Making Over the Billionaire (Italian Connection)

by Joan Kilby

  Before he’d started to care.

  He’d given her plenty of opportunities to tell him the truth, but she hadn’t taken them. Instead, she’d stayed on Tina’s good side in the hopes of a contract. Business was more important to Layla than he was. He winced as pain lanced through him. What had he expected, after all? Karma had red hair and blue eyes.

  “Gino?” Tina said. “Are you okay?”

  With an effort, he pushed the sense of betrayal from his mind. “Speaking of deception…” He pulled his phone out and scrolled through for the photos of Fabio and the model.

  “Gino,” Layla interrupted them. Then she saw Tina and hesitated. “Sorry. It can wait.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Tina said with a quick glance at him. “We’re finished. I’m going below. See you soon.” She left them and went inside the cabin.

  Giorgio regarded Layla coolly, keeping his inner turmoil hidden behind a boardroom mask. He’d known she was working him all along but having it confirmed hurt worse than he’d expected. “So?”

  “Sophia just told me it’ll take an hour before we reach Capri.” Layla smiled and slid a hand up his chest. “Do you want to come to my cabin? I have another present for you.”

  Even now, knowing for certain she’d been playing him, he was tempted. But he was tired of the game. Were the intimate moments between them genuine? Or was it all false? Was Layla willing to do anything, say anything, just to win a contract? The thought twisted in his gut like a knife.

  Keeping his features carefully impassive he perfunctorily squeezed her hand before easing away. “I have work to do in the ship’s office.”

  …

  Antonio’s restaurant was perched halfway up a steep hill overlooking the marina in Sorrento, a pretty seaside town south of Naples. Layla followed the rest of the lunch party through the dining room with its linen-clad tables, long polished bar, and harbor views, to an outside deck where a long table shaded by market umbrellas had been set amid pots of colorful geraniums. It should have been perfect except that for some reason, Giorgio wasn’t speaking to her.

  Isabella presided over the head of the table, seated between Giorgio and Tina. Layla wished she could join Antonio and Lisa at the far end but Francesca and Angela had grabbed those chairs. She hesitated and then took the seat expected of her, next to Giorgio. Tension radiated from him. When her hand accidentally touched his, he pulled away.

  She tried to put it out of her mind and enjoy the meal. Platters of antipasti joined the flagons of wine on the table and they feasted on a first course of salami, olives, and marinated vegetables. Italian opera played in the background. Tiny vases of wildflowers dotted the white linen between baskets of crusty bread. Giorgio refused wine and stuck to water. Layla gulped the white wine like it was water.

  The lunch should have been a stunning climax to a wonderful weekend. Instead, tears kept spurting to her eyes, and she had to blink them back. Giorgio had been acting differently ever since after the gift opening. Why did he seem so angry with her? Had he suddenly realized this was their last day together and was already distancing himself from her?

  Or had Tina told him she was in on the sisters’ plot? The thought made her feel sick.

  Angela and Francesca had disappeared into Tina’s stateroom on the way to Sorrento, and she hadn’t had a chance to ask. Giorgio had locked himself in his office. Layla had spent the trip chatting to Isabella about places to visit in Italy while a million questions swirled in her head.

  A trio of waiters in long black aprons came out of the restaurant, each carrying a bottle of champagne, and twisted off the corks. Bubbles fizzed into crystal flutes.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, accepting a glass. The wine she’d drunk so far had already gone to her head.

  Isabella rose and proposed a toast to her son. Everyone cheered, clinked glasses, and drank deeply.

  Giorgio replied with a toast to his family, saluting his mother and giving his sisters a perfunctory nod. Layla’s heart constricted. He so clearly loved them as much as they loved him, but his relations with them were strained, too. She hoped they would work out their problems for all their sakes. But it was probably time for her to get the hell out. Things had gone south fast. If he couldn’t bend for his sisters what hope was there for her?

