Wedded, Bedded, Betrayed

by Michelle Smart

  But according to Gabriele, all the evidence was in the basement of the Nutmeg Island chapel, which the authorities couldn’t touch without hard evidence.

  How would her father react if she were to ask him for the chapel code...?

  God, she loathed herself for doubting him. Hated that she had to bite back the question every time she spoke to him. Hated that she feared his answers.

  And she hated that the images of those photos played so greatly in her mind.

  There was a whole history between the two families that had been all but erased. All she’d ever seen of it was a blurred outline; all the colour and vitality within the outlines faded into darkness.

  And she really hated that it made her wonder what else she’d been kept in the dark about.

  CHAPTER TEN

  MANTEGNA’S HEADQUARTERS WERE located on the outskirts of Florence, in a sprawling complex that covered two square miles of land set in a basin in the Tuscan hills. Elena’s first glimpse was as they drove over the crest of a hill. There it lay beneath them, gleaming in the midday sun.

  Gabriele had decided to drive, and he brought the small sports car to a stop so she could admire the view.

  Dozens upon dozens of futuristic buildings and hangars were encircled by a testing track. In the centre of it all was the famous electric-blue main building itself, shaped in the diamond Mantegna logo with the silver M dashed across it, its roof shining and glossy under the sun.

  Mantegna Cars had manufacturing plants the world over but here was its heart.

  ‘Have the renovations finished now?’ she asked.

  When Gabriele had been halfway through his prison sentence, work had begun, to much fanfare, on expanding Mantegna’s European headquarters to make them his worldwide HQ. It had been a defiant gesture that had told the world Gabriele would not be skulking away and his business would continue to thrive and innovate. Having been unaware of her own father’s involvement—supposed involvement—in the fraud, believing her father to be an innocent bystander in the Mantegnas’ criminality, she’d thought it showed a lack of class.

  But you never thought your father was completely innocent, did you? That twisting you experienced in the pit of your belly whenever you heard details of the investigation and the trial were testament to that.

  Coldness ran up her spine and she clasped her hands tightly together.

  What kind of daughter was she to even consider her father being capable of such a thing?

  ‘The bulk of it was completed a month ago,’ he said, oblivious to her inner turmoil. ‘We’ve had a few teething problems but nothing major. When we launch the Alfredo next month, everything will work perfectly.’

  The supercar that would be a tribute to Gabriele’s father and an event that had the world’s motor press salivating with anticipation.

  ‘How did you do it?’ she asked in wonder. ‘The boss of one of the world’s greatest car manufacturers goes to prison for fraud and money laundering but instead of your business collapsing around you, it thrives and comes back stronger than ever.’

  Gabriele stared out of the window as she spoke. It was a long time before he answered.

  ‘It helped that my staff believed in me,’ he said quietly. ‘They carried the business during my incarceration. We were all determined to fight back and so were the majority of my financial backers. They believed in my innocence.’

  He spread out his hands and nodded at the Mantegna building in the distance. ‘The expansion sent out a message of intent to the world. The launch of the Alfredo will be the pinnacle; proof positive that our cars are the best in the world and that nothing will be allowed to destroy us.’

  Elena stared at him with her heart in her mouth.

  How did someone inspire such blind loyalty? She had no illusions about her own staff—their loyalty was to their pay cheques. All it had taken was a couple of unfounded whispers from Gabriele for a handful of her father’s banks to call in their overdrafts.

  Yet Gabriele’s staff and backers had fought for him.

  He set the car in motion again and soon they were walking into the foyer of the headquarters of Mantegna Cars.

  The interior of the main building was as futuristic as the exterior, all glass walls and electric-blue furnishings.

  Gabriele insisted on giving her a tour of the entire facility, introducing her to scores of people as they made their way through it all. Nothing was off-limits. All of Mantegna Cars’ intellectual secrets were opened up to her in a display of trust she found astounding and also incredibly touching.

  Since their jog together, they had found a relative harmony, but, with their wedding celebration party only a day away, her nerves were a tangled mess knowing her father and brothers would be attending.

  This was the perfect way for her to forget what the next day would bring.

  As Ricci Components made parts for cars, everything was familiar to Elena, and yet refreshingly different, as if she’d been beamed to the twenty-third century. There was little hierarchy either that she could discern, everyone treating each other with mutual respect. There was less of a gender divide than she’d expected too. In the main manufacturing plant there were a handful of women working who clearly weren’t there for decoration or to make tea. It was a nice culture shock to have, especially as Ricci Components tended only to employ women for clerical roles.

  She had come to accept that even her own job was clerical. Everything Ricci Components made was manufactured in Asia or South America. The closest she came to the manufacturing process was through imports.

  ‘Your deputy Chief Engineer is a woman,’ she commented with a shake of her head when they were walking back to the main building.

  ‘Yes,’ was Gabriele’s reply, as if the matter were so inconsequential it didn’t need discussing.

  She wondered if the deputy Chief Engineer had had to fight misogyny to get where she was, both within her family and the world at large. Or had she a family that was supportive to all her dreams?

