Awakened by the Scarred Italian

by Abby Green

  * * *

  The late summer dusk was tipping into night as they made the journey up a long and winding driveway to Ciro’s Sicilian palazzo. All Lara could see was the wide open lavender sky full of bright stars and acres and acres of land rolling down to the sea. It was quiet.

  They climbed an incline, and when they reached the top she sucked in a breath.

  The palazzo seemed to rise out of nowhere and cling to a cliff-edge in the distance; a soaring cluster of buildings with a tower that looked like something from a movie. As they got closer she could see just how massive it was. Lights shone from high windows, and they drove into a huge courtyard with a fountain in the middle. Wide steps led up to a huge open door where light spilled out. It looked incongruously welcoming in spite of the intimidating grandeur of the building.

  ‘You said once that you spent a lot of time here growing up?’ Lara said as Ciro drew the SUV to a stop at the bottom of the steps.

  He cut the car’s engine and put both hands on the steering wheel. Lara was conscious of the missing little finger on his right hand. It made her chest ache. She looked away.

  ‘Yes. We were mainly in Rome, after my parents moved there, but I spent most holidays here with my grandparents. My nonna died when I was small, but my grandfather was alive until not long ago.’

  ‘Were your mother’s parents alive?’

  His mouth compressed. ‘They lived in Rome and they didn’t approve of her choice of husband. They had nothing to do with me or my father—even though my father moved to Rome to keep my mother happy.’

  ‘That was harsh.’

  She’d never really realised how lonely Ciro must have been as an only child. Or how it must have looked to a young boy to see his father giving up his own heritage to keep his selfish mother happy.

  Just then a young woman in jeans and a white shirt appeared at the top of the steps. Ciro saw her and uncurled his large frame from the SUV, calling out a greeting in Italian.

  The young woman flew down the steps and hurled herself at Ciro, who chuckled, wrapping her in his arms. Lara’s breath stopped as something very sharp pierced her heart. She hadn’t seen Ciro so relaxed and easy since they’d met again. He’d been like that with her, once...

  She got out of the car slowly, and as she came around to where Ciro was extricating himself from the woman’s embrace Lara could see that she was a girl of about eighteen, extraordinarily pretty with long dark hair and dark eyes. She was looking up at Ciro as if he was God.

  Then she saw Lara and stepped back, clapping a hand to her mouth. Her eyes were sparkling and she took her hand down, smiling so widely and infectiously that Lara couldn’t help but respond.

  Lara held her hand out, but the girl ignored it and embraced her warmly too. When she pulled back she said, ‘Scusi...’ and then she rattled off some words in Italian that Lara had no hope of understanding.

  Ciro said something and the girl stopped talking, looking embarrassed.

  ‘Lara, I’d like you to meet Isabella. She grew up here on the estate with her family, who have cared for the palazzo for generations.’

  Lara smiled. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’

  Isabella smiled again. ‘And you, Signora Sant’Angelo. Please excuse me. I do speak English but I forget when I am excited.’

  The obvious warmth flowing between Ciro and this young woman was as unexpected as it was heartening. Lara had never seen him look so relaxed.

  Isabella took Lara’s arm. ‘Roberto will come and get the bags—he’s my twin brother. Let me show you around!’

  Lara didn’t think she had much choice, so she let herself be led up the steps and into the palazzo on a wave of Isabella’s exuberance. In all honesty she was glad of a moment’s respite—glad to get away from Ciro and stop overthinking everything that was to come that night.

  Their wedding night.

  About half an hour later Lara was led out onto an open terrace, overlooking the sea below. She could see another terrace further down, set precipitously right over the cliff. All was calm now, but she could imagine how dramatic it must be in a storm.

  The rest of the palazzo was seriously impressive. Apparently it had undergone a major renovation in recent years, and now it was a byword for elegant sophistication and comfort.

  It had an opulent cinema room, and a gym with an indoor pool. There was an outdoor pool set into its landscaped grounds. Too many bedrooms to count. Formal and informal dining rooms. A kitchen to die for. And there was even a quaint old church on the property.

