by Tara Pammi
Thank God he’d had Anna tell her, even if it had been a bit dicey, at the last moment to bring her design portfolio with her. That the surprise he’d arranged for her was a dinner meeting with the talented CEO of an up-and-coming couture house with its base in New York City—a meeting Alessandra had been pursuing for more than a month now with no success.
One of the numerous things that Vincenzo arranged in her life, with an incredible arrogance that sometimes stole her breath.
But for all the initial protest that rose up inside her at his high-handedness, Alessandra could never fail to see the intentions—usually good intentions, behind his presumptuous actions. Like this meeting with the trendsetting CEO.
She had only just admitted to herself, and whispered to him that night in her design studio a few weeks ago, that she wanted to launch herself as a designer. That she wanted to launch her own label as Alessandra & Alyssa—a label that would commemorate her mother’s artistic vision and the peace that Alex had finally found after all these years.
It had been a painful internal journey but she knew it was the right thing to do—to acknowledge that her mother had loved her, in her own way, to use the talent and vision for design she’d inherited from Alyssa to build her own company.
Neither could she lie to herself anymore. Vincenzo had helped her achieve that peace. For a man who was so ruthless about so many things, he had been insightful and kind when it was her grief they were dealing with.
As soon as he’d understood what she’d wanted, he had set in motion so many meetings for her all across the globe. Using his connections.
Not that Alessandra lacked a network. But his was just bigger and better, she reluctantly admitted to herself.
For example this particular CEO—his couture house had been in the news of late for its ethical practices, for designing couture using recycled vintage wear, and for its fair trading policies with so many third world countries where it sourced the vintage fabrics. It would be the dream of a couture house to launch her first line with. But even with her connections and her agent’s clout, Alessandra hadn’t been able to acquire a meeting with the man.
No sooner had she revealed her frustration to Vincenzo, there it was in her calendar, a meeting with that CEO.
And it had gone tremendously well, she and the man instantly hitting it off.
At least the nausea that had threatened her all day—she frowned...no, all week, actually—hadn’t ruined the evening. Victor Emmanuel had been both excited and amazed by her portfolio, and Alessandra couldn’t wait to begin working with such a brilliant visionary. Couldn’t wait to see her label launched—a future woven from the threads of the past.
When she had laughingly mentioned Vincenzo twisting his arm to get her the appointment, he had, with a sudden seriousness, admitted that he was the one who owed Vincenzo a favor. Because her husband had been the very man who had helped him raise seed capital in what was a cutthroat industry all those years ago.
Every time Alex thought she knew Vincenzo, that she understood him, he threw a monkey wrench into it.
She toweled her damp hair and pulled a robe on, a strange lethargy gripping her. Barefoot, she walked into the bedroom of the penthouse that challenged the New York City skyline with its magnificence.
They had been here for three weeks now, and Alessandra had discovered she didn’t want to return home. God, she wanted to stay here forever, away from Italy and the myriad demands it placed on her husband’s time, energy and even loyalty.
It had been a glorious few weeks’ respite, and she was loath to see it come to an end.
Since she had made her choice, since she had decided that she couldn’t let his war with Leonardo and Massimo break her apart into so many pieces, just as she’d guessed, Vincenzo, in return for that surrender, had been busy placing the world at her feet in return.
And it hadn’t been just his support, his encouragement, and the use of his extensive network when it came to launching her new career. He had barely returned from a weeklong conference in Beijing when she had been ready to leave for New York to see Charlie again.
A few hours with him at the most had been what she’d been hoping for. Because, once she had stopped lying to herself, once she’d stopped fighting herself, she had admitted how much she missed him.
How much she missed their talks about their careers, about their futures, their long, lazy nights, where she kept thinking that one more night, one more time would calm the fire that raged between them. But it did not. It was as if a different Vincenzo—charming, contented, that Vincenzo she had first met in Bali—had emerged again since she had thrown her lot in with him.
The only blip, the only thing that marred her near-perfect happiness was his past. He refused to even talk about his mother or his ongoing battle to gain the controlling stock of BFI. As long as Alessandra didn’t broach either of those subjects—and she made a conscious effort not to—he was everything she could have ever asked for.
No, he was more than she’d ever expected to have in her life.
A week ago, he had surprised her by joining her on the flight to New York, even though she knew he’d been busy with his own global interests.
He’d been incredibly patient when Charlie had refused to even meet his gaze, reassuring Alex that he knew how to handle the little boy.
He had also made time to spend an entire day with Charlie and her, arranging an impromptu picnic at Central Park, playing the tourist with them. At the end of the day, Charlie had asked Vincenzo when he’d visit again.
“What’s important to you is important to me,” he’d said simply when she had inquired.
Except the Brunettis.
Even a single mention of either Greta, or Leo or Massimo, and instantly, he transformed into a man Alex didn’t understand. A man that she was increasingly afraid for. How long could a person sustain such hatred, such anger and not be changed by it? When it was finally over, what would be left for her?
Alex sighed and poured out a glass of water when the private elevator pinged behind her. Like a teenage girl, her heart beat faster, her skin prickled with anticipation as footsteps echoed down the sitting room and then into the bedroom where she stood by the French doors.
She hadn’t seen him in four days. A meager four days, and yet it felt like a lifetime. “Hey,” she said, leaning her wobbling knees against the cold glass, her throat already parched again.
He stood still, framed by the rounded archway and suddenly the distance between them felt like a chasm. A chasm he was creating between them.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, knowing that she was overreacting and yet unable to stop the thread of fear unspooling in her belly.
“You said you wouldn’t interfere in this anymore. You said you’d chosen your path, that you chose me.”
“I did.”
“Then what do you call all the maneuverings you’ve set into motion behind my back? I can’t leave you alone for a few days? Cristo, no wonder Antonio thinks I’m whipped.”
“What maneuverings? What are you talking about?” She had never seen him so angry and his anger brought out hers. Suddenly, the magic she’d found in the city with him seemed to evaporate right in front of her eyes. “Also, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t discuss our marriage with that bitter old man.”
His eyes narrowed. “That bitter old man is the only father figure I’ve ever had. That bitter old man is the only reason I stand before you as a successful businessman instead of a criminal languishing behind bars.”
As quickly as it came, her anger got swept away. She reached him and clasped his jaw in her hands. He hadn’t shaved in a while, and the stubble was a raspy purr against her palm. Dark smudges cradled his eyes. And all she wanted was to kiss away the bitterness from those proud features. “I forget how hard you’ve worked to get to this place.”
He stiffened. “Do not pity me
, Alessandra.”
She smiled, her chest swimming with a most peculiar cocktail of emotions. “Antonio deserves my respect if nothing else. I’m sorry for speaking of him in such a manner. But—” she chose her words carefully “—he’s determined to tether you to the past so tightly, V...” She pressed her mouth against his, desperate for a taste of him. Every word Antonio said to him, every meeting pulled Vincenzo away from the possibility of the future they could share. From finally releasing all the bitterness and anger he’d nursed for so long. From her. “And it terrifies the hell out of me.”
That he didn’t offer her words of reassurance made her belly swoop. Fear coated her skin with a cold chill and she started shivering.
There was change on the horizon—good and bad—so many chances that she could be split open and everything in her urged to run away again.
Instead, she embraced the fear and ache. She tightened her arms around him and let the vulnerability wash over her. Drown her. The lazy flick of his tongue against hers, the solid feel of him in her arms, the scent of him in her blood anchored her amidst her own fears. Rooted her.
Could the very man who might break her also give her strength to stay strong?
She’d have laughed at the question if it wasn’t her heart in the balance.
His hands untangled hers from him. “You told Leonardo and Massimo about Antonio, about all the others.”
“I didn’t think it was a secret.”
“I was a fool to believe that you would...” He moved away, his face set in tense lines, his mouth pinched.
As if she had truly betrayed him.
Suddenly, she felt as if she’d been given a painful insight into his thoughts.
Was that what Vincenzo expected of her? That she would betray him, abandon him at some point? That she would simply choose to walk away from all this?
But instead of feeling anger that he should trust her so little, Alex realized something else. This wasn’t about his trust in her, this was about his own inability to trust. These were the scars left by a painful childhood where he hadn’t had anyone to depend on. Anyone in his corner.
Her tone softened. “What Antonio wants for you is not healthy. So of course he’ll paint this as some kind of deception on my part.”
“I’m not discussing this with you.”
“So don’t,” she said, suddenly angry herself. “We will add it to the list of things I’m not allowed to mention if I want to keep the delicate boat of our marriage from capsizing.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m not allowed to even ask you about your mother. I’m not allowed to be a part of Leo’s and Massimo’s lives, men I consider family. And I’ve made my peace with all that. To be with you.
“I did them one small favor in return for the hundreds they’ve bestowed on me. I’m tired of you constantly questioning my loyalty.”
He sat down on the bed, his head in his hands, a deep sigh rolling out of him. He looked as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. And maybe he had carried it all this time. But things were different now. Changing.
And Alex was damned if she’d let him shoulder this alone anymore.
“Give me a chance to explain, V.”
“Why did you tell them?”
“Because they deserved to know that their father’s actions still had serious consequences, such far-reaching potential for destruction. Because I wanted to show you that you don’t have to carry this burden alone. The burden of righting all the wrongs Silvio did, of bringing justice to those who can’t fight for themselves.”
He pulled her to him then, with a half-swallowed growl that sounded like a feral animal fighting for its last breath, and her heart thudded painfully in her breast. His face buried in her chest, his arms clung around her waist.
She sank her fingers into his crisp hair. “Leo’s about to become a father to two children. Imagine you and I having a child and someone out there wishing our family so much ill will as these people do...” She shuddered and his arms tightened around her.
“How is it that you keep unraveling me?” he asked.