  Back in the main building, Gabriele took her up to the media suite, where a group of executives was waiting for them, trays of food and coffee laid out.

  A wall-length flat-screen television played a montage of the new Alfredo supercar driving through the Tuscan hills.

  ‘It’s stunning,’ Elena marvelled as the screen changed to show the Alfredo powering up the German Autobahn.

  ‘I’m pleased you like it,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘Is this the advert you’ll be using?’ she asked.

  ‘This is only for the press launch. We don’t need to advertise.’ Gabriele took a bite of a mini cheesecake, noting the sparkle in Elena’s eyes. She really was in her element here. ‘We advertise heavily for our more family-oriented cars but our supercars are niche—only five hundred Alfredos will be manufactured and they’re sold out already.’

  ‘So why do any press for it?’

  ‘This car is a tribute to my father. I want the world to see it. I want to remind the world of his innocence.’ The dimming of her eyes made him feel like a heel. Wanting the light to come back into them, he added, ‘The launch also gives publicity for the Mantegna name, and prestige for our buyers. They like belonging to an exclusive club that everyone knows about but can’t join.’

  Gratitude flashed in her eyes. ‘I’m tempted to ask you to produce one more just for me.’

  He laughed. ‘A wedding present?’

  ‘A divorce present,’ she retorted drily.

  He hooked an arm around her and kissed her temple. He liked that she didn’t automatically freeze when he touched her now. He liked it a lot. ‘I’ll see what can be done.’

  It was amazing, he reflected, that a month ago the thought of a Ricci—any Ricci—driving the car named after his father would have been a dagger through his hear
t.

  ‘At the very least I can offer you a test drive,’ he said. ‘I’ll arrange for Monty, our resident test driver, to take you out on the track next week.’

  Her eyes widened with enthusiasm. ‘That would be fantastic. Incredible.’

  ‘Am I right in thinking Mrs Mantegna is a petrol head?’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘It’s what they call car enthusiasts in the UK,’ he laughed.

  ‘I suppose I am.’ She sounded surprised at her agreement.

  ‘Many women are, you know. They don’t have to pretend to be just to be accepted as one of the boys.’

  ‘If that’s the case, why don’t you manufacture a supercar for women?’

  ‘We do.’ He grinned. ‘You like the Alfredo, don’t you? When you consider women have as much purchasing power as men, it’s ludicrous not to cater for their tastes too. For the past decade we’ve made sure all our cars, from every range, have gadgets that appeal to women as well as those that traditionally appeal to men.’

  She gave an approving, if puzzled, smile and he thought of her obvious surprise about his deputy Chief Engineer being a woman.

  He looked more carefully at her. Today she was dressed in her usual uniform of slim-fitting dark trousers matched with a mauve blouse, her hair loose around her shoulders. She seemed to enjoy her new wardrobe but was still unsure about wearing make-up or doing anything with her hair other than a knot or ponytail.

  For Elena, being a woman was something she had fought her entire life. A new wardrobe and one make-up lesson could not overturn a lifetime of learned behaviour, no matter how much she secretly wished it could. He’d seen her watch Internet videos on make-up tips and hairstyles, her face screwed in concentration, but she never attempted them herself. He was certain she did want to embrace her femininity but something held her back.

  There were times he’d be watching her and he’d feel such a heavy compression in his chest that his lungs would shrink and he would struggle to breathe.

  It should be of no consequence to him whatever was going on in her head but it was there all the same. He wanted to scoop her thoughts out and throw away the ones that hurt her; the ones that told her she wasn’t good enough as she was.

  There were times he could almost understand why Ignazio had gone to such lengths to protect her. There was something about Elena that made a man discover his inner Neanderthal. She was such a strange mixture of vulnerability and fieriness; so capable and determined yet so fragile too.

  He smiled ruefully. One thing Ignazio had failed to learn but had taken Gabriele all of five minutes in her company to discover was that Elena didn’t need protection. She was more than capable of taking care of herself.

  All she needed and all she wanted was respect.

  Anna Maria came into the media room and caught his eye.

  Excusing himself, he went to join her by the door.

  There was an air of calm excitement about her.

  ‘We’ve got the proof,’ she said in an undertone.

  Automatically, his gaze turned to Elena. She was now talking to the director of the promo that had been recorded.

  ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Yes. Carlos came through. He’s emailed the proof.’

  Gabriele closed his eyes.

  At last.

  Carlos was one of Ignazio’s closest aides. He’d worked with him for decades. Other than his children, there was no one Ignazio trusted more.

  It had bitten at his craw to reach out to a man who had effectively betrayed his father as much as Ignazio had but desperate times called for desperate measures. He’d spent a lot of money buying Carlos’s loyalty and now it appeared to be paying off.

  ‘I need the originals.’ He wanted the proof of his innocence to be cast iron. As he spoke, Elena turned her head, saw his eyes upon her, and gave a small, shy smile.

  How would she react when she learned what he’d been doing behind her back?

