The maid gave a tentative smile. ‘Good morning Signorina Ricci,’ she said in Italian. ‘Can I get you some breakfast?’

The sea air had done a good job of clearing Elena’s head and reinvigorating her. As much as she wanted food and a hot shower, what she needed was to see Gabriele and find out what the hell was going on.

‘I would like you to take me to Signor Mantegna.’

The maid nodded her acquiescence and Elena followed her out of the cabin and into a wide corridor. A flight of steps led into a huge atrium where a white grand piano sat in the centre ringed by a circle of plush white sofas.

Gabriele was found on the third deck, sitting at a table overlooking a large, oval swimming pool, eating from a bowl of fruit.

He rose to his feet. He wore only a pair of canvas shorts. ‘Good morning, Elena. How are you feeling?’

‘Much better thank you,’ she replied coolly, feeling her cheeks flame as she remembered basically falling into a dead faint at his feet.

Being eye level with his naked chest only caused the flames to burn harder. Quickly, she averted her gaze.

‘You gave us quite a scare. Please, sit down. Coffee? Food?’

She took the seat opposite him. ‘A caffè e latte would be nice.’

Turning to the maid, he said, ‘Esmerelda, a caffè e latte and a tray of pastries for our guest, and a fresh pot of coffee for me please.’

While he spoke to the maid, Elena took the opportunity to flash her eyes over him.

Last night Gabriele had been dressed in a black wetsuit. It had been obvious then that he had a good body on him. However, nothing could have prepared her for seeing it in the flesh. Strong and defined, it was covered across the pecs with fine dark hair. This, coupled with his deep bronze colour, was testament to a man who enjoyed the outside life.

But there had been a couple of years when his outdoor recreation would have been severely limited...

‘What’s going on?’ she asked abruptly.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen a topless man before, she reminded herself. She had three older brothers. The male physique was hardly a mystery.

‘I appreciate you saved me from those men last night but what were you doing on our island? If you had nothing to do with those men, how did you know to rescue me?’

It could only have been for nefarious purposes. Ever since Gabriele’s release from prison he’d been conducting a subtle one-man vendetta against her family. The media intrusion had become intolerable.

The handsome, charismatic billionaire head of Mantegna Cars, a convicted fraudster and money-launderer, never missed an opportunity to make digs at her father. Gabriele had pleaded guilty to the charges and taken sole responsibility—though it was widely believed he’d only done so to save his own father—but many whispers had reached the media that Gabriele was fingering Ignazio Ricci as the real culprit.

Thoughtful eyes, such a dark brown colour they appeared black, met her gaze. With his strong nose and wide, sensuous lips, Gabriele’s features had a soulful quality that was totally incongruous for a man such as him.

‘I heard you scream. That’s how I knew there was someone in danger.’

Her throat still hurt from that scream.

‘We’ll wait until your refreshments have been served and then we can talk about the rest of it.’ His gaze flickered over her, scrutinising her in a fashion that made her flush. Having not looked in a mirror, she could only imagine how awful she looked with her bed hair and the clothes she’d fished in, made a bonfire in and slept in.

‘Can you at least tell me where we are?’

‘We are currently in the Gulf of Mexico. All being well we should arrive at Tampa Bay by early evening.’

Since assuring himself that Elena’s faint wasn’t anything to worry about, Gabriele had done some research on the woman he hadn’t set eyes on in over two decades. His mind had been so filled with revenge on Ignazio and, to a lesser extent, his three sons, he’d almost forgotten she existed.

From thinking a man like Ignazio didn’t have the capacity to love anyone, Gabriele now knew that, in Elena, he had found his nemesis’s Achilles heel.

Their fathers had been close friends since childhood. When Alfredo, Gabriele’s father, had emigrated from Italy to the US with his wife and young son, their friendship had endured. Alfredo had passed on his new American contacts to Ignazio and vouched for him, enabling him to expand his own growing empire.

Their businesses had been complementary, with Ricci Components supplying many of the parts fitted in Mantegna Cars. Both men had subsequently diversified from their business origins and a decade ago had merged the overlapping aspects of their respective businesses, at Ignazio’s suggestion. Gabriele had had some reservations about the merger but had kept them to himself—after all, Ignazio was practically family.

Despite their enduring closeness, Ignazio had kept his only daughter hidden away in Italy. Gabriele doubted he had seen Elena in the flesh more than a handful of times since she was a toddler. His only real memory of her was as an unabashed tomboy.

The light of her father’s eye, she had been home educated and protected all her life. She’d joined her father’s business at the age of eighteen and worked closely with him for a number of years before being given the role of running the European division of Ignazio’s empire.

Unlike her brothers, who had all the subtlety of a trio of strutting peacocks, she still, as an adult, kept in the background. Media sightings of her were slim and those that existed were all business related.

One particular broadsheet interview with Ignazio had caught his attention. It had been conducted four years ago, when Gabriele’s father had first been charged. Ignazio had slated Alfredo and spoken eloquently about how ‘duped’ he felt. The only sincere words Gabriele had sensed from the man had been about his daughter:

‘Elena is the hardest worker of my staff and the best child a man could hope for. I know when I become infirm, she will be there to care for me.’

He allowed himself a smile.

Gabriele’s visit to the Ricci chapel might not have provided the evidence to clear his name he so badly wanted but in Elena he had found a silver lining. He’d found a weapon that could hurt Ignazio much more than merely sending him to prison.

Oh, yes, as a weapon to hurt Ignazio, he had found none better.

But then his smile dropped.

