Innocent's Secret Baby (Billionaires & One-Night Heirs, Book #1)

by Carol Marinelli

  Nor where she lived.

  Usually those details did not matter to him.

  Oh, but they did now.

  He had searched, and so had Allegra.

  There were a surprising number of castles in England, and there were many that were used for weddings.

  They had got nowhere.

  Allegra was working her way through them all and had flown over to England three times.

  And now Raul was in Rome.

  Back at the Grande Lucia, where it had all started.

  Now that Raul was showing no interest in purchasing the hotel he was having trouble getting through to Sultan Alim.

  And so he was here in person.

  But trouble remained in the shape of the young receptionist.

  ‘Sultan Alim is only available by appointment.’

  ‘Call and tell him that Raul Di Savo is here.’

  ‘As I said, he only sees people by appointment. We don’t disturb him with phone calls.’

  She was as snooty and as immutable as he demanded that Allegra should be if someone—anyone—tried to invade Raul’s time.

  ‘Is he even in the country?’ Raul asked, but that information was off-limits.

  ‘He would prefer that we do not discuss his movements. I shall let him know you were here.’

  Now what?

  Did he sit in the foyer and wait for a royal sultan who might already be back in the Middle East? Or warn the poor receptionist that if she valued her job she should let Alim know...

  And then Raul saw someone who might be able to help.

  She was walking through the foyer carrying a huge display of roses.

  Gabi.

  The indiscreet wedding planner!

  ‘Hey,’ Raul said.

  ‘Hi.’

  He had forgotten how to flirt—even for gain.

  ‘Gabi?’

  ‘Oh!’ She stopped. ‘You were in the ballroom when Alim...’ Her voice trailed off.

  There had been something going on that afternoon. Raul knew it. He hadn’t given it much thought until now.

  ‘I’m hoping to meet with him.’

  ‘Good luck!’ Gabi rolled her eyes. ‘He’s back home.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘For his wedding.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I’m planning it, actually.’

  She looked as if she were about to cry.

  ‘Can you let him know I need to speak with him?’

  ‘I’m a wedding planner,’ Gabi said. ‘I don’t get access to the Royal Sultan.’

  And neither would he, Raul thought as Gabi flounced off.

  So that left Bastiano—and Raul already knew where he was.

  Casta.

  * * *

  His jet landed at Cosimo airport, and though it was warmer the sky still seemed to be hung too low. Raul put on his shades and transferred to the helicopter he had arranged to take him to the old convent.

  To afford the nuns seclusion it had been made accessible only by horse or helicopter.

  Of course Raul chose the latter.

  The convent was an ancient sprawling building that no one could get to, set on the crest of the valley overlooking the wild Sicilian Strait.

  Its inaccessibility made it the perfect retreat, and Raul had to hand it to Bastiano for his foresight.

  Not that he would admit that.

  Raul boarded the helicopter and saw his orders had been followed. There was a bunch of lilies there, which, after meeting with Bastiano, he would take to Maria’s grave.

  He would arrive unannounced.

  Raul had sworn never to return.

  Only for Lydia he did.

  It would be kinder, perhaps, not to look out of the helicopter window and at first he chose not to. The last time he had been home it had been on a commercial flight and then a frantic taxi ride to the valley.

  Raul had been eighteen then, and he recalled the taxi driver asking him to pay the fare in advance before agreeing to take him.

  Different times.

  Same place.

  He looked, and the view was starting to become familiar. Even if he had never seen it from this vantage point, the lie of this land was etched on the dark side of his soul.

  There were the fields that the Contis and Di Savos had fought over for generations, and yet the wine had never made either family their fortune—and Raul’s palate now knew it never would.

  His stomach turned in on itself, and it had nothing to do with the sudden banking of the chopper, more the view of the schoolyard, and beyond it to what had been his family home.

  He could hear his childish lies to his father.

  ‘Mamma has been here all day.’

  Or...

  ‘I think she went to breakfast with Loretta.’

  And now perhaps he understood why Lydia did not take photos, for there were memories you did not want to see.

  Raul hadn’t lied just to save himself.

  He had lied to cover for his mother.

  Over and over and over.

  And then he recalled her more cheerful dispositions. When she would sing and start to go out more, and Raul’s lies to his father would have to begin again.

  There was the church, and to the side the tombstones.

  Raul’s history stretched beneath him and there was nothing he wanted to see.

  But he made himself look.

  The ocean was wild and choppy, crashing onto jagged rocks, and then he saw it.

  Far from falling into disrepair the old convent now stood proud, and he remembered his mother’s tears when it had closed down.

  Had it really been her dream?

  The chopper landed and Raul climbed out.

  He thought Security might halt him, but he walked across the lush lawn and towards the gateway without confrontation.