  When he was finished Layla rose, lifting her glass of wine. “I propose a toast to the Borlenghi family. You’ve welcomed me and made me feel at home. And to Italy. It’s the most beautiful place on Earth. I wish…”

  Her mouth dried up. She wished she never had to leave; that Giorgio and she could find a way to continue what they’d shared on the yacht; that today would end on a note of wistful joy instead of the sharp pain of sadness that their time had come to an end, along with the bewilderment of wondering what exactly had gone wrong. That he would take her in his arms, smile instead of glare at her, and tell her…what? What did she want him to say? That he loved her? That was never going to happen. She wished he would just talk to her. Anger and raging fury would be better than his cold, suspicious silence.

  Suddenly she became aware that she was tipsy and gazing adoringly at Giorgio. All eyes were fixed on her. Except for Giorgio, who stared at his water glass as he turned it around with his long fingers. “That’s it. That’s all I have to say.” She sat abruptly.

  The toasts over, waiters brought out the second course, platters of scampi, octopus, and rockfish redolent with the sweet scents of tomato and basil. Giorgio and Antonio talked of the old days and the scrapes they used to get into—stealing Antonio’s grandfather’s Italian flag, daring each other to dive off the cliffs of I Faraglioni.

  “Giorgio always climbed the highest,” Isabella confided to Layla. After the first course she and Tina had switched places. “He’s so like his father.”

  “I’ve seen your family portrait at his place. He has the same eyes and wavy dark hair as your late husband,” Layla agreed.

  “It’s not just the looks. Giuseppe was wild in his youth, just like Giorgio was.” Isabella sighed. “Always looking for a thrill whether it was diving off the rocks or driving fast cars.”

  “Really?” Layla said. “I got the impression from Giorgio that his father was a dedicated businessman and family man. Sober and focused.”

  “He was as he got older but when he was young, Guiseppe was a firecracker. Leo was the sedate one in the family, like me.”

  “Giorgio had big shoes to fill,” Layla said. “Two pairs.”

  “His father would have been proud of him,” Isabella added in a whisper, “Don’t tell his sisters but Giorgio was his father’s favorite. However he was harder on Giorgio because he worried about him breaking his neck.” She smiled sadly. “We thought we never had to worry about Leo. In the end, he was killed after driving too fast. You just never know.”

  “Mamma, Lisa wants your cannoli recipe,” Francesca said, claiming her mother’s attention. “Tell her how you make it.”

  “Scusi.” Isabella rose and went around to the other side of the table, displacing Francesca. “You start with really fresh ricotta…”

  Francesca took the empty chair next to Layla, studying her with dark, serious eyes. “Are you having a good time? I’m sorry, we forget to speak in English so you can understand.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s all lovely.” Layla hoped her smile didn’t look strained. Giorgio’s sisters were so nice, and Isabella, too. She wished she’d had a chance to get to know them better.

  Then Tina asked Francesca a question, and she turned to answer. Layla sat back and let the various conversations roll over her, memorizing the musical sound of their voices. Just as Giorgio had said, lunch lasted for hours.

  Their table was the last still occupied on the deck while the waiters set the other tables for the dinner service. Everyone seemed to be talking at once with a great deal of enthusiastic hand gestures. Giorgio was more subdued and kept checking his phone.

  Fabio arrived as the waiters were bringing out dessert. Tina lit
up when he dropped into the empty chair next to her. “Fabio, where have you been? You missed lunch.”

  “Ciao, bella. Scusi, scusi. A thousand apologies for being late.” He nodded to Giorgio. “Many felicitations on your birthday, amico.” His words were slightly slurred and his movements overly careful but clumsy. He’d already been drinking.

  “I am not your friend,” Giorgio muttered. “You’re only tolerated at this table because of Tina. And that is coming to an end so don’t get comfortable.”

  “That’s enough,” Tina warned in a low voice.

  “Giorgio, pass me the water, please,” Layla said, trying to distract him. It worked for all of two seconds, and then he continued to glare at the newcomer.

  “Have you told him?” Fabio said to Tina.

  She gave her brother a quick glance. “I haven’t had a chance.”