  Isabella had confided in Lara that Ciro was sponsoring her and her twin brother to go to university in Rome in the autumn. This was a side to Ciro that Lara hadn’t seen before—philanthropic.

  Isabella said now, ‘I’ll show you up to your suite. Ciro has asked that dinner be served here on the terrace in half an hour, but I’m sure you’d like to freshen up first?’

  Lara nodded gratefully. She couldn’t believe that the wedding had been earlier that same day. It felt like a lifetime ago.

  She followed Isabella up the main staircase to the first floor, where the bedrooms were situated. At the end of a plushly carpeted corridor she opened a door on the right and led Lara into an exquisitely decorated bedroom suite, complete with walk-in wardrobe and en suite bathroom. There was even a balcony through a set of French doors, overlooking the sea. It was sumptuous.

  Isabella left her alone and Lara slipped off the light jacket she’d been wearing over her dress and took off her shoes, sighing with relief as her bare feet sank into the carpet.

  She padded over to the balcony and looked out, drawing in a lungful of fragrant warm air from the Mediterranean Sea. Dozens of different scents tickled her nostrils...lemons...bergamot? The salty air from the sea. It was paradise, and in spite of everything Lara could feel something inside her loosen and untangle.

  ‘Surprised that the uncouth Sicilian has some taste after all?’

  Lara jumped nearly a foot in the air and slapped a hand over her racing heart. Ciro was standing on a similar balcony she hadn’t noticed, just a few feet away. He’d lost his jacket too, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, revealing strong muscled forearms.

  Lara struggled to process his words. ‘No...not at all.’ She was irritated that she was so skittish around him. ‘I always knew you had taste. I never called you uncouth.’

  Or had she?

  In those awful moments two years ago in the hospital... She’d been so desperate to get out of there before he’d seen what a fraud she was...

  Ciro made a noise. ‘Maybe not, but as good as.’

  It was impossible not to notice how right Ciro looked against the dramatic backdrop of palazzo and cliffs and sea. As if he’d been hewn out of the very rock beneath them.

  He straightened up from where he’d been leaning against the door. ‘I’ll take you down to dinner.’

  He disappeared, and Lara was confused until she heard a door opening back in her suite and went in to see Ciro standing in an adjoining doorway. An interconnected but separate suite. She could see his bed in the background.

  All at once she felt a conflicting and humiliating mixture of relief and disappointment. She knew she wasn’t ready to share such an intimate space with Ciro yet. If ever. But she had expected him to want to project a united front. Ever mindful of people’s opinion.

  ‘Won’t people expect us to...?’

  ‘Be cohabiting?’

  Lara shrugged, embarrassed. Maybe this was new etiquette and she was being incredibly unsophisticated to assume that all couples were like her parents, who had shared a bedroom. After all, her first experience of marriage had hardly been conventional.

  ‘I have every intention of this being a marriage in all senses of the word, but we don’t need to share a bedroom for that.’

  Lara felt that like a slap in the face. Ciro
would sleep with her but not sleep with her.

  He came into the room. ‘Dinner will be ready—shall we?’

  Lara was about to follow him out of the room when she saw her shoes and slipped them on again, wincing slightly as they pinched after the long day. She also pulled her jacket over her shoulders, feeling a little exposed in the silk dress.

  When they went out onto the terrace Lara couldn’t stop an involuntary gasp of pleasure and surprise from leaving her mouth. There were candles flickering in little jars all along the wall and fairy lights strung into the leaves and branches that clung to the palazzo’s ancient walls.

  With the moon shining on the sea in the distance and exotic scents infusing the air, it was magical. The thought that Ciro might have gone out of his way to—

  ‘Don’t get any ideas. This is all Isabella’s idea. She’s a romantic.’

  Lara’s heart sank and she berated herself. What was wrong with her? Throw a little candlelight on the situation and she was prepared to forget that this was a marriage of convenience built on her sense of guilt and responsibility. Built on Ciro’s need for retribution.

  A table had been set for two with a white tablecloth and silverware. A champagne bottle rested in a bucket of ice. Out of nowhere a handsome young man appeared to open the champagne. Ciro introduced him as Roberto, Isabella’s twin brother.

  Ciro lifted his glass to Lara when they were sitting down. It was a mockery against the flickering lights of all the candles. ‘Here’s to us, and to a short but beneficial marriage.’

  Lara longed to put down her glass and make her excuses, but Isabella was back with the first course, and she looked so happy to be serving them that Lara didn’t have the heart to cause a scene.

  When she’d left them alone, Lara leaned forward. ‘You didn’t have to marry someone you despise, you know. There are plenty of women who I’m sure would have loved to be in my position.’

  Ciro took a drink. ‘Ah, but they weren’t you, cara, with your unique qualities. You’ve been a thorn in my side for two years. I need to exorcise you to move on.’

  ‘You mean take your revenge and in the process exploit my connections as much as possible?’ She added, ‘I hate to break it to you, but I don’t wield half the influence my father and uncle did.’

  Ciro appeared totally unperturbed by that. He flicked open his napkin. ‘You wield influence just by being a Templeton. Marriage to you has automatically given me access to an inner circle that no one admits exists.’

  Lara knew he was right on some level. As much as she hated to admit such hierarchical snobbishness existed. Impulsively she asked, ‘Why does it matter so much to you?’

  Ciro sat back, not liking his sense of claustrophobia at her question. But then he considered it. Why shouldn’t he tell her? It wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t give anything away. It might actually show her just how determined he was to make this work. And how clinically he viewed this marriage. Even if his thrumming pulse told another story that was a lot less clinical.

  ‘My father had a bad experience in England. He went to talk business with a number of potential partners. One by one they smiled to his face but refused to do business with him. He heard later that they had decided to close ranks against him. It wasn’t just that he was new money—it was the rumours of where that money had come from. Had it been laundered? Did it come from the money made out of violence and crime by previous generations? He was humiliated. Angry. He made me promise to do better. To get myself a seat at the table so that the Sant’Angelo name could finally be free of negative associations.’

  ‘Was your father the first one to try and break away?’

  Ciro shook his head. ‘It was his father. My grandfather desperately wanted to remove the stain of infamy from our name. He knew the world was moving on and he had ambitious plans for the Sant’Angelos. To go beyond these small shores, and Italy. He was sick of how our name engendered shock and derision. No respect. Not real respect. He wanted us to be accepted outside our narrow parameters. He craved the ultimate acceptance from a world that had always shunned us. But to do that we had to change our ways completely.’

  Lara’s eyes were wide. ‘Where did he get his drive from? Presumably it would have been easier to keep things as they were?’

  Ciro had been about to bring this line of conversation to an end—he’d said enough already—but some rogue urge compelled him to keep going, as if to impress upon Lara how determined he was.

  ‘My grandfather’s mother had wanted to marry a man she’d fallen in love with but he wasn’t from the right family—in other words a family that the Mafia approved of. Her family threatened to kill him if she eloped with him. So, she stayed and married the man chosen for her—my great-grandfather. They had nine children and a perfectly cordial marriage, but she never forgave her family for doing that to her. She hated all the violence and oppression. She rebelled by passing on a new message to her own children—to my grandfather. A message to do things differently.’

  Lara had stopped breathing. Ciro’s ancestors had threatened to kill a man because they didn’t sanction the relationship. History had repeated itself right here and the parallel was too cruelly ironic.

  A little shakily she asked, ‘What happened to the man she loved?’

  Ciro waved a dismissive hand, as if it was of no importance. ‘He left—emigrated to America. Does it matter?’

  Lara curbed her urge to shout Yes, of course it matters! ‘Not now, I guess, no.’ She avoided Ciro’s eye, not wanting him to see how this was affecting her.

