by Lynne Graham
Now she knew what fired him. He was still wrong, but God, she couldn’t just walk away from him. She couldn’t just sit tight while there was still a chance that she could do something to help him heal.
“Did you mean what you said at the villa yesterday?” she asked the question before the vulnerability she felt swallowed it up. Before she second-guessed herself again.
Leo and Massimo turned as one, Milan’s skyline behind them a beautiful blend of orange and blue. Shock and concern played on their achingly familiar faces as they took her in.
“Alex? Is everything okay?” Leo asked, coming away from his desk. His tie had been undone, and his jacket discarded. Alex saw the lines of worry that had deepened on his face and felt guilt slam into her yet again. God, he was already worried about Neha and the babies she carried since her blood pressure was too high. Now she…
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”
Massimo moved like lightning, blocking her before she could take two steps away. “No, bella. Don’t run away.”
“Of course I meant every word,” Leo said behind her, his words ringing with conviction. He clasped her shoulder and squeezed. “This is not, and never was your battle to fight, Alex. You don’t owe us anything.”
Alex took a deep breath and turned around. For as long as she’d known him, Leonardo had been fair and honorable, determined to be different from the man who’d sired him.
His gaze swept over hers with concern, and he sighed. “Say what’s on your mind, Alex.”
“I know you can’t forgive Vincenzo for what he’s doing. For everything he’s already done. But I understand his reasons now. For years, he’s been caught up in this, fighting for justice for people who can’t demand it for themselves. And while he’s laying the blame at the wrong feet, his reasons are…painfully just. I need you guys to believe me that he’s not…a monster. I can’t…go on with my marriage if you think that. I just can’t. You are both too important to me. You’re family.”
“And nothing will change that, Alex. We already know he’s not a monster, bella,” Massimo interjected, coming to stand by her. “Even if we forget, Natalie reminds us daily. Any man who willingly helps a lost teenager couldn’t be one.”
“And will you forgive me if I…stay with him?”
Massimo whistled and Leo sent him a glare. “You don’t need forgiveness. Alex, this is your life. Your happiness. Whatever choice you make, we’ll still love you.” Leo sighed. “As long as he doesn’t hurt you.”
“He won’t,” Alex said, not knowing where the words came from. Where the trust came from.
But she’d done enough running in her life, lost enough by not staying and fighting. Her mother was never coming back. And she couldn’t bear to lose this chance with Vincenzo too.
When she spoke, her words rang with conviction. “He won’t hurt me, Leo. He has reasons for his actions. So many of them. He can’t see anything else right now. But there’s more to him than this revenge. He’s a man worth standing by. And I want to try.”
Massimo wrapped his arm around her, as if he could sense how tightly stretched she was. “We’ve been preparing for the worst for a long time, bella. Before he stepped into your life.”
“And even if he takes everything we have built, we’ll rebuild again. He’s not going to make us destitute, Alex. I hope you have that much trust in us,” Leo added archly, and Alex smiled, despite the tears in her eyes.
How could Vincenzo not see what these men were made of? How could he not see that despite Silvio Brunetti’s horrendous actions, these men shared the same code of honor he himself lived by?
“In the big scheme of things, BFI and the villa matter very little. Both Massimo and I have learned that lesson the hard way. Neha and the babies, Natalie…the people who matter the most to us, we will still have them even if Vincenzo takes everything else, si?
“So you do what feels right to you. You do whatever your heart wants, Alex, and we’re right behind you,” Leo finished, reaching for her.
Alex went into his arms and buried her face in the familiar scent of him. This was what family meant. And this was what Vincenzo had never known. This was what she wanted to build with him, for her and for Charlie. And for V.
She was going to take the leap.
CHAPTER EIGHT
VINCENZO OPENED THE door and walked in. For a few seconds, he stood still, disoriented. He had given Alessandra more than a few days to recover. And she had taken to hiding in here, not just from him, but from everyone.
The conservatory was all glass on one side, giving a spectacular view of the lake. It was ablaze with lights and looked like a thunderstorm had raged through it and left utter chaos in its wake.
Boxes and boxes—some closed, the majority open with overflowing fabrics in every imaginable color—lay haphazardly around the vast room.
The surface of a dark mahogany table peeked from under a surfeit of sketchbooks and papers. Vincenzo picked up a book and rifled through hundreds of pages of sketches and designs, from elaborate evening dresses to stylish work shirts and suits. Two state-of-the-art sewing machines sat at a far corner and two mobile racks held dresses and other accessories in varying stages of completion.
A sheaf of papers had different versions of the same logo—a curlicued A and A wrapped around each other in different sizes. He was about to call out Alex’s name when he heard a hiccup from the other end of the vast room.
Slowly, he made his way through the jumbled mess on the floor to the other end of the room, where a partition separated the work area from this second area. Sitting on the floor, with a half-empty wineglass and a bottle of red, was Alessandra. With her back to him.
Vincenzo took a few seconds to breathe through the desire that hit him like a gut punch.
She was wearing a white, wispy lace thing that plunged into a deep V at her back, showing off the toned musculature. Silky smooth, golden skin beckoned him for a touch.