There would be nothing to celebrate until he found the evidence that cleared his father’s name—and his own—and would allow his mother whatever peace she was capable of finding.

‘I should tell you that your presence here has presented me with something of a dilemma,’ he said.

Her brows drew together, her startling green eyes holding his. ‘What kind of dilemma?’

‘You have provided me with options I hadn’t considered before.’ Seeing Esmerelda returning to them, he left it at that.

Elena’s caffè e latte, a large fresh pot of coffee and a plate of pastries were placed between them, and Gabriele’s coffee poured.

‘Please, eat,’ he instructed with a wave of a hand, as Esmerelda disappeared back inside.

‘Tell me why I’m a dilemma.’

‘I would prefer to have this conversation without worrying you’re going to fall into another faint due to hunger.’

‘I’ve never fainted before,’ she stated matter-of-factly. ‘It was the shock and adrenaline of everything, that’s all. I’ve never been kidnapped before and then rescued, then chased, then thrown over a shoulder to a jet ski with live ammunition being fired at me.’

‘Why did you run from me?’ he asked curiously.

‘Because you have a grudge against my father and hate my family. You appeared in the room like a dark phantom—I was scared.’

‘I don’t hold a grudge against your father,’ he denied calmly. ‘My loathing towards all you Riccis is much stronger than that.’

Her pretty, lightly golden face paled. ‘Then why did you rescue me?’

‘Because I’m not such a monster that I would leave you at the mercy of those men.’

A tiny, shaking hand took a cornetto. Instead of biting into it, she put it on the plate before her, then took a sip of her caffè e latte.

‘I don’t understand why you hate us all so much.’

‘Really?’ He allowed his disbelief to ring through the syllables. Elena was a child of Ignazio’s loins. She worked closely with him. Gabriele doubted there was anything about Ignazio’s business practices she was unaware of. She was as guilty as he. ‘Then let me educate you.’

At the foot of the table sat his briefcase. He pulled it onto his lap, opened it, and took out a document file.

‘I went to Nutmeg Island last night searching for evidence of your father’s criminality. These are a few of the documents I copied from the basement of your family chapel last night. As you can see, I’ve had them printed off to make digesting them easier. These are irrefutable proof that Ricci Components is laundering money from its Brazilian base.’

‘You’re lying.’ She bit into her cornetto. A small dollop of raspberry jam dripped down her chin. She wiped it away with a finger and licked it, all the while staring at him with eyes that had hardened.

‘Read them for yourself,’ he answered with a shrug. ‘The proof is there. The US authorities will find it indisputable.’

Something flickered in her eyes.

‘Your father’s been running his business from Brazil for well over a decade. However, the accounts concerned use US dollars. That gives the US a jurisdictional right to launch an investigation. Trust me, should I give them these documents, they will be on your father and the rest of you like a pack of hyenas on a fresh carcass. Why do you think I spent only two years of a six-year sentence behind bars? They know your father’s up to his neck in corruption but, until now, they’ve not had the evidence to charge him with anything.’

She swallowed her food and swiped a hand through her fringe, then snatched the file from him. Sipping her caffè e latte, she began reading through the papers.

Gabriele watched her closely. Her green eyes zoomed from left to right and back again, a concentration frown just noticeable beneath her fringe.

In the years since he’d last seen her, she’d gained a doll-like prettiness about her that, combined with her rather grubby appearance and boyish clothes, had the effect of making her appear younger than her twenty-five years. He had to remind himself that there was nothing doll-like or immature about her spine. She’d proved her tenacity last night: she’d had an escape route planned despite the terror that would have frozen any other person’s brain, and not only had she run away from him but, when realising she couldn’t outrun him, had fought back. If his own reflexes weren’t so quick she would likely have escaped him.

But she would never have escaped the men. They would never have let her go. They couldn’t have afforded to, not once she had seen her captor’s face.

Whatever direction this conversation took, he could not afford to let those big green eyes beguile him into thinking she was something less than she truly was.

‘Whoever created these documents is clearly a master forger,’ she said tightly when she’d finished reading.

‘Don’t fool yourself. They’re not forgeries. I took the pictures myself last night, in your chapel basement.’

‘Which you broke into.’ Her eyes narrowed, more suspicion and distrust ringing from them. ‘Were you in league with those men?’

‘No.’

‘So it’s coincidence you were there at the exact same time an armed gang raided our holiday island?’

‘No coincidence at all.’ He gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘I knew they would be making their heist. I’ve waited a year for it.’

She stared at him with a clenched jaw.

He allowed himself a smile. ‘The thing you have to understand about prison is that it’s full of criminals. Not all prisoners are discreet. One liked to brag about how his brother was a member of Carter’s gang. Have you heard of Carter?’

She shook her head.

‘Carter steals to order. His price tag for a job is reputed to be ten million dollars.’

She let out a low whistle.

‘He also does jobs for himself—heists where he knows illegal artefacts are kept. The kind of stuff no owner would dare report stolen to the police.’ Gabriele rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. ‘It was a simple matter to tell my fellow prisoner of the island off the Cayman Isles packed full of illegal art worth tens of millions of dollars.’

‘That’s a lie,’ she snapped, finally showing some animation.

He shrugged. ‘Carter didn’t believe it to be a lie and he does meticulous research. I knew it was only a matter of time before word reached him. I’ve been keeping close tabs on him and waiting for his gang to make their move—I have to give credit to your father, his security system is second to none. I knew it would take the best to break it and Carter is the best. All I had to do was wait for him to make his move and use his gang as cover to enter the island undetected.’