  There was a sign for Reception and Raul headed towards it. He walked past a fountain and then ignored the bell and pushed open a heavy arched door.

  There were downlights—a modern touch that softened the stone walls—and at a desk sat a young woman wearing what looked like a dental nurse’s uniform.

  ‘Posso aiutarla?’

  With a smile she asked Raul if she could help him.

  ‘Si.’ Raul nodded. ‘I am here to speak with Bastiano.’

  No frown marred her Botoxed brow, but Raul could see the worry in her eyes as she checked the computer, even though her smile stayed in place.

  ‘May I have your name?’

  ‘Raul Di Savo...’

  She must be just about due to have her anti-wrinkle injections topped up, for now a line formed between her brow and the smile faded.

  Oh, that name—even now—was known in the valley.

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘No,’ Raul responded. ‘He isn’t expecting me...’

  ‘On the contrary.’

  Bastiano’s voice arrived before he did, and Raul looked up as he emerged from the shadows of the archway. A glint of sun captured the scar on his cheek, and Raul thought he looked like the devil himself appearing.

  ‘Bastiano.’ Raul didn’t even attempt to keep the ice from his voice. ‘I would like to speak with you.’

  ‘I rather thought that you might,’ Bastiano said, his response equally cool. His indubitable charm would never be wasted on Raul. ‘Come this way.’

  Raul followed him through the arch and they walked along a cloister that looked down on a quadrangle where a small group were sitting in the afternoon sun, talking. They glanced up at the two dark-suited men, for there was a foreboding energy about them that drew attention.

  Even the receptionist had follow
ed, and stood watching as they disappeared into the old refectory.

  The darkness was welcome, and the windows were like photo frames, setting off a view of the Sicilian Strait that roared in the distance.

  ‘Take a seat,’ Bastiano offered.

  It would be churlish to stand, Raul knew, when he was here for a favour, so as Bastiano moved behind his desk Raul sat at the other side.

  ‘There is something I need from you,’ Raul said. ‘I would have preferred not to just land on you, but you refused to take my calls.’

  Bastiano didn’t say anything, but Raul saw the smile of triumph that he attempted to contain. Of course he would not take Raul’s calls—he would far prefer to witness him beg.

  ‘I didn’t return your calls because I don’t think I can help you, Raul,’ Bastiano answered, and his manicured hand gestured to some papers on the desk before him. ‘Alim said you have been trying to reach him. I know how badly you wanted the hotel, but a deal has been reached—the contracts are awaiting my signature.’

  Bastiano thought he was here about the Grande Lucia, Raul realised.

  But then why wouldn’t he think that?

  A few weeks ago that had been all that had mattered to Raul—acquisitions, pipping Bastiano to the post and amassing the biggest fortune.

  ‘I’m not here about the hotel,’ Raul said, and he watched as Bastiano’s contained features briefly showed his confusion.

  But he righted himself quickly.

  ‘So what is it that you want?’

  ‘You were considering investing in a property in the UK.’ Raul attempted to be vague, but it did not work.

  ‘I have many investments there.’

  ‘It was a castle.’

  Raul knew the exact second that Bastiano understood the reason for his visit, for now he made no effort to contain his black smile as he spoke. ‘I don’t recall.’

  ‘Of course you do.’ Raul refused to play games. ‘If you could give me the details I would be grateful.’

  ‘I don’t require your gratitude, though.’

  He had been mad to come, Raul realised.

  But then mad was how he had been of late.

  And now he sat in front of his nemesis, asking him for help.

  Worse, though, there were other questions he wanted to ask him. Bastiano held some of the keys to his past.

  A past Raul did not want to examine.

  Yes, this was madness, Raul decided.

  No more.

  He stood to leave and did not even bother making the right noises, for there was nothing even to pretend to thank Bastiano for.

  But as he reached the door Bastiano’s voice halted him.

  ‘There is something I want.’

  Raul did not turn around and Bastiano continued.

  ‘If you return the ring I’ll give you the information.’

  Still Raul did not turn around, though he halted. He actually fought not to lean on the door, for he felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room. He was back in the courtroom, staring at that emerald and seed pearl ring and wondering from where it had come.

  Gino had given his mother nothing other than a thin gold band that might just as well have been a ball and chain, for in Maria’s eyes it had held her to him for life...

  Not quite.

  She had been unfaithful, after all.

  Then Bastiano spoke. ‘I gave it to your mother the week before she died. It belongs in my family...’

  ‘Why did you give her the ring?’ Raul turned.

  ‘She said that she wanted to leave Casta and be with me. The ring secured our plans.’

  ‘You expect me to believe that you two were in love?’ Raul sneered.

  ‘I thought so for a while.’ Bastiano shrugged. ‘It was really just sex.’

  Raul was across the room in an instant, and he reached out to upend the table just to get to Bastiano, but somehow the bastard had him halting, for he held out a pen as if it were a knife.