While he watched in bemused fascination, she emptied her wineglass and hiccuped again.
“Alessandra?” He called out softly so as to not spook her.
She turned and threw him a glance over her shoulder, then looked away. In the brilliance of the lights, the tears in her eyes looked like crystals.
The slippery whisper of the silk of her dress made him look down. To sit comfortably, she had pulled fistfuls of fabric away from her long legs. The result was that it was gathered around her upper thighs all but baring every inch of her gorgeous body to his hungry gaze.
Vincenzo went to his knees next to her and gently placed his hand over her bare shoulder. Her skin felt freezing to his touch, though the room was comfortably warm. “Cristo, you’re like ice!” He spread his fingers around desperate to warm her up.
“What?” She jerked, as if coming out of a trance. Dislodging his fingers in the process. “Oh, the cold, you mean? Yeah, I’m always cold,” she said in a nasal voice that confirmed that she’d been crying.
For a few seconds, he got distracted by a memory from Bali. He had been startled awake from a deep sleep early one morning to find her wound around him. But what had woken him had been her cold feet tucked into the groove between his own ankles.
He had gone back to sleep, a smile on his lips, his heart brimming with a feeling he couldn’t define. It had been a perfect morning.
“You know, when we met…it’s so silly,” she muttered and then laughed at herself. “I used to think it was so utterly romantic that you were always warm. As if there was a…volcano inside you. I actually took that as some sort of sign. That you’d always warm me up. For the rest of our lives.
“Can you believe the depth of my foolishness?”
He slid to the floor with not quite the economy he usually had, her words hitting him hard. The ache in them cutting deep. “It’s not foolish, cara mia.”
She tuc
ked an unruly lock of hair behind her ear, and he noticed the dangly diamond earrings glittering at her ears, the drop at the bottom kissing her shoulder every time she moved. An elegant choker—a matching set with the earrings, glimmered at her neck. Her dress, now that he was noticing things other than her painfully lovely face, was of a rich lace and ivory silk material. And it fit her to perfection.
In the beautiful white dress and the expensive jewelry, she looked like a bride.
She hadn’t dressed up like this for their impromptu, impulsive wedding. He frowned. “Princess, is everything okay?”
“Hmm?”
He lifted the bottle to his gaze. Half-empty. “I didn’t know you drank.”
One bare shoulder rose and fell. “I don’t usually, but I feel like I’m drowning. Tonight, I just want to not care.”
He watched in increasing fascination as she took the wine bottle from him and swallowed a mouthful. A drop fell on the golden skin of her neck and rolled down into the valley of her breasts. He cursed under his breath, feeling the tightness in his trousers.
“You should be wary of me. I’m a mean drunk.”
He smiled. “I’ll take my chances, bella.”
Trembling fingers dug through the rumpled mass of her hair. Her chest rose and fell. She rubbed her nose against her upper arm. The grief painted on her tight face sent alarm bells ringing inside his head. He took her hand in his, and pressed his thumb over her knuckles. In a rhythmic movement, back and forth.
“Talk to me, cara mia.”
She shook her head.
“Afraid you’ll spill your secrets?” he teased, faking a humor he didn’t feel.
“I don’t want to be responsible tonight.”
“Then that is exactly why I should be here, tesoro. You can be as dangerous and impulsive as you want. Do your worst, Alex. I won’t tell a soul.”
The brown of her eyes seemed strangely feverish, and intent. Far too present to be truly drunk. The flimsy silk dress looked like it had been made for her. With her hair falling away from its knot and the dress a rumpled mess around her, she still managed to look delicately feminine. Fiercely sexy.
She licked her lower lip and held his gaze. “And if I want things I shouldn’t want?”
His body hardened instantly. “Then we will indulge in that too.”
When she leaned sideways suddenly, her breasts rubbed against his bicep. He felt electrocuted. Singed by the press of her soft flesh. Softly whispered words blew warm air over his neck. “And if the wine doesn’t do its thing, will you help, V? Will you come inside me and—”
“Tell me about this room,” he said loudly, cutting her off.
“Now who’s running scared?” she taunted.
“I’ll give you anything you want, Alessandra. Even if that is me pounding away inside you so that you can forget the grief I see in your eyes. I will let you use me any way you want, bella. But when that’s done, when you wake up tomorrow with your body sore in the most delicious way, that grief will still be there. Waiting for you.”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I hate it when you get all sensible.”
He let out a long groan. “I hate it when I have to be sensible when you’re offering sex.”
He saw her lips twitch at that. And it felt like a victory. A small one but one nonetheless. “This is my design studio. Leo had it built for me. He didn’t want me to feel left out.”
“Left out?” The mention of Leo’s name cooled his ardor considerably.
“He had the old wine cellar transformed into a state-of-the-art tech lab for Massimo. Renovated the skeleton of an old greenhouse for himself. When he found out I was cramming yards of fabric in my bedroom, he had this conservatory remodeled into a design room for me.” She ran a hand tenderly over the chaise longue, her voice catching. “I had only been here a year by then and I didn’t trust him at all. When I asked him why, he simply said this was my home too and it should feel like that.
“He was maybe twenty. But then he’s always been a protector at heart.”
Vincenzo swallowed the bitter retort that sprang to his lips. “What do you design here?”
Her shoulders straightened with the deep breath she took, sending one silky strap falling off her shoulder. His fingers itched to trace the smooth expanse of that exposed skin, and follow it up with his mouth. “Evening dresses, mostly. I use vintage clothing and repurpose them to give them a new edge.”
“Are you any good at it?”
“I’m brilliant at it,” she answered, and he smiled. The few pieces he’d seen on the rack looked astoundingly beautiful even to his untrained eye. “But I…I have a love-hate relationship with it. For a long time, I pursued everything but design. Actually, I mostly hated it.”
“Still do?”
A lone tear fell down her cheek. “No. Design is where my heart is. I just… I hated it because it was associated with her. Alyssa. It was the one thing she gave me.”
“Your mother?”
“She was a very talented seamstress. An artist with a glorious vision, to be honest. Designing clothes was the one thing we had in common. She taught me when I was a little girl. All these boxes…they are hers. I wanted to donate the whole lot to charity and wash my hands of it. But…I couldn’t help myself.”
“She made this dress?” he asked, rubbing the silk between his fingers at the hem.
“I think so. It fits me almost perfectly. The lawyer overseeing their estate handed me the jewelry. I… Apparently, it was supposed to be her wedding gift to me.”
“Alessandra—”
“But I didn’t even tell her that I got married. I sent a postcard to Charlie from Bali, telling him, which she must have read. After I left you…she got in touch with me through Javier, wrote me a letter that he sent on. She wanted to meet you but I called her and told her we were too busy. I…told her she’d never been a part of my life and that it wasn’t suddenly going to change. I was absolutely cruel. And a week later, she was gone. Poof. Just like that.”
He took her hand in his and was again struck by how cold she was. Pulling it to his mouth, he blew warmth into it. “You had no way of knowing she’d be in an accident, Princess. Life is…”
“Unfair sometimes, yeah. She cheated on my stepfather. Did you know that? With my real father. Greta’s second husband. She took off on holiday after they’d had a fight, met Carlos in Milan, had an affair and then returned to her husband, pregnant with me.
“And somehow, Steve forgave her. Except for the fact that there I was, the symbol of everything she’d done wrong, growing up in front of his eyes. Forever reminding him of his wife’s infidelity.”
“Was he cruel to you?”
“No.” More tears drawing tracks on her cheeks. “Oh no, Steve was an honorable man, in his own way. It was her, you see. My mother never forgave herself for her mistake. I was the punishment for her sin.”
He pressed his mouth to the back of her hand, feeling helpless against her pain. “You were only a child.”
“There was always a coldness to her when I was growing up. A distance I could never cross. And finally, when I was thirteen, it all came out. The truth about my parentage. And I realized why she could never love me. So I reached out to Carlos and moved to Italy to live with him.
“I refused to live in a situation where I was considered a weakness. A shameful secret. A weapon to be used in any argument.”
“I’m sorry, Alex,” Vincenzo whispered, the full scope of what he had done only just dawning on him now.
“I will not be a weapon to be used against them,” she’d said again and again. “I’m not a prize.”
“Do you know what’s weird? I did so many things in life to enrage her. It wasn’t enough to leave her.
“I became closer and closer to Greta. I took up modeling because I knew my mother w
ould not approve. I…refused to even visit her, despite numerous calls from Steve. I thought I was hurting her. But really I only hurt myself.”
“You did whatever you had to in order to survive.”
She scrubbed at her tears roughly. “She reached out to me again after Charlie was born. I went, not to take her up on the olive branch, but because I was curious about Charlie. I was curious about how she would love this baby, if she did at all.
“And she did. I could see it in her eyes—he was a piece of her heart. She loved him like she never did me. And it broke my heart all over again.
“I love him so much now, but when he was first born I was so jealous of this small baby, Vincenzo. Can you believe it? This tiny human being had what she’d always denied me. Now she’s gone. And Charlie’s lost everything too.”
“Shh…tesoro. Shh…none of this is your fault. Grief and guilt are a poisonous cocktail, cara,” Vincenzo crooned as she broke into heart-wrenching sobs. He pressed his mouth to her temple and held her in a firm grip, his chest tight with an ache he couldn’t name.
Her pain felt like his own, and his guilt that he’d only made it worse… It raked claws through him.
“How horrible does it make me that I don’t truly miss her? I only miss what could have been…if we’d patched up our relationship.”
He understood her so perfectly at that moment. The tangle of emotions that could choke your breath, a beautiful future slipping through your fingers and the helplessness it brought… His arms tightened around her and he rocked them both gently.
His mind turned to the implicit trust he had seen between Leo and Massimo Brunetti. The ethics they’d strived hard to instill in themselves were becoming clearer as he delved into BFI’s operations ever since Silvio had been kicked out—with Greta’s help, indeed—and Leo had taken over as CEO.
The bond the brothers shared despite Silvio Brunetti’s cruelty toward his own sons… He’d seen the evidence of it with his own eyes.