Her green eyes flashed with contempt. ‘So you brought those men to my family’s island?’

‘All I did was plant the idea.’ He rubbed at his jaw. ‘You weren’t supposed to be there. No one was. Carter’s got away with it for so long because he doesn’t take unnecessary risks.’

‘If you’re so convinced of my father’s guilt, why didn’t you take the risk yourself? Why use a bunch of criminals as cover?’

He smiled without humour. ‘I’ve already spent two years in prison. Believe me, I have no wish to spend another day there. I let the experts take the risk.’

Without warning, she jumped up from her chair and hurried to the railing, whereby she threw the file overboard. The papers flew out, the breeze lifting them and scattering them in all directions.

‘That’s what I think of your evidence,’ Elena said coldly, trying desperately to hide the fact her heart was thrumming madly and her blood felt as if ice had been injected directly into her bloodstream.

This was all a horrible lie. There was no other explanation.

Her father was not a criminal. It was possible some of his art might not be entirely legitimate but illegal art was a world away from fraud and money laundering. He was a good, loving man who had raised her and her three older brothers single-handedly after her mother’s death when Elena had been a toddler.

She watched Gabriele’s jaw clench. He gripped hold of his coffee and downed it.

She hoped it scorched him.

‘There is plenty more evidence,’ he said in a tone far more even than the brimstone firing from his now black eyes portrayed. ‘One phone call will be enough to have the FBI and the local police obtain a search warrant. One call. Would you like me to make it?’

‘Why would they believe you?’ she sneered. ‘You’re a convicted criminal and that “evidence” is illegally gained. It wouldn’t stand up in any court.’

‘It’s enough to get the ball rolling. The authorities are watching your father. They’re watching your brothers...and they’re watching you. Your family is like a collection of kindling. All the authorities are waiting on is the match to light it. If the worst happens and they judge they can’t use the evidence, then copies of the documents will be emailed from an anonymous, untraceable email address to every major news outlet in the world. Either way he’s finished, and you’re finished too.’

Elena put a hand to her chest and blinked hard to clear the clouds swimming in her eyes.

Whoever Gabriele had paid to create the documents was a master of the art. Anyone looking at them could be forgiven for thinking they had an air of legitimacy to them.

Her father—her entire family—had been living under a cloud of suspicion for a year, ever since Gabriele had been released from prison and begun his whispering campaign against them. He’d been clever about it, always making sure his comments were right on the cusp of slanderous.

There had been other incidents too, minor in the grand scheme of things; investors pulling out of deals at the last moment, the banks insisting on greater scrutiny of the books, all the little things that could be passed off as consequences of a turbulent global economy but as a whole were evidence of someone working against them.

She clung to the railing, her knuckles turning white. ‘Do you hate us because my father never stood up for your father when the accusations first came out? Is that the reason for all this?’

He laughed. It was the bitterest sound she had ever heard.

‘You’re very good at the wide-eyed ingénue act, I’ll give you that,’ he said with a shake of his dark head. ‘One could almost believe you’re naïve about the fact that it was your father behind it all.’

She shook her head. ‘You’re lying. Everyone knows you and your father were in on it together. You took the rap to spare him. My father was questioned once and they found no evidence against him.’

‘They found no evidence against your father because the trail he made was deliberately laid to lead to my father,’ he snarled, showing the first real sign of anger, enough to make her recoil and tighten her hold on the rail. ‘The FBI has been trying to pin something on him for years. Our fathers went into business together at your father’s instigation so he could hide behind my father’s respectability. He used my father’s affection, good nature and loyalty to an old friend, and framed him.’

‘Where’s the evidence? You’re making a lot of nasty insinuations and accusations here but where’s a shred of evidence to back up the claims?’

‘It’s out there and I will find it.’

‘Or forge it like you did those other documents you claim are from the chapel basement.’

Her father had stored business documents in the chapel basement for decades. There was nothing sinister about it—it was simply the most secure place for them. Or, rather, had been.

‘Admit it, Elena, the documents I copied last night are the real deal. Their release is the smoking gun the FBI is waiting for.’

‘They’re forgeries.’ But she could not deny that they were brilliantly constructed forgeries. As far as forgeries went, they were perfect.

‘You know perfectly well they’re not. You’re up to your pretty neck in all this.’

‘I’m not up to my neck in anything.’ She wanted to scream. This entire conversation was like something from Dante.

‘You are. But there is a way for you to save yourself. And your father. And that is what I mean about you posing a dilemma for me.’

‘Go on.’

‘The lack of documentary evidence to support mine and my father’s innocence is a setback for me.’

‘That’s because it doesn’t exist.’

‘If I’m such a master forger don’t you think I would fake it?’ he demanded. ‘Your father is a meticulous record keeper. It’s out there somewhere and I will find it...or I could be persuaded to forget the whole thing. With the right incentive I could also be persuaded to destroy the evidence I copied last night rather than pass it on.’

‘What incentive are you talking about?’ she asked, the anger leeching out to be replaced with wariness.

‘I’ve held back from sending the documents to the FBI because I have a proposition to make. You and you alone can save your father from financial ruin and a hefty prison sentence.’

‘What does this proposition entail?’

A smile curved his handsome face. ‘That, you will find, is the crucial question. To secure a healthy future for your father and the rest of your family, you will have to do one very simple thing—you’ll have to marry me.’

CHAPTER THREE

GABRIELE WATCHED CLOSELY as the blood drained from Elena’s face, the light golden colour turning white. The last thing he wanted was her falling into a faint again, especially as there was no possibility of him catching her as he’d done the night before.

It was the last thing he should have worried about. Instead of falling into a heap on the floor, she covered her mouth and burst into peals of laughter. And not just a short burst of it. Her body shook, the colour flooding back in her face.

‘That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard,’ she said, wiping away tears of mirth with the back of her hand. ‘You want to marry me?’

He didn’t say anything, just folded his arms across his chest and stared at her implacably.

She must have seen something in his expression for all merriment came to an abrupt halt.

‘You don’t mean it? Do you? You want to marry me?’

‘Marry me and all your father’s financial and legal problems disappear.’

‘But... But that’s insane.’ She ran her fingers through her messy hair. ‘Tell me what your real proposition is.’

‘That’s it. I want my ring on your finger and my baby in your belly.’

‘A baby? You want me to have a baby with you? You are insane—’

‘Those are my conditions for not throwing your father and the rest of your family to the mercy of the authorities.’

She shook her head, visibly pulling herself together. Dragging herself away from the railing, she rejoined him at the table, finished her caffè e latte, then helped herself to the fresh pot of coffee.

Done, she leaned forward, her fingertips holding onto the table as if they were suction pads.

‘Putting aside the fact your proposition is the most stupid idea in the history of humanity, and putting aside your monstrous idea of us having a baby together, what would you hope to achieve by marrying me? My humiliation? My subjugation? What?’

‘I have one mission in my life and that’s your father’s destruction. You marrying me...’ he allowed himself the luxury of imagining Ignazio’s reaction to the news ‘...will destroy him emotionally. You’re his special princess; the light of his life. Knowing you belong to me will cut right into what is left of his heart.’

Her eyes flashed pure hatred at him. ‘I will never belong to you. And I am not having your child.’

‘If you agree to my proposition you will take my name. You will have my child. A Ricci will become a Mantegna. Together we will make a new life.’ Now Gabriele leaned forward to mimic her stance, placing his fingers on the table so they almost touched hers. ‘Your father, your brothers, the whole world will believe you have fallen in love with me and that whatever heart you have in your body belongs to me.’

Now her eyes were wide with stark panic. ‘I can’t do it. No one would believe we’re in love for a second.’

He shrugged. ‘It will be your job to make them believe it.’

She rubbed at her eyes. He looked closely to see if there were tears but clearly Elena, despite her doll-like exterior and unfortunate fainting fit, was tough. It wasn’t a thought that should make him glad but it did.

Knowing she was more than equipped to be his equal lessened a fraction of the guilt trying to eat at him.

He would not allow himself to feel guilt. After what her father had done, guilt and empathy had no place in his life.

Gabriele’s father had worked hard all his life, had been a loyal and faithful husband, father, employer and friend. To see his reputation trashed and the anguish it had caused, along with his father’s bewilderment that the man he’d considered a brother had been the root of it all...

‘It’s one thing wanting to hurt my father but why are you dragging me into it?’ she asked, shaking her head. ‘I’ve done nothing to you. I don’t even know you.’

‘Because I know you’re as guilty as he is. Even if you didn’t have a direct hand in the framing of my father, you did nothing to stop it. Your father is a monster yet you act as if he were a deity. You should consider yourself lucky that I’m giving you this chance. Be in no doubt, the FBI will find evidence against you and your brothers too.’ Gabriele rose from the table. ‘I appreciate it’s a lot for you to take in so I shall give you some time to think things through.’

‘How long? How long, damn you?’

He looked at his watch. ‘I want your decision by the time we reach Tampa Bay.’

‘I can’t...’ She swallowed, her face pinched and furious. ‘I can’t. It’s impossible.’

‘You can. The choice will ultimately be yours. Just bear in mind that should you choose the wrong option, your father will spend what’s left of his miserable life in a prison cell. There might even be a cell with your name on it too.’

As he walked back indoors, the feel of her hate-filled eyes burning into his back, he took some deep breaths to dislodge the uncomfortable, cramp-like feeling that had settled in his chest.

* * *

A hot shower made Elena feel cleaner but not at all better.

She’d sat outside on the deck for almost an hour, trying hard to think but being unable to drag up a coherent thought.

She should never have taken the long weekend off work.

She’d hardly taken any time off in the past year: since Gabriele had started his whispering campaign she hadn’t dared. She’d wanted her employees and the Ricci shareholders to see her relaxed and unworried. An average week would see her travel to a minimum of four countries. Yes, she travelled by private jet but even thirty thousand feet in the air there was no respite to be had. Always there was paperwork to catch up on, emails to send and reply to, daily conference calls with her father.

A fortnight ago she’d caught a cold that wouldn’t shift. As the days had passed her energy levels had sapped. Getting out of bed had become a feat of endurance. Then, on Thursday, she’d sat through a board meeting in Oslo fighting to keep her eyes open. As soon as it had finished she’d dragged herself into her office, sank onto the sofa and promptly fallen asleep. While she’d slept she’d dreamt of the family Caribbean island, bought two decades ago, and had woken knowing she needed a break. She didn’t need a doctor to tell her she was in danger of burnout.

Their home on the island was big enough that all the family could come and go as they pleased. As a rule, they notified the household staff so preparations could be made, but on this fateful occasion she’d decided what she needed more than anything was peace. Just the thought of being completely alone—obviously with the exception of the unobtrusive security guards—had lifted her spirits.

Three days of solitude and sunshine...

She’d arrived on the island late yesterday afternoon. She’d dumped her case in the house and then decided to do something she hadn’t done since she was a child, and head to the south of the island where the clear shallow waters allowed her to wade far out, and catch a fish for her supper.

Her belly rumbled as she recalled how she’d never had a chance to eat her catch, a juvenile foot-long barracuda.

The sun had gone down and she’d built a small fire on the beach. Her barracuda had been almost cooked to perfection when shouts had distracted her.

She’d assumed one of the security guards had injured himself and rushed off through the woods to help.

Luck had not been on her side. She’d stepped onto the main drive that cut through the woods at the exact moment the man clad head to foot in black had stepped out of the house. He couldn’t miss her.

She’d been rooted to the ground, her shock so great she’d been unable to move more than a muscle. It was as if her brain had been incapable of comprehending that there was a stranger before her and that this stranger represented danger.

Then the adrenaline had kicked in and she’d turned to run but by then it had been too late—the man had already yelled for back-up and was powering towards her. So she’d done the only thing she could. She’d opened her throat and screamed, literally, for her life.

Thank the Lord that Gabriele had heard it. She couldn’t bear to think of what would have happened if he hadn’t, or if he’d ignored it.

Her wrists were still sore from where that man had tied her to the bed. He hadn’t cared if he hurt her. Indeed, she would guess he got off on it.

It was this knowledge, that Gabriele had put himself in danger to rescue her, that tempered the fury ravaging her entire body. Even her toes were angry.

But he had saved her. He’d put himself in grave danger for her. When he’d slung her over his shoulder there had been an understandable impatience but not a roughness. Hurting her had been the last thing on his mind.

A bitter laugh flew from her mouth. She’d bet he wouldn’t have bothered coming to her rescue if he’d known that it was she who was in danger.

Or maybe he would have.

Saving her had presented him with an opportunity and he was grabbing it with both enormous hands.

It felt as if needles were being pushed into her scalp and forehead.

She couldn’t marry him. She’d never heard such a ridiculous notion in her life. Marrying a man she barely knew and who was intent on destroying her entire family?

And to have his child? To bring a child into such a hate-filled nest of poison?

Yet it was the only way to save her family. Those forged documents had the potential to destroy them all and she was the only one who could stop it happening.

No wonder her head hurt so much.

Forcing herself to gather her wits, Elena hunted around the cabin for something clean to wear as Esmerelda had whisked her filthy clothes away. All she found was a white silk robe hanging in the wardrobe. It felt beautiful on her skin but one look in the mirror made her whip it off. The material was practically transparent.

Esmerelda had brought some clothes for her to change into but judging by the size and quality of them, they belonged to Gabriele.

It was with great reluctance that she slipped a black T-shirt on. It fell to her knees and looked like a sack. Much better.

What wasn’t better was the faint trace of cologne permeating through the fabric cleaner. It had to be Gabriele’s. It smelt too much like him to belong to anyone else. She hated that it was a scent she found appealing.

As Esmerelda had whisked her underwear away with the rest of her clothes, Elena reluctantly donned the accompanying shorts. They swamped her.

Holding the shorts up to stop them falling down and trying to forget she had Gabriele’s scent clinging to her, she set out to find him.

Retracing the route through the cavernous interior, she found her way to the top deck. She stood at the rail that overlooked the pool deck below, was about to turn back when a figure in the pool made her do a double-take.

Instinct told her it was Gabriele powering his way through the water.

For some incredibly strange reason her heart accelerated, her hold on the rail tightening.

Up and down he swam, his back muscles rippling with the movement. No wonder he had such a fabulous physique...

He reached the end but instead of doing an immediate about-turn and setting off again as he had done thus far, he twisted round and looked up.

Mortified to have been caught...admiring him... Elena went to step back but stopped herself in time. Hiding would only confirm that she’d been spying.

Instead, she held her head high and walked down the wide stairs to the pool deck. By the time she’d reached the bottom Gabriele had hauled himself out of the pool and was rubbing a towel over his face.

Dear Lord...

With the water dripping off his honed bronzed skin and nothing but a pair of tight black swim shorts on with a definite bulge in them...

Feeling her cheeks turn scarlet, Elena hurried to take a seat at a table where a jug of water and a couple of glasses had been laid.

From the corner of her eye she saw him methodically dry himself before slinging the towel over his shoulder and joining her.

He flashed a quick smile and poured them both a drink.

‘Do I assume your reappearance means you have come to a decision?’ he asked, placing her glass before her.

‘Not quite.’ She took a drink of the cold water, wiped her mouth with her thumb and took a deep breath. ‘There are some things we need to discuss first.’

‘Such as?’

‘If I agree to marry you, I want a signed agreement that all the so-called evidence you have against my father will be destroyed.’

‘The contract being drafted has that specified.’

‘You’re drafting one already?’

‘Yes. It will set out in black and white exactly what this marriage will be so there is no room for doubt on either side.’

‘Isn’t that rather presumptuous? I haven’t said yes.’

‘You will,’ he said with an arrogant shrug.

She sucked in air through her teeth and willed herself not to bite.

‘Your father’s liberty depends on it,’ he added.

Growing up in an all-male household, Elena was well used to the male ego. Any man stupid enough to think she was inferior because of her gender or size soon learnt the error of his ways. It had delighted her father that his little princess was brainier than her brothers—admittedly not hard—and had never lost a physical fight against any of them either.

In the Ricci household you learnt to take care of yourself from a very young age.

Gabriele’s arrogance—different from her brothers’ and far more acute—was just another thing to add to the list of things to despise about him.

‘Will I be expected to give up my job?’

