Mistress By Blackmail: International Billionaires I: The Italians

by Caro LaFever

  His brother walked to him and pulled him into his arms. The hug healed something hard inside of Marc. Something he’d slammed down between them when he’d been a rejected lover at twenty-one and Matt had been a mere boy.

  “Now, we better get out there before your big, bad partner calls the whole thing off,” his fratello said, stepping back. “It’s time I got married.”

  “Certamente.” Marc tried to pull himself together. Straightening, he tugged his bow tie tight. He tamped down on the emotions he felt about his brother and his past. His carita. Tried to focus on what had to be done right now.

  “After the wedding, though, Marcus.” Matteo pinned him with a determined squint. “I want you to leave for London immediately. Find Darcy. Make it work for yourself.”

  Fear mixed with lingering pride made him clench his jaw. “We’ll see.”

  His brother grasped his shoulders. “She somehow made you human again. Don’t throw this away because you’re afraid.”

  His pride yelled, yet he knew in his heart what was important. Now he knew what he needed to value. It was only a matter of gathering his courage and throwing himself at her feet. Opening himself to rejection once more. Risking his heart in a way he’d never risked it with Juliana. Or any other soul on Earth.

  “She loves you.” His brother’s gaze was dark with belief. “And she’s worth fighting for.”

  “Si,” Marc finally admitted out loud. “She is worth it.”

  Chapter 16

  Two weeks.

  Marc glowered at the sleet and ice dripping down his office window. The weather was typical for December in London and at any other time he wouldn’t have given it a thought. But now somewhere, out there, was a fragile little sprite. Outside in the cold. Who couldn’t be found and couldn’t be protected.

  His gut twisted. If he didn’t find her soon, he was in serious jeopardy of developing an ulcer. Or a broken heart.

  Turning, he paced to his desk, scanned his emails. Nothing.

  He glared at his mobile lying on the glass top. Nothing.

  He cursed under his breath. The best damn security a man could buy. A boatload of private investigators hired and paid handsomely. Connections and contacts made with the police and Scotland Yard. All to find one tiny woman—a person with little money and no home.

  And what did he have to show for it?

  Exactly nothing.

  Dannazione, he’d even walked the streets of his brother’s old neighborhood in desperation. Prowled the Bayswater Road market for an entire day. Questioned every single damn artist on the long street. Not a one had any information. They’d had plenty of stories to tell about Darcy Moran, though.

  How she made them laugh.

  How she would give a person the coat off her back.

  How she was a scrapper and a fighter.

  All things he knew. Yet hearing the words had created a tight congestion somewhere in the vicinity of his soul. It competed with the acid burning in his stomach as he fought the growing fear. If these people had no idea where she was, how the hell was he ever going to find her?

  He’d arrived from Italy with a plan, a good plan. Soothe her with his loving. Placate her with more gifts. Manage to tie her to him without having to confess his imperfections. Confess his ugly past, his horrible sins, his aching love. The scene with his brother had torn a strip off his pride and he’d had no desire to experience the same gut-wrenching interaction with Darcy. All he’d wanted was to slip into her welcoming arms and forget his past.

  However now, after two weeks of agony, he was willing to say or do anything to find her and keep her. If Darcy stood in front of him right now, he’d willingly get down on his knees and beg.

  His phone buzzed and with a desperate hope, Marc grabbed it and looked at the number.

  Buon Dio.

  His brother returned from his honeymoon. The last person he wanted to talk to right now.

  He forced himself to answer the call. “Si.”

  “Hey, Great Man.” Matteo’s voice was bright and filled with laughter. “Just got back from two glorious weeks in Tahiti. Viola and I both thank you for the trip. It was wonderful.”

  “Wonderful.” He paced to the window and scowled at the storm clouds.

  “Fantastic diving. Excellent food. Completely isolated yet with every comfort you could possibly need.”

  “Wonderful.” He strode to his desk.

  “Hmm.” His brother’s voice turned curious. “The one regret I had was I couldn’t find out what happened with you and Darcy. No phones. No internet.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  A cutting silence fell.

  Then his brother erupted. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Everything. Everything was wrong with him. He’d stupidly pushed away the love of his life. Forced her to leave and disappear from his life. Forever?

  Matteo’s curses continued to flow.

  He stood at his desk and stared at the blank computer screen. Waiting with fading hope for any news.

  “Marcus.”

  The harsh sound of his name broke through the fog of fear hanging over him. “What?”

  “I thought I got through to you. At the wedding.”

  You did. But I screwed things up so badly, Darcy was gone when I returned.

  “Marcus. Are you listening?”

  “Si.”

  “Well? What happened? I can’t believe she rejected you. Not the way she feels about you.”

  A short bark of laughter was his only response. The way she felt about him was clear. She never wanted to see him again. He’d left his name and number and a message with all her artist friends. No calls. No contact. She wanted nothing to do with him.

  “She rejected you?”

  “You could say that.”

  A stunned silence echoed across the line. “I can’t believe it,” his fratello finally said.

  “Believe it.” He prowled to the window. “She was gone when I got back to London.”

  “Wait. You mean you haven’t even talked with her?”

  “No.”

  “You’ve been searching for her, haven’t you?”

  “Si.”

  “Okay,” his brother’s voice became marginally warmer. “You’re not a complete idiot.”

  He leaned on the cold pane of the window and grimaced. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  “Darcy’s good at hiding in the shadows. She’s been doing it her entire life.”

  “Why?” The question shot out with a desperate need to know.

  “I don’t know. She’d never say. Still, I do know something in her past scared her. Scares her still.” His fratello’s voice grew grim. “She never wanted anything in her name. Bank accounts, leases. She never wanted any of her art exhibited. Even though she’s fantastic.”

  Marc tightened his hand around the phone with a sudden sick dread in his stomach.

  The gallery opening he’d arranged for her without her knowledge. The press and the photographs. The fearful, trembling waif who’d barely succeeded in holding herself up along the wall. The tears in the limo. The plea for him to stop asking questions she didn’t want to answer.

  The picture forming in his imagination was one that struck terror in his brain.

  “Dio,” he whispered. “I thought she was only hiding from me.”

  “Maybe. However, she’s hiding from other things too. I’d bet on it.”

  “We found her suitcase.” His heart beat an alarming tattoo in his chest. “Outside my penthouse.”

  “What?”

  “She didn’t take anything I’d given her.” He still felt the astonishment of it. When he’d opened her closet and seen every one of his gifts neatly stacked and rejected, it had hit him right in his gut. She hadn’t wanted his money. Hadn’t wanted the only things he ever offered women. “Just her own stuff. For some reason, though, she left it on the sidewalk.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I thought it wa
s some grand gesture. Some last way of telling me she wasn’t what I accused her of.”

  Matteo made a rude sound. “A gold digger.”

  “Si.” He deserved the ridicule.

  “She didn’t have much, but what she had she held on to.” His fratello’s voice was cold with sudden distress. “She wouldn’t have simply left her stuff on the side of the road. Not purposefully.”

  The fear churning in his gut turned to a hard block of ice-cold terror.

  “You need to find her, Marcus. Fast.”

  “Si,” he hissed.

  “She’s afraid of someone. I’m sure of it.”

  Marc swore a string of furious Italian words.

  “I’m going to give you a list of people and places.”

  “Good,” he gasped through his panic. Why hadn’t he thought of contacting his brother before? As usual, he’d thought he could handle it, thought he could fix it without anyone’s help except his security team.

  He was an idiot. A complete idiot.

  Yet he now was an idiot with hope.

  * * *

  Coming here had been a mistake.

  Darcy glanced around at the laughing crowd surrounding her. The King’s Rose was one of her favorite hangouts when she had a bit of dough. The old bar was a haunt for artists and she’d become good friends with the crusty old man who was the owner and usually the bartender. When she’d gotten enough courage to stick her nose out of her current hiding place, it had been a no-brainer this would be a safe spot to take the plunge.

  But it was no use.

  She kept shaking inside. Kept jumping at every shadow.

  The confrontation and her abduction had been a close call, a very close call. However, the monster hadn’t known she’d grown some balls since their last encounter. Didn’t know she knew where to kick a man if needed.

  Darcy smirked.

  She’d grown some balls and kicked his to the back of his teeth.

  His howls had followed her down the alley and into an adjoining street. Within seconds, she’d blended into the crowd. Within minutes, she’d arrived at Alvin and Sandy’s doorstep where she’d been taken in and given the couch. Fed and warmed and comforted. And not asked a lot of questions.

  She’d let them think it was all about Marcus. She’d let them believe she was suffering from a broken heart. That this was all she was suffering from. It was easier. It was her habit. The old secret had once again been stuffed into her private hell.

  The fear had lingered for a few days, still, she’d managed to act on a few things. She’d called the hospital and had been surprised yet not stunned when her pop answered. Marcus La Rocca might be a bastard, but she hadn’t pegged him as vindictive.

  She’d been right.

  Her pop had seemed oblivious that his meal ticket had thrown her out and she hadn’t had the energy to tell him about her new reality. Pop didn’t like reality anyway, so let him get well in peace. Sandy had taken the small amount of cash Darcy had on hand and found some solid, used clothing—she had the start of a new wardrobe. And Alvin had started a fundraiser to get her some art supplies so she could start making some money and get her feet back on the ground.

  Still, the heartache for her lost dreams continued to build and burn inside of her. She’d pretty much understood it was there to stay. She’d live with her need and love for Marcus for the rest of her life.

  Another fiery cross to bear in her private hell.

  Tonight, though, after two weeks of her huddling on their sofa, Alvin had insisted. It was time to get back out there. Time to live and let live, he’d said. Time to put this behind her. She’d tried to argue, tried to divert, but without telling him of her deepest fear, what could she say? That her broken heart would never let her leave this refuge again? Her pride wouldn’t let her do it.

  So here she was. Not having any fun at all. Not caring about anything at all.

  “Come on, lass.” Al’s heavy hand landed on her shoulder. “Give it a smile. Things will get better.”

  “Sure.” She painted a smile on her lips and forced her eyes to twinkle. “I’m fine, Al.”

  “There it is, there’s the Darcy I know.” His worried frown turned to a broad grin. “The man won’t be bothering you anymore. We made sure not to give him an ounce of information when he came around asking about you.”

  “Thank you.” She’d been stunned when he’d told her La Rocca had been asking about her. Stunned and shocked. Did he want to confront her about not taking any of his gifts? Was he that displeased? Or maybe he wanted to rub it in her face that her buddy was married. That she no longer had a chance to work her wiles on Matt.

  Darcy snorted. For the first time, a bit of her old temper and spirit flared. Just for a moment, she wished the Great Man stood before her so she could kick him in the shins.

  Or somewhere else. After all, she’d had recent practice.

  She deserved better.

  Her little old heart was simply going to have to get over Marcus La Rocca because he wasn’t the man she deserved. The passion in his bed, the compassion he’d shown her and her father, the impassioned way he’d promoted her art—none of it could erase the essential character of the man.

  A cynic and a workaholic. A man who could not trust or love.

  Darcy Moran was worthy of a much better man.

  She straightened her shoulders. For days now, she’d been wallowing. Glad she’d escaped, yet with no real will to live or plan for the future. The appearance of her demon ensured she’d have to return to her usual pattern. She’d have to forget the gallery. She’d have to jump from place to place, never having a real home. One step ahead of him. The thoughts had crowded in on her, deepening her depression until she felt as if she’d suffocate under the weight of her broken dreams.

  But it wasn’t in her to accept defeat. She’d survive. Like she always did.

  A friend passed her another beer, giving her a jaunty smile.

  For the first time since walking away from the Great Man’s sterile life, Darcy gave a true smile back.

  She’d be fine. She’d live. Not love again, but living was worth something.

  “Hey! Darcy!” A jolly cry from another of her artist buddies captured her attention. Turning to her left, she kept her valiant grin on her face. She’d be the life of the party. She’d show the world what she was made of. Her chin lifted, her eyes twinkled. She was ready to meet the world once more with a cheeky attitude and a fighting spirit.

  What she met was the gaze of two glittering, silver eyes.

  * * *

  Marc stared as if she was a dream.

  Dio. He’d found her. He’d finally found his sprite. The very first place Matteo had told him about and here she was.

  Smiling and laughing. The life of the party.

  A shaft of pain lanced inside him. Clearly, she hadn’t been suffering from their parting like he had. In fact, it appeared she’d already forgotten him. A sick feeling slid down his throat. What if his brother was wrong, all wrong about her feelings? What if he were about to make himself a fool once more in front of a woman?

  So be it.

  He had to know. Had to face her and find out if he had a hope of winning her back. A hope of living the life he’d been dreaming of these last couple of weeks. A life of laughter and love. A life overflowing with acceptance and warmth. A life with…

  “Darcy,” he breathed.

  She turned and looked right at him. As if she’d heard her name on his lips even though the crowded bar was filled with noisy chatter. Her gaze met his from across the distance between where he stood at the door and she sat at the bar.

  She stiffened and her eyes widened.

  Then, she turned from him with a jerk and slipped through the crowd at a rapid clip.

  “No,” he cried. The people around him went silent.

  “No,” he said once more as he pushed his way through the throng, following her fast-disappearing form. An older man, vaguely recognizable, stepped in fr
ont of him, but one fierce glare from Marc had him stumbling aside.

  He’d found her, finally found her. Damned if anyone or anything was going to stand in the way of getting to her and telling her. Telling her, he loved her.

  He gained on her, saw her sneak through the back door. In two paces, he was out the door himself into a dark, dank alley behind the long row of shops and stores. Her slight figure dashed across the cobblestone lane at a breakneck pace, yet his long legs would easily close the distance in seconds. He tensed, ready to run.

  Suddenly, it happened.

  A man stepped in front of her, grabbing her and yanking her towards the alley entrance where a van stood waiting.

  What the hell?

  Darcy froze at first, then started to hit and kick. A sharp, intense pride swept through him at her pluck and her spirit. “There’s my girl,” he muttered under his breath, as he ran down the street toward the struggling couple.

  He was upon them in seconds.

  Wrenching her away from the stranger, he pushed her behind him, facing the danger.

  The guy tried to take off, but Marc grabbed him by his arm, stopping him. “What is going on here?”

  The stranger said nothing, wild eyes wide with fright at being held by a determined, angry man. His dark, greasy hair stood in spikes on his head, while his beer belly heaved in distress.

  “Darcy?” Marc turned to stare at her.

  Before him stood the waif once more. The fear flooding in her gaze, the pale skin of her face, the twisting hands.

  This man. This was the man who she feared. He’d bet his life on it.

  “Who is he?” he snarled.

  “He…h-h-he…” His sprite stopped, gathering her courage. “He’s the only son of the foster family I was put with as a kid.”

  “Si?” Marc grabbed the guy by his ragged collar and lifted him off his feet. A triumphant rush of power pulsed through him when the man gasped for breath. “What did he do to you?”

  “Nothing,” she whispered. “I ran away before he could…”

  Her insinuation was enough. More than enough to justify what he’d wanted to do since he saw this man grab her. His fist plowed into the sweaty face before him and the man went down cold.