by Abby Green
A man leaned towards her. ‘You’re far too pretty to be working here, love. Let me take you out of this cesspit and we’ll run away.’
His friends guffawed loudly, but ridiculously Lara couldn’t even force a fake laugh. She felt tears sting her eyes. Which was pathetic. She was lucky to have found two jobs. She was earning her own money for the first time in her life. She was finally free... If only that freedom didn’t feel so heavy.
She never thought about...him. She couldn’t. Not if she wanted to keep it together.
‘Hey, gorgeous! A pint and a white wine, please!’
Lara looked up at the flushed face of a city boy and forced herself to smile. ‘Coming up.’
CHAPTER NINE
A WEEK LATER Ciro was back in London. He was at a black tie event in Buckingham Palace. Lesser members of the royal family mingled with the guests, and he’d just had a long conversation with a man who was in direct line to the throne of England. And it hadn’t just been an idle conversation—it had been about business. Ciro’s business.
He looked around. This was literally the inner sanctum—the most exclusive group of people on the planet. And he, Ciro Sant’Angelo, a man descended from pirates and Mafiosi, was standing among them. Accepted. Respected. Finally.
So why wasn’t he feeling more satisfied?
Because he’d just had a call from his solicitor to say that Lara had finally been in touch about going forward with divorce proceedings and had given him a PO box address. She’d told his solicitor that she had no interest in taking the money due to her in the event of their divorce and had named a charity for it to be sent to, if they insisted.
Ciro’s charity—Face Forward.
And other things had come to light too—discomfiting things. He’d found the credit card he’d given her on the desk in his study in New York. And her engagement ring and wedding ring, which were both worth a small fortune.
There had been a note.
I’ll pay back what I owe.
On inspection, there had been a sum of just a few hundred dollars owing on the card. A laughable amount to someone like Ciro.
She’d also said that once Hero had her papers in order she would appreciate being reunited with the dog. And a parcel had arrived for her. When Ciro had opened it, it had contained a wedding dress. Clearly from the eighties. It wasn’t even new.
Nothing made sense.
He had to acknowledge uncomfortably that the Lara who had appeared in his hospital room that day...the unrecognisable Lara...he’d never seen her again. Just flashes at the beginning. If she really was some rich bitch who had only been concerned with status and wealth, then wouldn’t she have fleeced him for all he was worth?
Wouldn’t she be here right now? Her elegant blonde head shining like a jewel amongst the dross, dressed in a silky evening gown as she hunted for a new husband?
A feeling of clammy desperation stole over Ciro. Maybe she was still playing him. Maybe she was here. He looked around, heart thumping, almost expecting to see her blonde head, hear her low, seductive laugh...
‘Who are you looking for, Sant’Angelo? Your wife? Have you mislaid her?’
Ciro looked to his right and down into the florid features of a man whose name he’d forgotten and whom he had never liked on previous acquaintance.
‘No,’ he said tightly. ‘She’s not here.’
Where the hell is she?
‘Pity,’ said the man, leaning in a little. ‘She’s a rare jewel. But I doubt she’s that rare any more...’ He winked. ‘If you get what I mean... After all, she’s been married twice now. Winterborne got the best of her, lucky sod. If I’d had more money at the time maybe it would have been me.’
Ciro looked at the man with an awful kind of cold horror sinking into his blood. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
The man looked up at him and suddenly appeared uncomfortable. ‘Ah... I thought you knew... The auction, of course. I mean, obviously it wasn’t a real auction. Just something between a few of Thomas Templeton’s friends. Girls like Lara are few and far between these days. Innocent. Pure...’
Lara’s voice was in Ciro’s head. ‘He sold me like a slave girl at an auction. To Henry Winterborne, the highest bidder.’
The man slapped him on the shoulder. ‘All right there, Sant’Angelo? You’ve gone very pale.’
Ciro felt sick to his stomach. ‘How many men were involved?’ he managed to get out.
Blissfully unaware of the volcano building inside Ciro, the man looked around and said conspiratorially, ‘There’s always a market for girls like her. With the right breeding. Especially virgins. It’s a rare commodity these days, you know.’
Ciro didn’t stop to think. His right hand swung back and his fist connected with the fleshy part of the man’s face, sending him windmilling backwards into the crowd, where he collided with a waiter holding a tray of glasses, and a woman, who shrieked just before he landed in a heavy heap on the ground.
Instantly security men were beside Ciro, taking his arms in their hands. He briefly caught the eye of the member of the royal family he’d been talking to and saw disdain spreading over his aristocratic features. Everyone was staring at him. Shocked. And then they started whispering as Ciro was led out.
And he didn’t give a damn.
For the first time in his life, he didn’t give a damn.
* * *
It was another hot, muggy evening in the bar and Lara’s feet were aching. But at least she wasn’t wearing heels any more. She was wiping down the counter under the bar when she heard it.
‘Lara.’
She stopped. She’d dreamed about him nearly every night. Was she hallucinating now?
She kept cleaning.
‘Lara.’
She looked up and her heart jumped into her throat. Ciro. Standing head and shoulders above everyone else around him at the bar.
‘Oi, mate—if you’re going to take up space at the bar, put in an order for us too, will ya?’
A group of young guys behind Ciro sniggered. He ignored them.
Lara gripped the cloth. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Can we talk?’
She noticed that he looked drawn. Dishevelled. ‘Is something wrong? Has something happened?’
He shook his head. ‘Everything is fine...but we need to talk.’
It was the familiar bossy tone that reassured her in the end—and also told her that this was real, not a fantasy. She was aware of her grumpy boss hovering...aware that no drinks were being served.
Lara sent her boss a reassuring glance and said to Ciro, ‘I can’t just leave. Sit down and I’ll bring you a beer. You’ll have to wait until my shift ends.’
‘How long is that?’
‘Three hours.’
She ignored his look of affront and handed him a pint of bitter, willing him to disappear. Eventually he turned away when she started serving the people behind him.
It was the most excruciating three hours Lara had experienced. With every move she made she was aware of Ciro’s eyes burning into her from where he was sitting in a corner. She was surprised she didn’t drop every glass, fumble every order.
But finally the pub was empty and she stood in front of Ciro in beer-spattered jeans and T-shirt, a cardigan over her arm and her bag across her body. She felt exhausted, but also energised.
‘Where do you want to talk?’
Ciro stood up. ‘Do you live near here?’
Lara walked with him out of the pub. She saw Ciro’s security team nearby, and his car and driver. She thought of the hostel she called home.
‘I don’t think you’d like where I’m living. There’s a late-night café near here that should still be open.’
‘We could go to the townhouse.’
Lara immediately shook her head. That London
was a million miles from her life now. ‘No.’
‘Fine—where’s this café?’
Lara led him around the corner and into the friendly café. They were given a booth at the back. Ciro commanded attention and special treatment even here.
Lara ordered tea; Ciro coffee.
When the drinks were delivered, Lara said, ‘So what do you want to talk about?’
For a second Ciro looked comically nonplussed, and then he said, ‘You left no forwarding address.’
Lara stifled the hurt of recalling that moment in New York. ‘You kicked me out, Ciro. I didn’t think my forwarding address was high on your list of priorities. I contacted your solicitor with my details.’
‘A PO box. What even is that?’
Anger surged. If he’d just come here to harangue her because she wasn’t following divorce etiquette properly... ‘I’m living in a hostel, Ciro. I don’t know where I’ll be in a month’s time. That’s why I have a PO box.’
Now he looked horrified. ‘A hostel?’
Lara nodded. ‘It’s perfectly clean and habitable.’
Ciro had gone pale under his tan. Lara refused to let it move her.
He put a parcel on the table and said, ‘This arrived for you. I opened it. Why did you buy a wedding dress, Lara?’
Lara pulled the package towards her, lifting out the familiar dress. Her mother’s wedding dress. She’d tracked it down online and it had only been a couple of hundred dollars to buy it back. Emotion surged in her chest. She had it back.
She fought to keep her composure. ‘It was my mother’s wedding dress. I sold it once.’ Tears blurred her vision but she blinked them away, saying as briskly as she could, ‘Thank you. I’ll pay you back.’
‘Why did you sell your mother’s dress in the first place?’
Lara avoided looking at him in case he saw how much this dress meant to her. When she felt composed enough, she looked at Ciro. ‘I needed the money. After Henry Winterborne got injured I was useless to him. He made me work for him—for free, of course. He sacked his housekeeper. I put up with it because my uncle was still alive and he continued to hold the threat of hurting you over my head. I think he was scared I’d go to you, ask for help. Or that I’d try to warn you. I fantasised about doing that so many times.’ Lara touched the package. ‘I’d hoped to wear this dress when I married you...it was a connection to my mother. A piece of the past.’
‘But you sold it?’
Lara looked at him again. ‘The housekeeper who had worked for Henry Winterborne...we’d become friendly. After losing her job she was in dire straits. Her husband had lost his job and was ill... She couldn’t find work. I couldn’t do much, but I sold this dress and some of my other clothes. Some jewellery. I tried to help her. I felt responsible.’
‘Why on earth did you feel responsible?’
Ciro sounded almost angry. Lara avoided his eye. ‘If I hadn’t injured Henry Winterborne—’
Ciro cut her off. ‘Dio, Lara. The man would have raped you if he could. It wasn’t your fault.’
Lara felt a flutter in her chest. Dangerous. She looked at Ciro. ‘Why are you here?’
‘You don’t want anything? From the divorce?’
She shook her head, stifling the disappointment. He’d only tracked her down because he needed to discuss this. He probably didn’t believe her.
‘It was never about money for me. Ever. Not the first time around. Not now.’
Ciro pulled out a tabloid newspaper and handed it to Lara. He said, ‘I presume you haven’t seen this?’
She looked down and gasped. On the front page there was a picture of Ciro in handcuffs, being put into a police car. His knuckles were bleeding and he looked grimmer than she’d ever seen him. The headline read: Sant’Angelo Brawls in Palace Amongst Royalty!
She took in the few words underneath.
You can take the man out of the Mafia...
Lara looked at him, shocked. ‘What happened?’
Ciro said, ‘I met a man. He was one of the men at the select little auction run by your uncle. One of the men who—’ He stopped.
Lara finished for him, feeling sick. ‘One of the men who might have become my husband?’
Ciro nodded.
He flexed his hand and Lara reached for it, turning it over to see his bruised knuckles. She said quietly, ‘Thank you, but you didn’t have to do that. You must hate the press attention.’
Ciro flipped his hand so he held hers. ‘I don’t care about any of that. Finally I’ve got it through my thick skull that it doesn’t matter. Respect and acceptance come from living with integrity and honesty. I can’t do more than that and I’m done trying.’
Lara was almost too scared to breathe for a moment. She looked at Ciro and saw a blazing light in his eyes. Something she’d never seen before. A different kind of pride. It made her emotions bubble up again.
‘You’ve never needed to. You tower above men like my uncle and Henry Winterborne. You always have. But I can understand your father and his father’s desire for acceptance. They deserved better.’
Ciro huffed a laugh. He still held Lara’s hand. ‘Did they? They had blood on their hands, Lara. We all did, by association—although we’ve come a long way since those times. I’ll never be fully accepted into that world, but what I’ve realised is that money and commerce talk more than social acceptance. That’s all that matters in growing a business and a reputation.’
His scar stood out against his olive skin and Lara’s emotions finally got the better of her. Ciro would never have had to come to this painful realisation if not for her.
‘I’m so sorry, Ciro. If we hadn’t met...if I hadn’t fallen in love with you...my uncle never would have—’ She stopped, biting her lip to stem the tears threatening to flow down her cheeks.
His grip on her hand tightened. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for, Lara. Nothing. From the moment we met again you confounded me. I expected the woman who had appeared in my hospital room that day, but I got you. The Lara I remembered. Except I couldn’t trust it. You. I was afraid to after you hurt me so badly.’
Lara chest seized. ‘Hurt...? But you didn’t have any feelings for me.’
Ciro huffed out a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan, his hand still tight on hers. ‘I didn’t know what I was feeling. All I knew was that when you asked me if I loved you I panicked. All I could think of was my father, and his toxic obsessive love of my mother. I knew it wasn’t that I felt. But I couldn’t deny that I felt obsessive about you, and suddenly I was terrified that I was just like my father—that I would lose myself over a woman and make a fool of myself like he had.’
Before Lara could fully absorb this, or what it meant, Ciro asked her a question.
‘Why did you agree to marry me this time?’
She swallowed her emotions. ‘I felt so guilty for what had happened to you. I owed you. After everything that had happened...’
Ciro took his hand from hers, his expression changing. ‘You felt obliged...’ He grimaced. ‘And why wouldn’t you? I told you that you owed me.’
He looked at her and she saw pain in his eyes. The pride was gone.
‘You had nowhere to go. No money. You felt guilty already. I left you no choice.’
Lara shook her head. ‘Of course I had a choice. I could have walked away... I could have told you everything that day and let the chips fall where they may. But I didn’t.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
She kept looking at him, even though it was hard. ‘Because you were back in my life. I didn’t tell you because I’d convinced myself I owed it to you. I was afraid that if I told you everything you’d despise me even more than you already did.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Even though I denied it to myself I still loved you, I would have done anything to be with you—even let you take your revenge out
on me.’
Ciro looked shell-shocked. ‘What you went through...for two years... When I think of that man and what he could have done to you if you hadn’t been brave enough to fight him off...’ He stood up abruptly and stalked out of the café.
Shocked, Lara sat there for a moment, before throwing down some cash and grabbing the wedding dress. He was outside on the empty street, a fist up to his mouth. When she got close he turned away from her, but not before she’d seen the agony on his face. Moisture on his cheeks.
‘Ciro—’
His voice was thick. ‘Don’t look at me. I can’t bear it, Lara. To know what you went through because I was too much of a coward to own up to my feelings...’
Lara went and hugged him from behind, resting her head against his back. The parcel fell by her feet, unnoticed.
Eventually he turned around and she sucked in a breath at the ravaged look on his face.
‘How can you ever forgive me?’
A weight lodged in her gut. She’d never expected to see this: Ciro feeling guilty. She was the guilty one.
She reached up and wiped away the moisture on his face, her heart aching, because she knew that even though Ciro might have feelings for her it wasn’t love, and she would have to walk away again.
‘It was my fault—’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘No. Never say that again. It was your uncle. Lara, I’ve had him investigated. You have no idea how corrupt he was. What he did to you was the tip of the iceberg. He was involved in fraud, and in trafficking women in and out of the UK.’
Lara’s hands dropped. ‘My God...’
‘Lara... I’m so sorry.’
She was unable to speak. She’d never expected the cruel irony of Ciro feeling guilty. Saying sorry.
He took her hand. ‘This isn’t a conversation for here. Come with me to the townhouse—please?’
Lara knew that she should pull back. She’d heard all she needed to. Ciro was right. It wasn’t her fault. Or his. They’d both been used as pawns. But she couldn’t pull away—not just yet. Soon she’d have a lifetime to try and forget him.