  “Told me what?” Giorgio demanded.

  Layla dipped her spoon in her tiramisu but the creamy dessert was tasteless. At the other end of the table, the guests were chatting about the latest movies, and aside from a frown from Isabella at Fabio’s arrival, seemingly unaware of the increase in tension.

  Tina’s fingernail tapped against the stem of her wineglass. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line. “I’m going to ask you one last time. Will you give Francesca, Angela, and me power commensurate with our status as directors of our companies and major shareholders in the family business?”

  “Father’s will stipulated that I have controlling interest,” Giorgio said, the lines of his face drawn tight, even flattening the indentation in his chin. “I’m carrying out his wishes.”

  “He wrote that will eight years ago, in the aftermath of Leo’s death and because the change in succession was causing uncertainty in the stock market,” Tina replied. “You’ve stabilized and grown the corporation. You could change the way the company is run if you wanted to.”

  “As the Americans say, ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’.”

  “It’s not broken but cracks are appearing.” Tina stabbed a finger in his direction. “You’d better look out. They’re going to widen if you don’t stop being a control freak.”

  Giorgio’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Are you threatening me?”

  “Tell him!” Fabio waved his wine glass, scattering red drops on white linen.

  Tina shushed him and kept her gaze on her brother. “At least let Layla know if she’ll have a contract or not. This is your last chance.”

  “No, Tina, please,” Layla pleaded. “Now isn’t the time for ultimatums.”

  “The answer is unequivocally no,” Giorgio said. “Now, I want you to tell that asshole boyfriend of yours to get lost.” He reached into his pocket for his phone and furiously swiped to bring up the gallery. “Look!”

  “What is this?” Tina stared at the incriminating photo of Fabio embracing a beautiful blond woman. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Believe it,” Giorgio said grimly. “The man is scum.”

  “I don’t mean that. I can’t believe you had him followed,” Tina said. “You sent a detective to spy on my lover!”

  “You should be angry with him,” Giorgio raged, jabbing at the phone, and bringing up more photos. “When he told you he was with his sick mother he was cheating on you with a model.”

  “Arielle is my cousin from Locarno.” Fabio took another big swig of wine. “Yeah, she’s a model, but she’s like a sister to me and a daughter to my mother. She lived with us for a few years after her parents died. We were visiting my mother together.”

  Giorgio’s jaw worked, the skin on his face drawn tight. “The detective didn’t say this. I’ll have your story checked out.”

  “Your detective is clearly incompetent.” Tina rose. “Come on, Fabio. We’re leaving.”

  “Wait! That’s not all,” Giorgio exclaimed. “He’s been accused of defrauding a woman in France. I have proof from the French police.”

  “I’ve seen your kind of proof. Forget it. I won’t listen to another word. Mamma, everyone, goodbye. Grazie, Antonio. Layla, I’ll be in touch.” Tina stormed off, Fabio in tow, heading for the stairs that led from the deck down to the parking lot.

  Mamma, Angela, and Francesca all erupted into speech at once, gesturing and questioning Giorgio in Italian. Layla pressed her fingers to both temples. The plot to make over Giorgio, which had begun as almost a lark, had descended into something dark and horrible. Sister pitted against brother, with her caught in the middle. Whose side was she on? Tina’s, Giorgio’s…or her own?

  Ignoring the questions from his mother and sisters, Giorgio surged to his feet. He called after Tina, “Stop. Where are you going?”

  “Positano,” Fabio replied for her. “And by the way, asshole…” He made a right angle out of one arm and hit the underside with his other hand, the Italian gesture for ‘fuck you.’ His car keys flew out of his hand onto the deck. Tina tried to grab them but he snatched them first. “I got it, cara.”

  They were still arguing over who would drive as they stumbled down the stairs. Giorgio strode after them.

  Layla caught up to him at the top of the landing and grabbed his arm. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage? Let her go.”

  “With that drunk? Are you crazy?” He flung off her hand and started down the stairs.

  She hurried after him. “Didn’t you hear Fabio? That other woman is his cousin.”

  “What about the woman he defrauded in France? I notice he didn’t explain that away.”

  They reached the flagstone at the bottom of the steps just as Fabio’s Maserati roared out of the parking lot, tires squealing. The high-powered motor changed gears rapidly as it climbed the hill, Fabio behind the wheel.

  Giorgio swore loudly in Italian.

  “Oh, no!” Layla pressed a hand to her throat.

  “Wait here.” Giorgio ran inside restaurant and came out with a set of car keys. “Antonio is alerting the police to a drunk driver,” he said, unlocking a red Alpha Romeo. “We will follow them in Antonio’s car.”

  Layla glanced back at the restaurant. Isabella, Angela, and Francesca were looking over the bank of flowers edging the deck, worried expressions on their faces. Heart racing, she got in the passenger seat. The powerful engine thrummed to life.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Giorgio revved the Alpha Romeo’s motor, his gaze shifting from the Maserati snaking up the hill to his phone. The squealing of Fabio’s tires echoed in his mind, reminding him of the night Leo and he drove to Positano. If Fabio was lucky the police would catch him before Giorgio did. He spent precious seconds locating the email he’d received during lunch. When he did, he passed the phone to Layla. “Look.”

  “What is this?” Layla frowned at the official email on police letterhead with Fabio’s photo attached. “My college French is a bit rusty.”

  “It’s from Capitaine Duval from the Gendarme de Lyon.” He put the sports car into gear and surged out of the parking lot. “The report says Fabio is wanted for embezzling funds from a photography business he entered into with a French woman.”

  Layla glanced up at Giorgio, her face white. “Oh, my God.”

  Finally, she acknowledged the seriousness of the situation. His hands gripped the wheel as he took the first hairpin turn. “I want you to forward it to Tina.”

  Layla did as he asked. A moment later she said, “It bounced back.”

  “She must have blocked me.” He thumped the wheel and swore. “Send the email to yourself and then forward it. Then call her on your phone. Don’t mention the police reports. I don’t want to alert Fabio. Just ask her to read the email.”

  Layla found her phone and made the call. “It’s ringing… No, it dropped out. The reception is bad.”

  He swore again, furious with himself for letting Tina get away. He should have tied her up rather than allow her in the car with a drunk. He couldn’t bear it if there was another death in his family.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about
Leo, dying in his arms on this twisting road. Couldn’t help imagining coming across the wreckage of Fabio’s car and his sister, broken and bleeding in a similar scenario.

  The road leveled out and hugged the rugged mountainside. A sheer cliff rose on the left, and to the right, scrubby trees and boulders tumbled down to the rocky shore. The setting sun turned the western sky red.

  “How could she go with him?” Giorgio thumped the steering wheel with his fist. “How can she not see what kind of man he is?”

  “Love is blind.” A trace of bitterness hinted that she’d found this out first hand. Was she referring to Richard? Or him? Then she gasped as he took the corner wide.

  “I hope she doesn’t elope with him.” Giorgio growled, pulling back into his lane. “She’s too trusting to think of a prenuptial agreement. If he gets control of her money—”

  “How can you even think of money at a time like this?” Layla demanded.

  “You don’t understand how hard Tina worked for what she has. After Papa died, she was lost for a time, partying hard, going from crappy job to crappy job, never sticking to anything. I found her in some dive in Amsterdam and brought her home, kicking and screaming.”

  “It’s hard to imagine now. She’s so together.”

  “Because she picked herself up and went to school, studying business and design. She earned everything she has.” His grip tightened on the wheel. “I won’t let him take anything away from her.”

  “I hope you hear what you’re saying,” Layla said.

  “What? That I want to break that asshole’s neck?” He swerved around a large rock that had broken off the cliff and rolled onto the road.

  “No, that she’s incredibly competent and worthy.” Layla stifled a scream. “Aren’t you going too fast? You’d think after your brother died—” She broke off.

  Giorgio felt his face drain of blood. How could she say such a thing? Did she think he didn’t remember or care?