‘No, but I will expect you to make concessions on your workload as I will have to make concessions on mine. For our marriage to be believable we will have to marry our diaries as well as ourselves.’

She eyed him with a suspicious glare. ‘And that will be in the contract?’

‘Yes. Anything else?’

‘Your demand for me to have your child is abhorrent and not something I can agree to.’

‘Let me be clear about a couple of things.’ Gabriele leaned forward, taking in the whiteness of her face. ‘My only reason for marrying you is to hurt your father. You know as well as I do that our marriage will crush him. You carrying a Mantegna child will be the ultimate destruction for his pride.’

‘You can’t bring a child into a marriage like this,’ she said hotly. ‘It’s immoral.’

‘A Ricci lecturing me on morals?’ He raised a brow and tutted.

‘Why would you even want to have a child with me? You hate me. You could have a baby with anyone.’

‘But I don’t want anyone. I want you.’

Her slim shoulders rose. ‘Why?’

‘When my father and I were arrested four years ago, I was engaged to be married. I pleaded guilty to save my father’s neck but Sophia, my fiancée, chose not to believe that or believe me. She couldn’t handle the media scrutiny and the associated shame it brought on her and ended our relationship. Believe me, I will never trust another woman again. After what your father did I will not trust anyone. I am the last of my line. You having my child will mean the Mantegna name lives on.’

Merely thinking about Sophia made him feel sick. She’d broken their engagement in a clinical fashion that hadn’t left him devastated for the loss of her love but furious that he had ever believed in it. He couldn’t believe he’d been ready to commit his life to such a disloyal, spineless creature. Thankfully there had been no time to brood; his overriding priorities at the time being to stop Mantegna Cars being pulled under and to protect his parents. That he’d only succeeded in the former was something he would live with for the rest of his life.

‘And you could love a child with Ricci blood in it?’ Elena challenged.

He shrugged. ‘The child will be half Mantegna. That will dilute the impact.’

‘What a disgusting thing to say.’

‘I’m merely being honest. If you agree to this marriage then I don’t want there to be any room for misunderstandings. Any child we have would be an innocent in all this and I do not hurt innocents.’

‘You’re hurting me.’

‘You’re not an innocent.’

She flinched and squeezed her eyes shut but he ignored her distress.

If she was anyone other than Ignazio’s daughter and favourite, closest child, he would feel sorry for her.

Then again, if she was anyone else he wouldn’t dream of the actions he was taking.

Elena was a special case.

Elena had watched his father be accused of a crime she knew damn well her own father had committed. She had seen Gabriele take the rap, had seen the worldwide media coverage, had likely seen the footage of him entering the federal prison system, and seen, mere days later, the coverage that his father’s great heart had given up on him. And through it all, she’d said nothing.

She’d allowed his father to die with his only child imprisoned for a crime her own father had committed and his wife all alone in a country whose language she had never quite mastered. And she’d done nothing.

As far as he was concerned she was as guilty for his father’s death as Ignazio, and he wouldn’t rest until every single Ricci had paid the price for their heinous lies and betrayal.

If she wanted to know what real pain was she should walk in his shoes for an hour.

‘Our marriage will last for as long as it takes to conceive and then we will go our separate ways.’

Her face went even whiter, her horror stark. ‘You would take a child away from its mother?’

‘I’m not the monster in this relationship,’ he said. ‘I’d be willing to have joint custody but the condition would be that it has no contact with any member of your family.’

‘You are a monster,’ she spat. ‘How you can even think about bringing a child into the world under such conditions...’

‘Nevertheless they are my conditions. Take it or leave it. I want a child. I want revenge. I can marry those two desires by marrying you. And look on the positives of having my child—as soon as you’re pregnant you’ll have outlived your usefulness and I will set you free. It is up to you. Or you can take your chances with the law.’

‘Let’s say for argument’s sake that I do agree to have a baby with you.’ Desperation laced her husky voice. ‘How are you going to have...have...sex with a woman you hate?’

‘Are you really that naïve about the workings of a man?’ he mocked. ‘Our libidos tend to work independently from our brains. You’re not a bad-looking woman. I’m sure making a baby with you won’t be too much of a hardship.’

If Elena had anything else to say she must have become incapable. Her eyes were wide and full of fury and outrage.

‘It is best our cards are laid on the table,’ he said. ‘And now that you know where you stand on everything, have you come to a decision? Will you marry me?’

Her lips pulled together. He could hear her breathing.

‘As long as that contract guarantees you will not take my baby away from me and as long as it guarantees you will destroy the alleged evidence and that you will stop the whispering campaign you’ve been conducting against my family then yes, I will marry you.’

He allowed himself the satisfaction of a smile.

But Elena wasn’t finished.

Hands clenched into balls, she said, ‘But you have to buy me a house in Florence and one close to your home in New York.’

‘What on earth for?’

‘If we’re sharing custody it means I can always be close to our child whenever it’s with you and be there if it needs me.’

He was surprised to find she had some latent maternal genes in her.

‘And I want it stipulated, in black and white, that you will never bad-mouth me or my family to our child.’

From the look on Elena’s face, Gabriele judged this was the deal breaker. He had to admire her. She had spirit. And, despite being a Ricci, compassion for a child who hadn’t yet been created.

‘Okay,’ he agreed with a lazy shrug. ‘I can agree to that.’

‘I want it written in the contract.’

‘Consider it done.’

