Revenge

by Dana Delamar

  Kate took a deep breath. She was uncomfortably aware of his naked body pressed against hers, her lacy slip the only thing between them. She was still angry at him, still hurt he’d even consider marrying someone else. Still upset by her reaction when he’d told her he loved her. She hadn’t been coolly neutral the way she’d wanted. Because her feelings about him were anything but neutral. But that didn’t have to mean she loved him.

  Despite her confusion, her body responded to his the way it always did, and she resisted the urge to wriggle against him when she felt his cock stiffen and press into her buttocks. She looked over her shoulder at him. “It’s not going to happen.”

  He shrugged and moved away from her, propping himself up on his elbow. “As you wish. I cannot help it.” His eyes lingered on hers, then slid down to trace the curves of her body. “Bellisima, so bellisima.”

  She started to smile, then suppressed it. “Aren’t you still intent on forcing me to go to Capri?”

  He grinned. “I am.”

  “Then you’d better get in the shower.” She lay back on the bed and watched him walk across the room, the hard, muscled beauty of his form making her breath catch and her sex go wet. She wanted him even now, damn her. When was she going to learn? Enrico Lucchesi was bad news in a sexy package. That was all. He was not the man of her dreams, he was not the man who was going to make her happy. She had to keep telling herself that until it sunk in.

  Making love with him yesterday had been a mistake. A delicious mistake, but a mistake nevertheless. Whatever she did, she wasn’t going down that road again. That road led somewhere she couldn’t go.

  Humming to himself while Kate was in the shower, Enrico quickly shaved and brushed his teeth, then dressed in the clothes he’d pulled out the night before. He picked up the gun from the nightstand. Capri was generally safe, jet-set hotspot that it was, but you never knew. His father always said that the man who was prepared for anything had the advantage over the fool who trusted in luck.

  He checked again that the clip was fully loaded, then put the gun in his jacket pocket. Was it fair of him to expose Kate to this life? Could he really continue to put her selfishly at risk? He scrubbed a hand across his face. Madonna. He didn’t see how he could continue to endanger her—and yet, he couldn’t see how he could let her go.

  The shower shut off, then Kate stepped out and started drying herself. He walked over and leaned against the doorjamb, his eyes drinking her in. When she noticed him, roses bloomed in her cheeks. “Stop staring,” she said, turning half away from him.

  “I love the rear view too, you know.”

  Her cheeks bunched up with a smile, but her eyes stayed on her legs. He stepped closer to her and tugged at the towel. “Let me.” She resisted for a second, then let go.

  He rubbed the towel over her shoulders, tossing the dark red sheaf of her wet hair to one side. He dried her back, the planes of her shoulder blades, the curves of her buttocks, then turned her around and brushed the plush white cloth over her breasts and belly, his touch teasing, lingering. He loved this moment with her, the intimacy of it, her trust in him a welcome contrast to the wildness he’d woken up to. He hoped she’d let him in again. He hoped she could find it in her heart to forgive him. He hoped she’d someday tell him she loved him.

  But if he was going to earn her trust, her forgiveness, her love, he was going to have to trust in her, wasn’t he? He was going to have to tell her everything. And soon. Or he was going to have to let her go.

  Kate looked at Enrico as he gazed upon her body. She felt an upwelling of warmth at his tenderness, the reverence with which he touched her.

  “I’m sorry, Rico. For doubting you.”

  He looked away from his task, meeting her eyes. “You had every right.” Wrapping the towel around her shoulders, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “I am asking a lot of you.” He looked down at his feet. “Sometimes I think I should put you on a plane. Send you some place far from here. Some place safe.”

  Fear knifed through her gut. It must have shown on her face, because he said, “I will make sure you are safe, so if you want to go home, you can.”

  Kate wasn’t sure what to say. She still didn’t know what she wanted. Him, or home? She finally settled on “Thank you,” trying to imbue the words with gratitude, hoping he could hear it, that he would understand what she was trying to say.

  He looked at her, tension rising between them. He opened his mouth, looking like he was going to ask a question. Then his face changed and he said, “The plane is waiting for us.”