  ‘I want my ring,’ Bastiano said.

  And the pen in his hand was the only thing preventing Raul from slamming him against the stone wall and exacting his final revenge.

  ‘You’ll get it.’

  Bastiano wrote down the details, but, as he did, he said something that a few years ago would have had Raul reaching again for his throat.

  Now it made Raul feel sick.

  ‘Don’t make her a saint, Raul,’ Bastiano said. ‘She was far from that.’

  Raul felt as if his head was exploding as he walked out.

  The helicopter’s rotors started at the pilot’s sight of him and Raul ran across the ground.

  It took minutes.

  Barely minutes,

  And he was standing at his mother’s grave.

  It should feel peaceful—there was just the sound of birds and the buzzing of his phone—but the roar in his ears remained.

  It had never left.

  Or rather it had dimmed in the brief time he and Lydia had shared.

  Now he turned off his phone, and it felt as if even the birds were silent as he faced the truth.

  Bastiano had not been the first affair.

  He had been the last.

  And there had been many.

  Raul had been taught to lie—not just to save himself but to cover for his mother.

  He looked back to the convent and remembered her tears when it had closed and her misery. Then he recalled her being more cheerful, when her mood would lift for a while. And while it would make most children happy to see their mother smile, Raul had known that if he were to keep her safe, then the lies had to start again.

  Maria Di Savo.

  Unhinged, some had called her.

  ‘Fragile’ was perhaps a more appropriate word.

  At least it was the one Raul chose.

  But with more open eyes than the last time he had stood here.

  ‘Rest now,’ he said to the stone, and he went to lay the lilies.

  But then he divided them into two.

  And he turned to the grave of Gino Di Savo.

  There was someone he had never considered forgiving—it had been so far from his mind as to be deemed irrelevant.

  It was more than relevant now.

  Was Gino even his father?

  Sixteen and pregnant in the valley would have been a shameful place to be.

  Had the younger Gino been kinder?

  Had he lived with the knowledge of constant infidelity?

  Perhaps Raul would never know.

  He understood the beatings more, though.

  And maybe there were some respects to be paid.

  ‘Rest now,’ Raul said again, and he put the remaining lilies on Gino Di Savo’s grave.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘IT’S A VERY recent piece.’

  The valuation manager had called in the director. And Lydia was starting to get a glimpse of just how valuable the statue was.

  ‘Three months,’ Lydia said, but they didn’t look over at her.

  For the first morning in a very long time Lydia had held down some toast and decided it was time to be practical and deal with things.

  Lydia had returned to the castle expecting anger and recrimination, and had been ready to get the hell out.

  Instead she’d returned to her mother’s devastation.

  It wasn’t only Lydia who hadn’t cried on her father’s death.

  Valerie too had held it in, and finally the dam had broken.

  ‘I’m sorry!’ She had just slumped in a chair and cried. ‘I’ve told him he’s never to come back.’

  Of all the hurts in Lydia’s heart, Maurice didn’t rank, and so instead of fighting back
or getting out Lydia had done what Raul had done. She’d poured her mother a drink and stayed calm.

  She’d been her practical self, in fact, and had put her own hurts aside.

  Lydia pulled the castle as a wedding venue and then dealt as best as she could with what was.

  There was no money and very little left to sell.

  Last week she had suggested that Valerie go and spend some time with her sister.

  Lydia needed to be alone.

  She was pregnant.

  But she did have her mother’s practical nature and had decided to find out what the statue was worth.

  Not to save the castle.

  Raul was right—it would require a constant infusion.

  The proceeds of the sale of the statue might at least go towards a deposit on a house.

  But then the valuation manager had called for the director and numbers had started to be discussed between the men.

  Lydia realised she had far more than a deposit.

  In fact she could buy a home.

  It was worth that much and very possibly more.

  She could provide for her baby and Raul didn’t even need to know.

  ‘Are you thinking of the New York auction?’ the manager was asking his senior.

  ‘That’s a few months off.’

  He glanced over to Lydia and offered her an option.

  ‘I have several collectors who would be extremely interested—we could run a private auction. This piece is exquisite.’

  And she loved it so.

  It was just a piece of glass, Lydia told herself.

  There was a reason she didn’t take photos—going over old memories hurt too much.

  She would be better rid of it, Lydia knew, and yet it was the only thing she had ever loved.

  Apart from Raul.

  He wasn’t a thing—he was a person.

  An utter bastard, in fact.

  But the statue spoke of a different time, before it had all fallen apart, and Lydia could not stand the thought of letting it go.

  Over and over she dissected each moment with him.

  At every minute her mind was back there, peeping through the keyhole he had once shown her and seeing them.

  Every moment was captured, and yet she had no photos, bar the one of them holding hands that was smeared all over the internet.