She looked down and their eyes held. Fused with a connection that they hadn’t been able to deny from that first moment. The connection he wanted but not the force of emotion that strengthened it. The compromise and change it constantly asked of him, even the sacrifice it sometimes demanded.
“I’ve already decided not to demolish the villa,” he said, and the small flicker of hope turned into a full-blown flame in her body. “But—”
She didn’t want to hear any more. Pressing her finger to his mouth, she shimmied out of the flimsy robe and stood naked in front of him. Their kiss was a conflagration of desire and hope and such emotion that her heart stuttered in her chest.
His mouth was hard, rough; his kiss desperate, intense, a hard taking instead of giving. A demand for everything she could give.
She could sense it in the hunger in his eyes. In the tense jut of his muscles. But this wasn’t pure lust. This was him reaching out to her when the ground was shifting beneath him. He palmed her breasts, pinched her nipples as she pulled his shirt out of his trousers with a fervent need. Tugged the zipper down and sneaked her hand inside.
His hips thrust against her hand as she molded the hard length of him. “I want to be inside you, now, bella.”
“Yes, please,” she whispered back. “Now.”
Their mouths clung to each other as he shucked off the rest of his clothes.
A soft moan left her mouth as her body settled against his—breast to chest, thigh to thigh, his abdominal muscles a hard slab of heat against hers. Wrapping her legs around him, she threw her head back and moaned.
And then he was inside her, her back against the wall, her front a delicious slide against all his muscles. But he didn’t move inside her. Just held her like that, where she could feel him all over her body. His heart thudding against hers.
“We will live in that house, bella. You, me, our family. That’s the only way I won’t ruin it.”
“But—”
“My wedding gift to you, cara mia. It’s your choice now.”
But he didn’t wait for her answer. He started moving and her eyes rolled back.
Another searing kiss that swallowed not only her protest but her very breath. But she had no real protest anyway. She would take the little he gave her. He had changed for her. Because of her.
One corded arm rested near her head as he pulled out with a grunt and thrust back in. His teeth in the juncture of her neck kept that small edge to the waves of sensation building inside her, amplifying their sweetness in contrast.
With each upward jerk of his hips, she was pushed up and against the wall. With each wicked twist of his hips, sensation swelled and swirled downward. His face was savage in his utter lack of control. But even in the wake of such hunger, he didn’t forget about her. Every upward thrust rubbed her in just the right place. When he tugged her nipple into his mouth, Alex fragmented. And he followed.
Alex held him as he released into her with a feral growl.
The words rose to her lips, desperate to be set free. The emotion in her chest taking the space of everything else. Rumbling like a volcano about to explode.
Instead, Alex buried her own teeth in the taut curve of his shoulder and swallowed away the words. Words never meant much to her anyway.
He’d shown her in actions that he cared about her. Which gave her hope. And hope was more than enough right now.
* * *
It was a long time later, tucked into the crook of his arm, his body a warm embrace, that Alex said, “What did Leo and Massimo do that angered Antonio so much? You never told me.”
She’d expected him to shut her down; instead he only sighed. The darkness helped, she knew. And it wasn’t just that. She’d
seen something in him earlier. A shift. A change. A vulnerability that made her throat ache. And everything in her wanted to embrace that hope. Cling to it like she’d never done anything else before.
His fingers spread over her throat, his words a harsh whisper in the silence. “They offered financial reparation to the families of those that were cheated, crushed by their father. Training, jobs, even stock options in BFI.”
Alex’s heart lightened. Her trust in them was once again totally vindicated. She tempered her joy, sensing the tension in his powerful body. “But this is good, isn’t it?”
“Is it? They’re buying forgiveness, cara, don’t you see?” But there was no heat in his tone. Resignation. Even acceptance maybe, she thought with more hope burgeoning inside her chest. “Which is why Antonio refused to even touch anything they offered.”
“They don’t need forgiveness. They didn’t even need to redress Silvio’s sins. But they’ve done it because they have a strong sense of right and wrong.” She held his gaze in the darkness, saw the flicker of anger tamp down. He looked away, but Alex caught his expression before that. And suddenly she got it. “You’re shocked that they’re not the monsters you believed them to be for so long. That they’re truly honorable men. Good men. It’s not too late, V. If you just stretch your—”
“Not this again, Alessandra,” he cut in harshly.
“Didn’t this whole thing start as helping those who couldn’t help themselves? To right the wrongs that Silvio Brunetti perpetrated? Or does it matter more that you have to be their savior than that they be saved at all?”
Vincenzo stilled, Alessandra’s words piercing him like a thousand little cuts, stripping away the anger and bitterness he’d nursed for so many years. He wanted to yell at her to stop, to leave him be. To cease digging into him. Because if she stripped him bare of his need for revenge, his thirst for justice, if she took away this fight that had consumed his adult life, what would she find?
If he gave up his quest to take over BFI, what was left in him? Of him?
He’d meticulously planned and executed each and every move, and there was no way back from that. No way out from the hole he’d buried his heart in.