  Kate nodded and shooed him out of her way. She ran a comb through her hair, deciding to let it air dry, then pulled on some clothes and brushed her teeth.

  Enrico started out the door with their bags, then he turned around and came back in. “What if we drove back? It will take a few extra days, but I would love to show you the coast. I can have someone bring the Maserati down to us.”

  She smiled. “I’d love it.” Might as well see as much of Italy as she could. While she was still here. “But you have to bring that bag back over here then. I’ll need some more clothes.”

  He shook his head. “I am buying you a new wardrobe, remember?” His eyes flickered up and down her body, a grin spreading across his face. “You will love the stores in Capri.”

  She picked up her purse and walked over to him, her smile slow and teasing. “Will I now?”

  “Oh yes.” He leaned down to kiss her, his lips lingering on hers. “And I am going to love buying you everything.”

  “Everything, huh? Then I’m going to need more luggage too.”

  “As you wish, mia cara.”

  Kate tried not to feel guilty when she heard the endearment. She wasn’t leading him on if she wasn’t sure, was she?

  CHAPTER 20

  Franco Trucco had always prided himself on his discretion. It was what made him the ideal accountant. And being the contabile for the Lucchesi cosca, as his father had been before him, was a great honor. The contabile was a man of respect, third in charge after the capo di società and the don himself. In his role, Franco kept track of and dispersed the cosca’s funds to the men on the payroll. He also had the don’s ear, so being friends with Franco had certain benefits. He never lacked for friends.

  However, Franco prided himself on being a humble, modest man. Certainly, he was a man of means. But he was not king, and he didn’t aspire to be so. Only a fool would want the crown, and the danger that came with it. It was so much better to be near the top than actually there. He had nearly as much influence with much less risk. And that was important. He’d seen what Carlo Andretti had done to Don Rinaldo’s family.

  So Franco had done his work quietly and with pride, enjoying his position and the fruits that came along with it. And he had loved Don Rinaldo and Don Enrico. Truly they were princes among men. When Don Rinaldo stepped down after his heart attack, Franco vowed to advise Don Enrico well and to serve him with all the discretion the Trucco family had always rendered. At the time, Franco had thought nothing could ever change how he felt.

  But he’d been wrong.

  As always, the end had come because of a woman. But not just any woman. Franco’s daughter, Fiammetta. His youngest, and the smartest and most beautiful of his three daughters. Franco kept it to himself, but Fiammetta had been his favorite. He’d secretly delighted in her impertinence, her quick wit, her penchant for misbehaving. She’d done all the things Franco would have liked to have done, and had she been a son, he could have openly relished her behavior, instead of censuring it in public but winking at her in private and letting her off with a kiss. She’d kept the secret of his favor. It had been better for them both that way.

  After Don Enrico’s wife Antonella had died, an idea had come to Franco. The don needed a wife, and Fiammetta had needed a husband. Franco had seen how Don Enrico had rebuffed all the eligible girls presented to him; a direct approach would not work. Care—discretion—had been needed, as always. So whe
n the don’s assistant had moved into another position within the cosca, Franco had seen his opportunity. He’d had Fiammetta installed as Don Enrico’s secretary within days. He’d whispered not a word of what he’d hoped for to Fiammetta. Despite their bond, she’d been headstrong enough to foil his plans. So he’d prayed to the Virgin and hoped.

  The Virgin had answered his prayers. Franco had known it when one day Don Enrico’s and Fiammetta’s eyes had kept locking together, then sliding guiltily away during a meeting. The way Fiammetta had flipped her hair out of her eyes when she’d known the don was looking, the way she’d shifted in her seat and licked her lips when she had been taking notes, the way Don Enrico’s eyes had tracked her movements like a cat eyeing its next meal—Franco had known what all these signs meant. He’d rejoiced in his heart. His status would increase; his family would be elevated further once they’d married into the Lucchesi family. His grandsons would be capi, would head the cosca.

  But nothing had turned out as Franco had hoped. Instead, his daughter, the light of his heart, was dead. And the way Don Enrico could no longer meet his eyes meant he was responsible, even though his blood-alcohol test results had been lost, even though there was no proof, no admission of guilt from the don. Franco knew. Don Enrico was guilty. But how could he avenge his daughter?

  Franco had long known about the unusual payments first Don Rinaldo, then Don Enrico had been making to Edmund Tyrell, their attorney in England. What he didn’t know was why, as he’d told Vincenzo Andretti. Now it was time to investigate. Time to unearth the worms beneath the dirt.

  Franco’s arduous review of the books revealed that the payments had gone out to Tyrell every month at the same time for twenty-two years, before stopping five years ago. But these payments weren’t the attorney’s usual retainer. That was a separate payment. This one was marked Personal, meaning it was to be counted against the don’s compensation.

  Calling Tyrell and inquiring about the payments would of course be fruitless. The man was as tight-lipped as any man of honor. And making such a call would tip off Don Enrico to his inquiry. There had to be another way to find the truth.

  Franco puzzled over this matter for days. The answer came while Franco was staring at another series of unusual payments to Tyrell. These payments started nine years ago and stopped after four years. They were also marked Personal, but with a second notation, “C.U.,” and were for varying amounts. Since the amounts weren’t round numbers, they must be payments for something specific.

  What could “C.U.” mean? Franco racked his mind for names of associates with those initials, names of businesses, names of places. But nothing came to mind. Because both series of payments stopped five years ago, the payments to the mysterious “C.U.” in the spring and the others at the end of the same year, the timing suggested these payments were somehow linked.

  Taking another tack, Franco dug into Don Enrico’s trips to England. Perhaps something about his meetings with Tyrell would yield him a clue. At first, he saw nothing. Then he noticed a coincidence. About five years ago, Don Enrico had traveled to England, visited Tyrell, and then made a side trip to Cambridge in the summer, to attend the commencement ceremony for the son of a business contact in London. “C.U.”—could that mean Cambridge University? Franco’s spine tingled. Four years of payments could indicate that Don Enrico had financed someone’s degree. But who? And why?

  A phone call to the university, during which Franco posed as a government auditor looking into Edmund Tyrell’s books, elicited the answer to the first question. The payment was for tuition, on behalf of Mr. Nicholas Reginald Clarkston.

  Franco’s heart stopped beating for a moment. Reginald. It was an alternate translation for Rinaldo. Could this man be Don Rinaldo’s child?

  An online search of Nicholas Clarkston’s particulars made Franco’s pulse race. The payments to Tyrell commenced the same month Clarkston was born. Judging by the date of Clarkston’s birth, he was fathered while Don Enrico was at boarding school in London.

  Franco was not one to believe in coincidences. Clarkston must be Don Enrico’s illegitimate son, not Don Rinaldo’s. Traditionally, at least one of the middle names given to a boy belonged to his grandfather. Thus, Reginald.

  But he needed proof. He ordered a copy of Nicholas Clarkston’s birth certificate. Since U.K. law dictated that only a paper version of the certificate could be ordered, it would take at least five days to arrive. Five long days, but then he’d have proof, assuming the father’s name was listed. Proof Don Enrico couldn’t refute or deny.

  A further search for details about Nick Clarkston yielded another interesting tidbit: Clarkston had recently started to work at Interpol. Perhaps that too could work in Franco’s favor. If he didn’t get his justice the way he preferred, perhaps he could turn the son against the father.

  Franco flushed with triumph. He would have his vengeance. An eye for an eye. A son for a daughter. And he knew just who would help him achieve his justice: Carlo Andretti.

  Kate and Enrico arrived at the private airstrip later than intended, but Enrico told her they could make up the time in the air. Soon they were aloft and winging south. A flight attendant brought them drinks and a light breakfast, then left them alone.

  Enrico reached over and took her hand, saying nothing. What was he thinking about? Probably trying to figure out what to do about Carlo, now that he wasn’t marrying Delfina.

  Did she have any right to raise an objection to such a marriage, when she wasn’t sure she wanted to stay with him? What if she decided to leave? What if he couldn’t arrange something else with Carlo? What if she’d just doomed them both, and all for nothing?

  They landed in Naples and took a car to Sorrento, where they shopped and had a late and very leisurely lunch before boarding a private boat for the trip to Capri. The sun was starting to set when they left Sorrento. As they motored away from the coast, Kate looked at the houses clinging to the gold-washed cliffs. She leaned against Enrico while they stood in the back of the boat, and he put his arms around her. Despite all the danger, despite their troubles, Italy was seducing her with its charms. Hadn’t Enrico said that worry was a useless emotion? She sighed. “Italy is amazingly gorgeous.”

  He squeezed her tight and nuzzled her neck. “You would not love Naples in the middle of a garbage strike in August.”

  She laughed. “I suppose not.” She turned in his arms. “Doesn’t the Mafia control the garbage pickups?”

  He nodded. “The Camorra control everything in Naples.”

  “Then why do they have strikes?”

  “Money. They go on strike, people agree to pay more to end it.”

  A thought occurred to her. “Are we in danger here?”

  “Not in Capri. The Camorra know the tourists butter their bread. We might be in some danger in Naples. But they would take offence if Carlo tried anything on their territory.”

  Kate nestled closer to Enrico as the wind whipped around them. “The idea of us being hurt is taking all the fun out of this trip.”

  “Forget Carlo. Forget all of it. Just be with me.” He pulled her into the shelter of his body, squeezing her tight.

  “With Antonio and Ruggero around, how can I possibly forget?”

  He stepped back and looked at her. “Listen, mia cara. We will take some time for ourselves.”

  “Just you and me,” she whispered, her voice husky with promise.

  “When we get to the hotel…” he murmured, his voice trailing off, the hunger in his gaze speaking for him.

  “When we get to the hotel… what?” she teased.

  “You know.” And to make sure she did, he started whispering in her ear all the things he would do as soon as they were alone.

  Kate smiled at his imagination. She stretched up on tiptoe and kissed him, softly at first, then with heat. Damn it, just like all the New Year’s resolutions she’d ever made, she was going to break the one not to have sex with him, wasn’t she? And she wasn’t going to feel
that bad about it either.

  As they pulled into the harbor, she looked up at the cliffs of Capri towering above them, encircling the bay. Houses of all sorts perched on those cliffs, nearly every square inch occupied, but somehow plenty of green survived and thrived, giving the island a tropical air.

  They left the boat, luggage in hand, and headed for the funicular station. The little tram would take them up to the top, to Capri town proper, where no cars were allowed, not even for rich men like Enrico. Not even here, where money certainly talked, was Enrico any different from anyone else. Except that he was armed. And so were his guards.

  Kate sighed, taking his hand as they boarded the funicular. They stood by the window, both holding the same pole as the tram started ascending. She watched greenery and homes pass by, caught the blue-purple of wisteria, the red and pink of bougainvillea, the creams and pastels of the houses, the bright colors starting to fade as twilight descended.

  By the time they started walking to their hotel, it was full dark, the narrow winding stone streets romantically lit by the stores and restaurants that lined them. Enrico kept hold of her hand, his strong fingers locked around hers, giving them a light squeeze now and then when she remarked on something that delighted her. She felt a bit like a child with a father for whom none of this was new, except when she looked up at Enrico’s face, she saw delight on his features as well. She was finally able to relax, to believe they were safe. Inhaling deeply, she breathed in the scent of jasmine and freesia. The lingering heat coming off the stone streets and buildings kept the air warm, and the humidity of the climate raised a sheen of perspiration on her skin, making her palm go damp in Enrico’s hand.

  He motioned with his chin to a large whitewashed building before them. “We are almost there.”

  Kate picked out the words “Grand Hotel Quisisana” set in gold letters on the building’s face. Grand it certainly was. The naughty nothings Enrico had whispered to her on the boat echoed in her ears, and she quickened her pace, tugging on his hand, grinning up at him. Antonio jogged ahead of them, while Ruggero stayed behind.