She let out a low whistle.
‘He also does jobs for himself—heists where he knows illegal artefacts are kept. The kind of stuff no owner would dare report stolen to the police.’ Gabriele rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. ‘It was a simple matter to tell my fellow prisoner of the island off the Cayman Isles packed full of illegal art worth tens of millions of dollars.’
‘That’s a lie,’ she snapped, finally showing some animation.
He shrugged. ‘Carter didn’t believe it to be a lie and he does meticulous research. I knew it was only a matter of time before word reached him. I’ve been keeping close tabs on him and waiting for his gang to make their move—I have to give credit to your father, his security system is second to none. I knew it would take the best to break it and Carter is the best. All I had to do was wait for him to make his move and use his gang as cover to enter the island undetected.’
Her green eyes flashed with contempt. ‘So you brought those men to my family’s island?’
‘All I did was plant the idea.’ He rubbed at his jaw. ‘You weren’t supposed to be there. No one was. Carter’s got away with it for so long because he doesn’t take unnecessary risks.’
‘If you’re so convinced of my father’s guilt, why didn’t you take the risk yourself? Why use a bunch of criminals as cover?’
He smiled without humour. ‘I’ve already spent two years in prison. Believe me, I have no wish to spend another day there. I let the experts take the risk.’
Without warning, she jumped up from her chair and hurried to the railing, whereby she threw the file overboard. The papers flew out, the breeze lifting them and scattering them in all directions.
‘That’s what I think of your evidence,’ Elena said coldly, trying desperately to hide the fact her heart was thrumming madly and her blood felt as if ice had been injected directly into her bloodstream.
This was all a horrible lie. There was no other explanation.
Her father was not a criminal. It was possible some of his art might not be entirely legitimate but illegal art was a world away from fraud and money laundering. He was a good, loving man who had raised her and her three older brothers single-handedly after her mother’s death when Elena had been a toddler.
She watched Gabriele’s jaw clench. He gripped hold of his coffee and downed it.
She hoped it scorched him.
‘There is plenty more evidence,’ he said in a tone far more even than the brimstone firing from his now black eyes portrayed. ‘One phone call will be enough to have the FBI and the local police obtain a search warrant. One call. Would you like me to make it?’
‘Why would they believe you?’ she sneered. ‘You’re a convicted criminal and that “evidence” is illegally gained. It wouldn’t stand up in any court.’
‘It’s enough to get the ball rolling. The authorities are watching your father. They’re watching your brothers...and they’re watching you. Your family is like a collection of kindling. All the authorities are waiting on is the match to light it. If the worst happens and they judge they can’t use the evidence, then copies of the documents will be emailed from an anonymous, untraceable email address to every major news outlet in the world. Either way he’s finished, and you’re finished too.’
Elena put a hand to her chest and blinked hard to clear the clouds swimming in her eyes.
Whoever Gabriele had paid to create the documents was a master of the art. Anyone looking at them could be forgiven for thinking they had an air of legitimacy to them.
Her father—her entire family—had been living under a cloud of suspicion for a year, ever since Gabriele had been released from prison and begun his whispering campaign against them. He’d been clever about it, always making sure his comments were right on the cusp of slanderous.
There had been other incidents too, minor in the grand scheme of things; investors pulling out of deals at the last moment, the banks insisting on greater scrutiny of the books, all the little things that could be passed off as consequences of a turbulent global economy but as a whole were evidence of someone working against them.
She clung to the railing, her knuckles turning white. ‘Do you hate us because my father never stood up for your father when the accusations first came out? Is that the reason for all this?’
He laughed. It was the bitterest sound she had ever heard.
‘You’re very good at the wide-eyed ingénue act, I’ll give you that,’ he said with a shake of his dark head. ‘One could almost believe you’re naïve about the fact that it was your father behind it all.’
She shook her head. ‘You’re lying. Everyone knows you and your father were in on it together. You took the rap to spare him. My father was questioned once and they found no evidence against him.’
‘They found no evidence against your father because the trail he made was deliberately laid to lead to my father,’ he snarled, showing the first real sign of anger, enough to make her recoil and tighten her hold on the rail. ‘The FBI has been trying to pin something on him for years. Our fathers went into business together at your father’s instigation so he could hide behind my father’s respectability. He used my father’s affection, good nature and loyalty to an old friend, and framed him.’
‘Where’s the evidence? You’re making a lot of nasty insinuations and accusations here but where’s a shred of evidence to back up the claims?’
‘It’s out there and I will find it.’
‘Or forge it like you did those other documents you claim are from the chapel basement.’
Her father had stored business documents in the chapel basement for decades. There was nothing sinister about it—it was simply the most secure place for them. Or, rather, had been.
‘Admit it, Elena, the documents I copied last night are the real deal. Their release is the smoking gun the FBI is waiting for.’
‘They’re forgeries.’ But she could not deny that they were brilliantly constructed forgeries. As far as forgeries went, they were perfect.
‘You know perfectly well they’re not. You’re up to your pretty neck in all this.’
‘I’m not up to my neck in anything.’ She wanted to scream. This entire conversation was like something from Dante.
‘You are. But there is a way for you to save yourself. And your father. And that is what I mean about you posing a dilemma for me.’
‘Go on.’
‘The lack of documentary evidence to support mine and my father’s innocence is a setback for me.’
‘That’s because it doesn’t exist.’
‘If I’m such a master forger don’t you think I would fake it?’ he demanded. ‘Your father is a meticulous record keeper. It’s out there somewhere and I will find it...or I could be persuaded to forget the whole thing. With the right incentive I could also be persuaded to destroy the evidence I copied last night rather than pass it on.’
‘What incentive are you talking about?’ she asked, the anger leeching out to be replaced with wariness.
‘I’ve held back from sending the documents to the FBI because I have a proposition to make. You and you alone can save your father from financial ruin and a hefty prison sentence.’
‘What does this proposition entail?’
A smile curved his handsome face. ‘That, you will find, is the crucial question. To secure a healthy future for your father and the rest of your family, you will have to do one very simple thing—you’ll have to marry me.’
CHAPTER THREE
GABRIELE WATCHED CLOSELY as the blood drained from Elena’s face, the light golden colour turning white. The last thing he wanted was her falling into a faint again, especially as there was no possibility of him catching her as he’d done the night before.
It was the last thing he should have worried about. Instead of fal
ling into a heap on the floor, she covered her mouth and burst into peals of laughter. And not just a short burst of it. Her body shook, the colour flooding back in her face.
‘That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard,’ she said, wiping away tears of mirth with the back of her hand. ‘You want to marry me?’
He didn’t say anything, just folded his arms across his chest and stared at her implacably.
She must have seen something in his expression for all merriment came to an abrupt halt.
‘You don’t mean it? Do you? You want to marry me?’
‘Marry me and all your father’s financial and legal problems disappear.’
‘But... But that’s insane.’ She ran her fingers through her messy hair. ‘Tell me what your real proposition is.’
‘That’s it. I want my ring on your finger and my baby in your belly.’
‘A baby? You want me to have a baby with you? You are insane—’
‘Those are my conditions for not throwing your father and the rest of your family to the mercy of the authorities.’
She shook her head, visibly pulling herself together. Dragging herself away from the railing, she rejoined him at the table, finished her caffè e latte, then helped herself to the fresh pot of coffee.
Done, she leaned forward, her fingertips holding onto the table as if they were suction pads.
‘Putting aside the fact your proposition is the most stupid idea in the history of humanity, and putting aside your monstrous idea of us having a baby together, what would you hope to achieve by marrying me? My humiliation? My subjugation? What?’
‘I have one mission in my life and that’s your father’s destruction. You marrying me...’ he allowed himself the luxury of imagining Ignazio’s reaction to the news ‘...will destroy him emotionally. You’re his special princess; the light of his life. Knowing you belong to me will cut right into what is left of his heart.’
Her eyes flashed pure hatred at him. ‘I will never belong to you. And I am not having your child.’
‘If you agree to my proposition you will take my name. You will have my child. A Ricci will become a Mantegna. Together we will make a new life.’ Now Gabriele leaned forward to mimic her stance, placing his fingers on the table so they almost touched hers. ‘Your father, your brothers, the whole world will believe you have fallen in love with me and that whatever heart you have in your body belongs to me.’
Now her eyes were wide with stark panic. ‘I can’t do it. No one would believe we’re in love for a second.’
He shrugged. ‘It will be your job to make them believe it.’
She rubbed at her eyes. He looked closely to see if there were tears but clearly Elena, despite her doll-like exterior and unfortunate fainting fit, was tough. It wasn’t a thought that should make him glad but it did.
Knowing she was more than equipped to be his equal lessened a fraction of the guilt trying to eat at him.
He would not allow himself to feel guilt. After what her father had done, guilt and empathy had no place in his life.
Gabriele’s father had worked hard all his life, had been a loyal and faithful husband, father, employer and friend. To see his reputation trashed and the anguish it had caused, along with his father’s bewilderment that the man he’d considered a brother had been the root of it all...
‘It’s one thing wanting to hurt my father but why are you dragging me into it?’ she asked, shaking her head. ‘I’ve done nothing to you. I don’t even know you.’
‘Because I know you’re as guilty as he is. Even if you didn’t have a direct hand in the framing of my father, you did nothing to stop it. Your father is a monster yet you act as if he were a deity. You should consider yourself lucky that I’m giving you this chance. Be in no doubt, the FBI will find evidence against you and your brothers too.’ Gabriele rose from the table. ‘I appreciate it’s a lot for you to take in so I shall give you some time to think things through.’
‘How long? How long, damn you?’
He looked at his watch. ‘I want your decision by the time we reach Tampa Bay.’
‘I can’t...’ She swallowed, her face pinched and furious. ‘I can’t. It’s impossible.’
‘You can. The choice will ultimately be yours. Just bear in mind that should you choose the wrong option, your father will spend what’s left of his miserable life in a prison cell. There might even be a cell with your name on it too.’
As he walked back indoors, the feel of her hate-filled eyes burning into his back, he took some deep breaths to dislodge the uncomfortable, cramp-like feeling that had settled in his chest.
* * *
A hot shower made Elena feel cleaner but not at all better.
She’d sat outside on the deck for almost an hour, trying hard to think but being unable to drag up a coherent thought.
She should never have taken the long weekend off work.
She’d hardly taken any time off in the past year: since Gabriele had started his whispering campaign she hadn’t dared. She’d wanted her employees and the Ricci shareholders to see her relaxed and unworried. An average week would see her travel to a minimum of four countries. Yes, she travelled by private jet but even thirty thousand feet in the air there was no respite to be had. Always there was paperwork to catch up on, emails to send and reply to, daily conference calls with her father.
A fortnight ago she’d caught a cold that wouldn’t shift. As the days had passed her energy levels had sapped. Getting out of bed had become a feat of endurance. Then, on Thursday, she’d sat through a board meeting in Oslo fighting to keep her eyes open. As soon as it had finished she’d dragged herself into her office, sank onto the sofa and promptly fallen asleep. While she’d slept she’d dreamt of the family Caribbean island, bought two decades ago, and had woken knowing she needed a break. She didn’t need a doctor to tell her she was in danger of burnout.
Their home on the island was big enough that all the family could come and go as they pleased. As a rule, they notified the household staff so preparations could be made, but on this fateful occasion she’d decided what she needed more than anything was peace. Just the thought of being completely alone—obviously with the exception of the unobtrusive security guards—had lifted her spirits.
Three days of solitude and sunshine...
She’d arrived on the island late yesterday afternoon. She’d dumped her case in the house and then decided to do something she hadn’t done since she was a child, and head to the south of the island where the clear shallow waters allowed her to wade far out, and catch a fish for her supper.
Her belly rumbled as she recalled how she’d never had a chance to eat her catch, a juvenile foot-long barracuda.
The sun had gone down and she’d built a small fire on the beach. Her barracuda had been almost cooked to perfection when shouts had distracted her.
She’d assumed one of the security guards had injured himself and rushed off through the woods to help.
Luck had not been on her side. She’d stepped onto the main drive that cut through the woods at the exact moment the man clad head to foot in black had stepped out of the house. He couldn’t miss her.
She’d been rooted to the ground, her shock so great she’d been unable to move more than a muscle. It was as if her brain had been incapable of comprehending that there was a stranger before her and that this stranger represented danger.
Then the adrenaline had kicked in and she’d turned to run but by then it had been too late—the man had already yelled for back-up and was powering towards her. So she’d done the only thing she could. She’d opened her throat and screamed, literally, for her life.
Thank the Lord that Gabriele had heard it. She couldn’t bear to think of what would have happened if he hadn’t, or if he’d ignored it.
Her wrists were still sore
from where that man had tied her to the bed. He hadn’t cared if he hurt her. Indeed, she would guess he got off on it.
It was this knowledge, that Gabriele had put himself in danger to rescue her, that tempered the fury ravaging her entire body. Even her toes were angry.
But he had saved her. He’d put himself in grave danger for her. When he’d slung her over his shoulder there had been an understandable impatience but not a roughness. Hurting her had been the last thing on his mind.
A bitter laugh flew from her mouth. She’d bet he wouldn’t have bothered coming to her rescue if he’d known that it was she who was in danger.
Or maybe he would have.
Saving her had presented him with an opportunity and he was grabbing it with both enormous hands.
It felt as if needles were being pushed into her scalp and forehead.
She couldn’t marry him. She’d never heard such a ridiculous notion in her life. Marrying a man she barely knew and who was intent on destroying her entire family?
And to have his child? To bring a child into such a hate-filled nest of poison?
Yet it was the only way to save her family. Those forged documents had the potential to destroy them all and she was the only one who could stop it happening.
No wonder her head hurt so much.
Forcing herself to gather her wits, Elena hunted around the cabin for something clean to wear as Esmerelda had whisked her filthy clothes away. All she found was a white silk robe hanging in the wardrobe. It felt beautiful on her skin but one look in the mirror made her whip it off. The material was practically transparent.
Esmerelda had brought some clothes for her to change into but judging by the size and quality of them, they belonged to Gabriele.
It was with great reluctance that she slipped a black T-shirt on. It fell to her knees and looked like a sack. Much better.
What wasn’t better was the faint trace of cologne permeating through the fabric cleaner. It had to be Gabriele’s. It smelt too much like him to belong to anyone else. She hated that it was a scent she found appealing.
Wedded, Bedded, Betrayed Page 3