  ‘That’s why it matters to me,’ Ciro said. ‘The Sant’Angelo name no longer has anything to do with those old and lurid tales of violence and organised crime, but the stain of infamy is still there. That kind of infamy only disappears completely with acceptance—true acceptance—in a very visible and public way. By association, you will bring a new kind of respect to the Sant’Angelo name that we’ve never had.’

  Lara recalled how sick she’d felt when she’d seen the headlines after the kidnapping: Mafia Heir Kidnapped and Held for Ransom... Sant’Angelo Kidnapping Proof He’s Still Target for Criminals... Sant’Angelo Stocks Plummet After Kidnapping!

  She had brought that infamy into his life. And she hated to admit it but he was right, even though status meant nothing to her. She had to recognise that she’d been born into privilege—what did she know of his family’s struggles to prove that they’d moved on from a violent world?

  She had made the decision to do this—to make some redress for what had happened to Ciro, for what she had done. It was too late to turn back now.

  He gestured to her plate. ‘Eat up. Isabella’s mother Rosa is a sublime cook.’

  Lara saw the delicious-looking pasta starter on her plate but her appetite had fled. She forced herself to eat, not wanting to upset Isabella or her mother.

  They conducted the rest of their meal in relative civility, sticking to neutral topics. When the plates for dessert had been cleared away Ciro got up with his coffee cup and went over to the wall of the terrace. Lara couldn’t help drinking in his tall, powerful form. The broad shoulders and narrow hips. His easy graceful athleticism. The thought of going to bed with him...of seeing him naked...was overwhelming.

  She realised she wasn’t remotely prepared for such an intimate encounter with Ciro. What would he do when he discovered she was still a virgin?

  A spark of panic propelled her from the chair to stand. ‘I think I’ll go to bed, actually. I’m quite tired.’

  She winced. Her voice was too high and tight. She sounded so prim. A world away from the kind of woman who would undoubtedly be twining herself around Ciro right now, whispering seductive things in his ear.

  He turned and leant back against the wall. Supremely nonchalant. He put down the coffee cup and looked at her. ‘Come here, Lara.’

  There was a sensua
l quality in his voice that impacted directly on her pulse, making it go faster. Afraid to open her mouth again, in case she sounded even more panicked, Lara reluctantly went towards Ciro. Her jacket had fallen off her shoulders and she shivered slightly in the night breeze.

  ‘Cold?’

  She rubbed her arms. ‘No, I’m fine.’

  I’m not fine.

  Lara’s hip bumped against the terrace wall. Ciro reached out and caught a strand of her hair, tugging her a little closer. The air between them grew taut. Expectant.

  He looked at her hair as it slipped through his fingers, and then he said musingly, ‘I don’t despise you, Lara. I will admit that I felt humiliated by you for some time, but then I had to acknowledge that it was my own fault for having believed the façade you’d projected when I should have known better. No woman had ever managed to fool me before you.’

  Lara’s heart squeezed. It hadn’t been his fault at all. ‘Ciro, I didn’t—’

  He put a finger to her mouth. ‘I don’t care about that any more. All I care about is that I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you and I should never have denied myself this...’

  ‘This’ was Ciro putting his hands to Lara’s waist and urging her towards him. Unsteady in her heels, and taken by surprise, Lara fell into him, landing flush against his body.

  The effect was instantaneous. From the moment this man had first touched her, kissed her, two years ago, it had been like this. She cleaved to Ciro like a magnet drawn to its true north. His mouth touched hers and she gripped his shirt to stay standing. When she felt the slide of his tongue against the seam of her mouth she opened it instinctively, allowing him access.

  Sicily and this place, even in such a short space of time, had touched something raw inside her. She could no more deny herself or Ciro this than she could stop breathing.

  He gathered her closer and she could feel every ridge and muscle of his chest against hers, through the thin silk of her dress. And, down further, the press of his arousal against her belly. Desire pulsed between her legs. She wanted this man with a ferocity that might have scared her if she’d been thinking rationally for a moment. It was as if she was embracing the carnal to avoid thinking about anything rational.