  How would she react when she learned he had the proof?

  And how would she react when she discovered what he planned to do with it?

  He hadn’t lied to her. Their contract had been clear. Marriage and a baby in exchange for him destroying the documents he’d copied from the chapel basement.

  Nowhere on the contract did it stipulate he couldn’t continue digging for evidence to clear his father’s name and have his own criminal record expunged.

  That Elena had assumed this would be covered by the original verbal agreement was not his problem.

  All the same...

  His guts felt very heavy when he imagined what her reaction would be.

  * * *

  ‘How much did you miss having a mother when you were growing up?’ Gabriele asked once they were driving back home.

  He felt her eyes rest on him and knew she was reading his face before deciding whether to answer. They had learned to read each other well.

  She was silent for a long while before replying. ‘Not my childhood so much as my adolescence. That’s when I really missed having her there.’

  ‘No counterbalance for all the testosterone?’ He changed gear and tapped the brake as they approached a small town.

  She smiled faintly. ‘None at all. I hardly ever met any women. I was home educated with male tutors—our household staff were all men too, as were all the cousins from my father’s side.’

  ‘What about the rest of your family? Did you ever see anyone from your mother’s side? Aunts? Cousins?’

  ‘My mother was Swedish and all her family live there. I saw them a handful of times when I was growing up.’

  ‘And now? You spend a lot of time in Scandinavia working. That must make it easier to be in contact with them.’

  ‘They’re strangers to me. I was twelve the last time I saw any of them.’

  ‘They don’t have to be strangers any more.’

  He felt green eyes upon him.

  ‘I’ve got a couple of female cousins around my age who wanted to be friends but I snubbed them. It’s too late for me to expect a relationship now.’

  ‘Why did you snub them?’

  A dry laugh. ‘Because they were girls. And they were beautiful and poised and wore the most beautiful dresses, whereas I was a tomboy dressed for a party in boys’ clothes.’

  ‘Did you want to be like them?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She took a breath. ‘I suppose I did want to be a little like them but I didn’t know where to begin. And I didn’t want to give my brothers any ammunition to remember I was a girl. Girls were cheap meat to be made fun of, remember?’

  ‘I’m very sorry you grew up believing that.’

  It was with a heavy heart that Gabriele locked his car and went into the apartment with Elena.

  When she excused herself to take a shower, he took the opportunity to catch up on emails with some privacy.

  Carlos had agreed to meet him in person. For an extra one hundred thousand dollars he would bring the originals with him.

  Gabriele didn’t quibble over it. He would spend any amount of money to exonerate his father and clear his own name. Whatever it took.

  Anna Maria was convinced that, for an even larger sum, Carlos could be persuaded to defect and testify in person. It would be Gabriele’s job to persuade him.

  The end game was coming. If he could convince Carlos to testify—and that was by no means a given—then Ignazio Ricci was finished.

  But the gratification of a game plan coming to fruition was nowhere to be found.

  When he and Elena went their separate ways she would be all alone. He knew her father’s arrest would be painful for her; he couldn’t bring himself to imagine how painful. Who would she turn to? Her brothers?

  He almost laughed out loud at the thou
ght of those idiots attempting to comfort her.

  She had family in Sweden though...

  He straightened, an idea formulating.

  He put a quick call through to Anna Maria. ‘I need you to track down Hilde Ricci’s family in Sweden,’ he said. ‘Call me as soon as you have anything.’

  Tomorrow night he and Elena would celebrate their wedding. They might know it was all for show but no one else did. He had a decent-sized family and numerous friends. The only people attending from her side were her father and brothers. If his idea paid off, he might be able to even it out a little for her.

  Feeling moderately better in himself, Gabriele headed to the bedroom, certain she would have finished showering by now. Elena spent more time in the shower than anyone he’d ever known. With anyone else he’d see it as an invitation to join them but with Elena he knew it was her way of destressing away from him when her thoughts became too much.

  She was bent over, a large towel wrapped around her, rubbing at her hair with a smaller one.

  She spotted him, straightened, tightened the towel and scurried back into the bathroom.

  After three weeks spending virtually every waking—and sleeping—moment together it was hard to believe she could still be so shy around him.

  Inhaling deeply, he undressed.

  Moments later she returned wearing her robe, the sash knotted so tightly he was surprised she could breathe.

  Her eyes widened to see he’d stripped off to just his boxers.

  ‘Are you going to shower now?’ she asked, averting her gaze, colour creeping up her cheeks.

  ‘Soon.’

  When would she have the courage to be naked around him outside the bed itself?

  ‘Are we still eating out?’

  ‘Yes.’ As neither of them could cook and it suited him not to have his housekeeping staff around too much—he’d noticed Elena was much less inhibited when it was just the two of them even if the needed privacy meant she wouldn’t kiss him—they ate out most days.

  Stepping over to her, he took her by the arms and gently swivelled her round to stand before the full-length mirror. He undid the knot of the robe, and smoothed the silk away from her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet.