The Italian's Innocent Bride

by Clare Connelly

  “No,” she said again, shaking her head from side to side.

  “You look sad. Who can be sad in a place as beautiful as this?”

  She drained her coffee cup of its cool dregs and slid her glasses down onto her nose. “Excuse me.” She stood uneasily from the table, giving the man a distant smile as she moved away from the café.

  She wondered, as she stepped brusquely away from the man, why Carlo had brought her back into his life. What did he want with her? Or was it simply that he could no longer have her, and he didn’t like losing? She made a noise of self-directed frustration. What the heck did it matter what Carlo wanted? Any time she got caught up with him, she ended up getting hurt. Badly. Her own needs should have been paramount in her thoughts; not Carlo’s.

  She moved blindly across the square, somehow managing to dodge and weave her way through the busy crowds. A school tour moved past her and she waited for them to disappear around a corner before carrying on her way.

  She stepped out onto the road, wondering if she’d be able to get on a flight that day. She didn’t see the car. It sped around the corner, as cars in Italy often tended to, and would have collected her on its shining bonnet if a tall, muscular man hadn’t looped an arm around her waist and pulled her back onto the sidewalk.

  “Oh my goodness,” Jane murmured, lifting a hand to her throat. She looked up to thank her benefactor, and was surprised to see the man from the café. “I was in my own world. I should have been watching where I was going.”

  The man nodded. “You would most certainly be little more than a smudge if I hadn’t seen you. See? You should have stayed and talked to me, no? Too beautiful a day to be sad, definitely too beautiful a day to become a traffic statistic.”

  Jane shook her head. Was it a beautiful day? She hadn’t noticed. She looked now, and saw that the sky was blue, and the sun was shining. She frowned, as she realised she’d dressed in a sweater and long pants, when a summery dress would have been more appropriate.

  “What is on your mind?”

  “A long, sad story,” she said with a note of determination in her voice.

  “Come, let me buy you a prosecco and hear all about it,” he invited. While she gave him full marks for persistence, she still had no interest in the handsome stranger.

  “No, thank you. I’m fine. I’m very appreciate you were here, though.”

  The man didn’t release his grip on her arm. “I don’t think you understand, Jane Lang. You’re coming with me.”

  Elisabetta stared across the square, her trained eyes skimming over groups of tourists and school children, seeking only one person. She had Jane’s physical characteristics at the forefront as she swiftly took in the entire scene. A café, the post-lunch scene dwindling to a few tables. The church? Unlikely. She began to move through the square, her eyes never stopping moving. Where the hell was she?

  Jane froze, her eyes enormous behind her glasses.

  “Do I know you?”

  His smile now was not kind. It was laced with purposeful impatience. “No.”

  “But you know me?”

  “Not really. I know you are of value to someone I have long wanted to hurt.”

  Jane’s heart squeezed inside her chest. For surely he could only be referring to one person. She thought of Carlo and adrenalin spiked inside of her. The idea of any pain befalling him was anathema to her.

  “I know that hurting you will send a message to the top.”

  Jane was afraid, but she was also strangely calm. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, I’m sorry. But hurting me will be unlikely to send any message to anyone.”

  He leaned closer, his expression chillingly intense. “You are the daughter in law to Tony Parelli. You are the wife of his only son. The son is too powerful to touch. But you… sweet Jane Lang… you are always alone. So very vulnerable.” He lifted a hand to the column of her neck, and tightened his fingers a little. It hurt, but Jane didn’t flinch.

  “Have you seen this woman?” Elisabetta demanded of a nun, holding up her cell phone and the most recent picture she had of Jane. The nun shook her head, and Elisabetta pushed away, moving swiftly towards the café. While Jane was not outside, it was possible she’d chosen a table in the small restaurant, away from the crowds. Her eyes continued to move through the square, even as she pushed through the doors of the restaurant. A quick scan confirmed that Jane was not inside. She approached the bar, and cut in front of a man mid-way through ordering.