‘Good. But just so you know, you’re not the only one who can hold a grudge and wish for vengeance.’ She rose from her chair and leaned forward so her furious eyes were mere inches from his. ‘When this is over I will personally see that you pay. There will not be a minute of the day when you don’t regret what you’ve done to me. I will see you burn in hell for this.’

Unexpectedly, something cold raced up his spine.

‘I’m already in hell,’ he said bitterly. ‘Your father put me there.’

Her top lip curled. ‘Then I will make it my mission in life to keep you there.’

CHAPTER FOUR

THE SOUND OF a helicopter flying overhead made Elena shade her eyes and look to the skies.

She was sitting on the balcony of her cabin, exactly where she’d been for the past two hours since she’d walked away from Gabriele, before she’d given into the temptation to punch him in the face.

Never in her entire life had she hated someone. Never in her entire life had she felt so, so, so...much towards another person.

Her early childhood had been spent rallying against the injustice of being the only female in a household of males. She had come to realise the only way to get their respect was to behave like them. She might have been home educated, unlike her brothers who were sent to smart schools, and she might have been sheltered from the outside world, but within the household she had turned her anger to her advantage and become one of the boys. She had forced her brothers’ respect and at the same time gained her father’s.

Now she felt as helpless and angry as she had at the age of ten when she’d finally comprehended that the education she dreamt of, one where she could be with other girls her age, had been denied her. Even now she still struggled with other women. She just couldn’t relate to them. First kisses, first attempts at putting make-up on, everything that went with being a female adolescent had been denied her. She had learned to embrace it.

Well she wouldn’t embrace this situation. Gabriele would pay for this. She didn’t know how or when or...anything, but she would make him pay.

She couldn’t even think about what it would mean to have his child.

A child. A baby. The one thing she’d never thought she would have.

Having intended to spend her life as a Vestal Virgin, Elena had reconciled herself to never having a child of her own. Her brothers had taken too much glee in sharing salacious stories of their conquests. She’d listened to all the sordid details and heard their obvious contempt for the women who were always, without exception, referred to as whores.

By the time she’d turned fifteen Elena had known she would rather stay a virgin than be subjected to that kind of disgusting treatment. She would never allow herself to be treated as a piece of meat. Yes, there were ways to conceive a child that didn’t involve getting physical with a man, but they weren’t ways she could bring herself to consider.

A knock on the cabin door brought her out of her reverie.

She unlocked it and found Gabriele standing there, a thin document file in one hand, the case she’d taken to Nutmeg Island in the other.

‘Where did you get that?’ she asked, amazed.

‘I had it couriered to my assistant. She brought it on the helicopter.’

‘But how?’

‘A friendly police officer retrieved it.’ He smiled a secret smile. ‘Carter’s gang disabled the security monitors before you arrived. All your security team saw on their screens was the feed from the day before. No one knows you were on the island and I would imagine the gang won’t mention it unless they want to add assault and attempted kidnap to their list of charges.’

Immediately her blood pressure rose. ‘So they get away with it?’

‘Not at all.’ A darkness crossed his features. ‘They will pay for it. They were arrested before they could leave the island and can all look forward to a hefty sentence in a prison that will make the one I was incarcerated in look like a holiday camp.’

He threw a thin document file on her bed before she could argue any more about it. ‘Here’s the contract.’

‘You don’t waste time.’

‘Read through it, sign it and we can leave.’

‘Are we at Tampa Bay?’ She hadn’t seen any sign of land from her balcony.

‘No. You’ve already reached your decision so my helicopter will take us inland to my jet. My assistant and lawyer are waiting in the saloon—they’ll act as witnesses for the contract.’

‘You can’t expect me to sign it now?’

‘It’s written clearly and concisely. It won’t take you more than five minutes to read it.’

Giving him a baleful glare, Elena leaned over the bed to grab the file and see for herself.

As she turned back again, pulling the elegantly bound papers out, something about him made her stop.

There was an expression on his face she’d never seen before. A look in his eyes...

Heat pooled in her stomach and spread through her, climbing up to crawl through the veins in her face.

She’d taken his oversized shorts off the second she’d arrived back in her cabin.

She’d leaned over to grab the file totally forgetting she had no underwear on.

He’d seen her.

Gabriele’s breathing had become heavy, his eyes containing a blackness that was quite unlike the angry circles of ice he usually looked at her with.

Please, something, anything, swallow her up right now.

He’d seen her.

His throat moved and then he coughed and took a step back before pulling a small tube from his pocket. ‘This is some lotion for you to put on your wrists—it should help with the bruising.

‘I will leave you to dress and read through the contract.’ He no longer looked at her, his voice even deeper than normal. ‘I will send someone for you in thirty minutes.’

He didn’t wait for a response, throwing the tube on the bed and leaving the cabin in three long strides.

* * *

Gabriele concentrated hard on the conversation with his lawyer, discussing the finer details of the contract Milo had drafted for him.

Milo knew better than to try and talk Gabriele from the route he was taking. He had been his family’s lawyer for over two decades, and there was little about Gabriele that Milo didn’t know. It was this familiarity that made him sense the lawyer didn’t approve of this particular route.

Whether his lawyer approved was irrelevant. As for Anna Maria, his assistant, she was too well paid to have an opinion on anything.

His lawyer and assistant were the only people to know the truth and he intended to keep it that way. To the rest of the world, especially to Ignazio, his and Elena’s marriage would be the real deal.

It was only when Milo and Anna Maria both rose that he knew Elena had arrived.

Straight away his mind flashed to the image he’d been fighting not to see for thirty minutes.

The base of her bottom.

The base of her white, peachy, perfect bottom. The way it darkened at the base of the curve to show the promise of her hidden femininity.