  “Scusa,” she said in a tone that was scarcely apologetic. “Have you seen her?” She lifted the cell again, and the waiter lowered his eyes to it. He rubbed a hand across his jaw, then beckoned to his colleague. In Italian, he said, “This is the woman that you served earlier?”

  “Si,” the woman confirmed. “Is she in trouble?”

  “I hope not,” Liz muttered. “Was she alone? What did she do?”

  The woman shrugged. “She had a coffee. American style, frothy milk.” She rolled her eyes in disapproval, then lowered her gaze to the photo. “I think I saw her with a man. I was cleaning up another table.”

  Liz’s heart began to race. “The man. What was he like?”

  “Mmm, very good looking,” she grinned and shrugged. “Brown hair, nice body, you know?”

  “No,” Liz shook her head. “When did they leave?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not the cops.”

  Liz fought the urge to snap. “Okay, when did you see them talking? How long ago?”

  The woman looked at the large brass clock that hung over the door. “Maybe ten minutes? Fifteen at most.”

  Liz spun around and ran towards the door, calling a hasty ‘thank you’ over her shoulder as she pushed back into the square. Where was she?

  “You’re wrong,” Jane said huskily. Speaking was difficult when his grip was around her vocal chords. “My ex-husband is an orphan, like me.”

  “Your ex-husband is the son of one of the most despised criminals in the country.”

  Her fingers began to tingle with shock. “No. That isn’t true.”

  His laugh was thick with derision. “I am his cousin, Jane Lang. I grew up with him. I know Carlo Santini and Carlo Parelli are one and the same. And I know that if he married you, he must value you. If I want to truly send a message to the Parellis, you are… I’m sorry to say it… the best target available.”

  Jane blanched. Fear for her safety bubbled inside of her, but shock and confusion were jostling for a place, too. And, in the back of her mind, she knew that if she could keep him talking, someone would notice that he was almost strangling her. On the edge of a busy square, in broad daylight. “You just said that Carlo is your cousin. So aren’t you a Pa… Parelli? Why would you want to hurt them?”

  “Carlo’s father killed my father. He is a bad man, and he needs to be… broken.”

  Jane shifted a little and his grip tightened around her neck. Her eyes flew to his, and the cold hatred she saw there was her undoing. “You’re wrong about all of this. Carlo and I are divorced.”

  His smile was maniacal, tight and wet against his even white teeth. It reminded her of a hideous ghoul now. “I know.”

  “Then you must know that hurting me will not hurt Carlo’s… father… at all.”

  The man ran his tongue around his lip; it was thick and pale pink, like a fat slug. She shuddered. “It is not just you, Jane Lang. I plan to take out everyone connected to Tony Parelli, until he is alone and afraid. Then I will finish him.”

  “But… I’m not connected to him,” she whispered, her body almost paralysed by fear. He wanted to kill her. This man wanted to kill her, and he was squeezing her neck so tight that tiny little stars were dancing on her eyelids.

  Elisabetta ran across the square, perspiration beading on her forehead as it occurred to her that she might be too late. That the madman who had been stalking Jane, and wanting to hurt her, might have finally decided to strike. He’d spent three years tormenting Carlo with the power he
had to hurt her, and now he’d made contact. He could surely only have one reason for speaking to Jane now.

  It was the end-game.

  The time had come.

  And Elisabetta had no idea where Jane was.

  “Please,” she whispered, her voice thick. All she could think of, in that moment, was Carlo. The guilt he would feel made Jane ache. The thought of his face, on learning of her death, made her strong. She could not leave him. Not like this. Not after their fight. Fear for Carlo strengthened her too.

  For she had to warn him. This man had a vendetta against anyone connected with Tony Parelli, and if he killed Jane, Carlo would be next. She felt ill as she thought of pain befalling his body. She could not let that happen.

  In the distance, something discordant lodged in Elisabetta’s field of vision. She back-tracked her visual scanning until she again saw what had registered as odd.

  Blonde hair.

  A woman’s body held stiffly.

  A man, tall and muscular, with his arms lifted towards the woman’s face. She made a sound of shocked pain as she realised the man’s hands were wrapped around Jane’s throat.

  “Jane,” she called, her instinct taking over as she began to sprint through the busy square. A group of school children began to cross in her path and she swore, increasing her speed to get past them. But they snaked in front of her, holding hands, and impenetrable human barrier standing between her and the woman she’d sworn to protect. “Jane!” She shouted again, but it was no good. The hour had struck, and the church bells were pealing out their beautiful, symphonic declaration of time. The crowds chattered more loudly, to counteract the noise, and Elisabetta knew Jane would never hear her.

  What had Liz taught her? Jane had thought all those silly self-defence sessions were a bit of fun but now she realised that their weekly appointment might actually save her life.

  She relaxed her body and mind and focussed on the moves she’d learned. In the end, it was surprisingly easy. She lifted a knee and jabbed it as hard as she could into his groin. He doubled over, releasing his grip on her neck. But she saw him reach inside his waistband, and the fear that he was going for a gun made her act. She poked him in the eye, so that he instinctively lifted a hand to cover his face, then she chopped the back of his neck. Liz had taught her how – a spot that could be hit to make someone pass out, so long as it was done just right. Jane had practiced on a pillow. Now, on the real thing, she was shocked and relieved to see it actually worked.

  Elisabetta ran across the square just as the man fell to the footpath. Jane, a slim, shaking figure, stood over him. She looked around, uncertain what to do next, and Elisabetta sprinted her hardest to close the last few metres.

  “Liz?” Jane laughed, emotions were making her feel almost manic. “I did it! Did you see?” In that moment, it didn’t occur to Jane to wonder why Liz was there, in Rome.

  Liz nodded. “Step back, Jane. Wait for me over there.”

  Jane looked grimly down at the man on the floor. Liz straddled his back and held his hands behind him. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a cable tie, and secured his wrists. Then, she slipped a phone out and spoke in rapid-fire Italian.

  “Liz?” Jane was frowning. She pushed her sunglasses up on top of her blonde head. The surreal minutes she’d just got through started to filter through her mind. And none of it made sense. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I think I am better to explain that,” Carlo said quietly, from behind Jane’s shoulder. His lungs were burning from the sprint he’d done across the crowded square. He’d moved almost as fast as light, to get to her.

  He wanted, more than anything, to touch her. To pull her into his arms and hold her tight. To reassure her and calm her.

  But she didn’t need that.

  He looked at his ex-wife, and saw, for the first time, that she was not the young, vulnerable, helpless girl he’d thought her to be. Jane Lang had a core of iron, and he’d seriously underestimated that during their marriage.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “He was going to kidnap me,” Jane said stonily, shock seeping in now. “He was… he was going to kill me.”

  Carlo’s lips were a grim, straight line across his stubbled jaw. Local police arrived and began to speak to Liz. Carlo touched a hand to Jane’s shoulder, briefly. “Wait here.” He stepped towards the police, instantly recognisable as one of Italy’s most well-known business personalities. Jane watched from the sidelines, as though it was happening to someone else entirely.

  “What’s going on?” Jane asked, numb all over, when Carlo strode back to her a moment later.

  “A detective is going to come and talk to you tonight. Once you’ve had time to calm down.”

  Jane looked at him with a mix of consternation and annoyance. “I am calm. And I have a plane to catch.”

  Carlo’s eyes narrowed. “A plane?”

  “Back home. I don’t live here anymore.”

  Carlo put a hand beneath her elbow. “Cara, we need to talk.”

  Jane swallowed, her throat dry. Fragments of the revelations the man had made came to her. His father was alive? It was distinctly not what Carlo had told her when they’d first met. “Yes. I guess we do.”

  He put an arm around her shoulders and guided her through the square. As they approached one of his fleet of luxury vehicles, Jane stopped walking. Her heart was racing and her forehead had beaded with perspiration in a delayed reaction to the second attack she’d experienced in less than a week.