One look and his pulse had paused for a heartbeat then surged into life, heat throbbing through his bloodstream.

He hadn’t had such a visceral reaction to a woman since his teenage years. Arranging his features into neutrality, he turned his head to see her standing by his chair. She’d changed into another pair of long, boyish shorts and a plain white T-shirt, her hair now neatly tied back.

Gabriele made the introductions.

She shook hands with them both before casting him with another of the baleful glares he was becoming accustomed to.

He waited until Milo and Anna Maria had left them alone before saying, ‘That is not the kind of greeting a man expects from his fiancée when in public.’

‘Get used to it.’

He fixed her with a stare. ‘I do not expect you take pleasure in my company but when we are in the company of others I expect you to treat me with respect and adoration. That will begin immediately.’

‘Adoration?’ she snorted, taking the seat opposite him and crossing her legs.

‘Have you read through the contract? It details it quite clearly.’

She met his eyes.

Colour flooded her cheeks and he knew that she knew what he had seen.

She snapped her gaze away and cleared her throat. ‘As long as you only expect adoration in public. In private you can sing for it.’

‘I wouldn’t expect anything else,’ he replied sardonically. ‘Do you have any questions about the contract?’

‘The sleeping arrangements...’

‘Are non-negotiable,’ he supplied before she could go any further. ‘For as long as our marriage lasts, it will be a traditional marriage, one in which we make a child.’

‘We can use insemination.’ Elena knew she sounded desperate but she didn’t care. How could she sleep with him? He might be a walking pack of gorgeous testosterone but she hated him.

He laughed. For once it sounded genuine. ‘No. We will make a baby in the traditional way. The world will believe our marriage is for real. Given the history between our families, our marriage will generate media scrutiny like nothing you will have ever experienced. Our staff will be besieged and offered money which would tempt even the saintliest person. We sleep together and that’s the end of the matter.’

Elena squeezed her eyes closed and wished herself away from this nightmare she had fallen into.

The contract had been as concise as Gabriele had promised but seeing the terms written so bluntly made her wish there had been some superfluous words to take the edge off.

Divorce proceedings shall be initiated by Party 2, Elena Ricci, only when conception has been achieved and subject to that Party 1, Gabriele Mantegna, shall initiate divorce proceedings without any encumbrances.

There were even long clauses regarding the custody of their mythical child, clauses that, while splitting custody evenly, gave Gabriele all rights with regards to education and ‘moral upbringing’ whatever that meant. He’d included her demands but had also stipulated his stance that her family must not be allowed any contact with their child or else all custody rights would be revoked and he would become sole guardian.

That he would use an innocent child as a pawn in his game of vengeance made her blood fire with fury. What kind of despicable monster would do such a thing?

Yet a different kind of heat suffused her as she imagined sharing a bed with him.

She’d never shared a bed with anyone in her life. To think of sharing one with a man as overtly masculine as Gabriele, of being burrowed under the same sheets...

‘The evidence against my father. I want it destroyed now, not when we divorce.’

He shook his head. ‘If I destroy it now there will be nothing to stop you from backing out of our deal.’

‘Isn’t my word good enough?’

‘You’re a Ricci. Your word is as useful as a chocolate teapot.’

A choked laugh razed her throat and she coughed.

One day she would learn not to laugh at inappropriate moments. Unfortunately it wasn’t something she had any control over and completely involuntary.

Finally daring to look at him, she found his quizzical gaze upon her.

‘You’re amused?’ he asked with an arched eyebrow.

‘I have a warped funny bone.’

A glimmer of light flashed in his eyes but it vanished as quickly as it came.

‘Do you have any other issues with the contract?’ he said.

‘Other than the entire document itself?’

‘Anything specific,’ he clarified drily.

‘I have issues with everything but no, not anything specific.’

‘Excellent. Then let’s get it signed and we can start our new life together.’

* * *

The helicopter took them straight to the airport where Gabriele’s flight crew were waiting for them in his private jet. Before long they were in the air and on their way to New York.

‘Why New York?’ she asked. She’d assumed they would go straight to his home in Italy, what with them both being Italian.

‘Because we can marry in a couple of days there.’

‘That soon?’

‘We’ll get the paperwork sorted on Monday and marry on Tuesday.’

She swallowed.

Everything was moving so quickly it felt as if she’d filled up on rocket fuel.

‘After we’ve married we’ll go to Florence. I’m launching a new car at my headquarters there in a month’s time so I need to be on site.’

‘I thought Mantegna Cars were based in the US?’ Despite herself, her curiosity was piqued. As a child she’d loved it when her father had taken her out for a drive in one of his new Mantegna Cars. They’d always been so glamorous and powerful, ahead of their time in the gadget department. She’d always been proud that so many of those gadgets had come from her father’s factories.

‘Florence is Mantegna Car’s birthplace and it’s always been our European headquarters.’ There was a hardness in his face. ‘My parents loved their time in America but with retirement around the corner, they wanted to go home. As you know, my father died before he could make it back. Being incarcerated solidified the decision for me. Florence is my main home now, and it’s back to being the headquarters of our entire company.’

A gleam came into his eyes, dispelling the hardness. ‘Just think, come the launch, you might have the seed of life growing inside you.’

‘But the nightmare won’t be over, will it?’ She crossed her legs as an unexpected ripple of heat pulsed low in her. ‘A child will tie me to you for the rest of my life.’

‘As long as you keep to the contractual obligations you signed, there will be minimal contact between us when we part.’

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