  “Come with me,” he said quietly yet with firm insistence. Jane looked up at him, her fear obvious. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

  She wasn’t sure she’d ever feel safe again. “Can we just go somewhere here?”

  Carlo looked at the square and then leaned down to whisper in her ear, “I’m hardly inconspicuous, Jane.”

  She followed his gaze, and realised a crowd of people were watching them. Several were taking photographs or footage with their phones. “Everyone’s staring.”

  His laugh was a harsh sound of frustration. “Yes. And we need privacy for this conversation.”

  Jane walked beside him towards the car. Her legs felt strange beneath her. Shaky and hollow. As they approached his limousine, he waved aside one of his drivers, so that he could open the door for Jane himself. She slid into the luxurious back seat, and kept her hands gripped firmly in her lap. When Carlo sat beside her, she turned to face him.

  She crossed her arms and jutted out her lower lip. She felt a little like a belligerent child. “I want to go back to London.”

  He reached across and lifted her sunglasses from her face, so that he could properly look into her eyes. What he saw in them gave him little pleasure. The emotions swirling throughout her were obvious in her tormented gaze. He placed the sunglasses into his breast pocket and reached across for her suitcase. As he buckled it into place, his hand grazed her thighs, and Jane flinched.

  “Sorry. It was an accident,” he demurred. She was like a cat on a hot tin roof, and he could absolutely not blame her.

  Jane stared at him long and hard, then nodded. She settled back into the leather of the car, and stared out of her window. Her mind was like a child after a birthday party; it would not stop. She had been attacked because of Carlo. Certainly, that had been the root cause of the events at the Square, but more than likely, it was also the reason she’d been attacked in London. Had Carlo known? Or suspected? And Liz, her next-door neighbour in Kensington, had arrived to rescue her at the precise moment she’d needed it. No way was that a coincidence.

  And Carlo had masterminded everything. Not, of course, the attacks, but everything else.

  She dug her fingernails into her palms to stop herself from visibly reacting. The car pulled out into heavy Roman traffic and began to drive. She recognised the route; it was the same one her cab had taken earlier that day.

  By the time it eased to a stop outside Carlo’s luxurious villa, Jane was shaking. And the last th
ing she felt like doing was managing herself through another confrontation with her dynamic, demanding ex-husband.

  “I need some time on my own to think,” she whispered, when he came around to her side of the car and held the door open.

  Carlo’s face clearly showed his concern. “Come inside, bella,” he murmured. When she didn’t move, he bent down and lifted her, cradling her against his chest. Jane couldn’t stop the sound of grief that escaped her. She pushed a fist against her mouth to try to quieten herself.

  She didn’t want to be weak around Carlo anymore.

  “Put me down,” she said firmly, surprised when her voice came out loud and clear.

  Carlo heard it too, and her tone convinced him to slow his speed. He looked down at her thoughtfully.

  “You are shaking. You need a bath.”

  “You are not calling the shots here.” She sucked in a deep breath. “A cup of tea will suffice.”

  He nodded, but continued to carry her to the downstairs lounge room. He placed her in the middle of the sofa, and then walked towards the doorway. As he opened it, he turned back to her. “Stay there.”

  He returned a few minutes later, clutching a mug in one hand. He passed it to Jane carefully, and said, unnecessarily, “It’s hot.”

  “Thank you.”

  She sipped it and let out a small sound of gratitude. One of the case-workers assigned to her over her foster-home years had always believed that a cup of tea could solve the world’s problems. As Jane sipped hers, she rather thought the woman had a point.

  “I owe you an apology,” Carlo surprised her by saying. He took the seat next to her, but was careful not to touch her.

  Jane sipped her tea, and was equally at pains to avoid making eye contact.

  “You had every right to live your life, when we divorced. Whether you slept with Roger, or ten Rogers, is your prerogative. I cannot help being jealous as all hell, but I cannot blame you.”