Signed Over to Santino

by Maya Blake

  Carla’s chest tightened at the pain etched on his face.

  ‘There were complications with my birth. My mother survived, but she was never completely whole. She should have been in a hospital with medical professionals not in a shack with an old woman to birth me.’ The hands dangling between his legs tightened into hard fists. ‘I grew up knowing he was the man who had wilfully sacrificed my mother’s health on the altar of his reputation. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only unsavoury trait he possessed. He strung my mother along with the usual empty promise to leave his baroness for her, even while she supplied him with heirs and spares on a regular basis.’

  ‘So you have half-brothers and sisters?’

  One masculine eyebrow cocked. ‘Of course not. I don’t exist, remember?’

  She flinched, and barely resisted the urge to touch him. ‘You exist. If to no one else you must have done to your mother.’

  ‘She home schooled me at his insistence—private school was never on the cards on account of his many children needing his every euro. I was only allowed to play in the garden of the house. While boys my age were bonding over football, I wasn’t even allowed to climb a tree in case I hurt myself and I had to suffer the presence of the village doctor.’

  Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away quickly before he spotted the helpless empathy that blazed in her heart for him. Just for something to do, she picked up her water glass and took a sip, her heart tripping frantically as he continued.

  ‘The upside of all that cloistered existence was that I excelled academically. If nothing else, she was quietly proud of me for not letting her down the way my father had.’

  ‘Did she ever leave him?’

  A haunted smile touched his lips, as if he was caught in a despondent memory. ‘I bought her several homes around the world, had the best horticulturists recreate her beloved garden in each home. She didn’t stay in any property for more than a few weeks, a month at most. It was almost as if she couldn’t physically stand to be away from that godforsaken ramshackle house, waiting for that bastard to spare her a crumb of his time.’ His voice was an edgy sneer, his jaw clenched tight.

  ‘Did you two ever interact?’

  ‘I didn’t actually see him up close until I was nine years old. I broke my boundaries and snuck off to the big castle on the hill—it was surprisingly easy. I hid in the bushes and watched him playing tennis with one of his other children. I wanted to walk up to him, announce who I was and spit in his face for making my mother cry late at night when she thought I was asleep.’

  A light shudder quivered through him and she knew he was caught up in memory. This time, she ventured a light touch.

  The moment her fingers grazed his knuckles, he jerked away. Springing to his feet, he paced to the window. Carla curled her fingers, berating herself for being hurt by his rejection when all the hurt in this situation belonged to him.

  ‘I managed to get myself a scholarship to university a year early. He turned up the day before I left, mistakenly thinking the coast was clear. I finally got a chance to give him a big piece of my mind. The next time we met was when I returned to Menor Compostela after my mother died.’ His mouth tightened for several tense seconds. ‘Her last wish was to be buried within her family crypt. I guess in death she wanted to belong somewhere. But they refused. My father has the power to overrule their decision.’

  ‘But to do that he has to publicly acknowledge his association with her?’

  ‘Sí,’ he breathed unevenly. ‘He refused to help. Until three years ago.’

  Dread liquidised her insides. ‘What happened?’

  ‘His grapes were wiped out by freak weather a week before the harvest. He lost millions of euros’ worth of stock overnight. His Rioja had been producing mediocre wine due to bad management for years anyway, and he was on the verge of bankruptcy. Had it been left to me, I would’ve happily watched him sink into the mud he valued over my mother’s life,’ he grated icily.

  ‘But you stepped in?’

  ‘On condition he did the right thing by my mother.’

  Foreboding gripped Carla’s nape. The bleak landscape he’d painted required no maps as to how the story ended. She wanted to tell him to stop, to forgive her guilt by association. But Javier was ruthlessly laying out the full picture. Helplessly she stared at him, bearing the full brunt of his complete condemnation.

  ‘The tabloid quote about my bastard parentage was printed three days after I saved his precious estate. It’s one thing to have your secrets whispered behind your back. As long as no one dared to confront him with the truth, he could pretend he was a pillar of society. The potential for outing a dirty little secret prompted other journalists to dig even deeper. My mother, finally accepting he would never do right by her, had got her own back by listing him as the father of her child once she knew she was dying. Someone got hold of my birth certificate and it was suddenly all over the news. He refused to take my calls for two years.’

  She flicked her tongue over suddenly dry lips. ‘Javier, I’m so very sorry.’

  He strode back to where she sat. One falsely indolent hand tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear before his flat eyes scoured her from forehead to chin and back again.

  ‘You probably are, querida. But the reality is my mother is still buried in that back yard I detested all my life because that is where she settled for when she knew she couldn’t be with her family. I watched her settle for less than she was worth all her life. I have no room in my life now for forgiveness. Not until I make things right for her.’ His eyes slowly narrowed. ‘And you throwing obstacles in my way hasn’t helped my disposition one little bit.’

  Her breath shuddered out. She opened her mouth, to say what, she didn’t know.

  He rose abruptly, strangling any response she might have thought of. When she realised he was heading for the front door, she regained her power of speech.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  He flicked the keys he’d plucked up from a nearby console. ‘This day off has turned out to be a terrible idea.’

  ‘You’re going into the office?’

  ‘Yes. For one thing, I need to deal with the fire your father started.’

  A wave of relief swept through her. ‘You’re stopping the Vita Italia articles?’

  ‘Unless he’s prepared to prove to me that there’s nothing damaging to you in them, they will never see the light of day. Not unless he relishes opposing me in court. I hope he doesn’t. My tolerance levels are stretched thin as it is.’

  ‘What about your father?’

  ‘His grapes are failing again. I just need to bide my time.’

  He gripped the door handle and turned before she summoned her voice once more. ‘And what about me, Javier?’

  He turned with a lithe grace that was sublime to watch. Dark eyes raked her from head to toe, returning to hers far more intense than they’d been a few minutes ago. ‘Patience, Principessa,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll get round to dealing with you sooner than you think.’

  He was gone before she’d exhaled her next breath. Like a deflated balloon, she sagged onto the sofa. When she managed to get her reeling senses under control, she pulled her legs to her chest and replayed everything Javier had said to her.

  Cradling her chin on her knees, she closed her eyes in despair.

  No wonder he’d been furious with her. It didn’t matter that the major fault was her father’s. Between the two of them, they’d denied Javier the one thing he craved most—peace for his mother.

  She couldn’t do anything about it now, the harm was done. But she could see to it that her father got the message about her life being her own from now on, once and for all. Heading to her suite, she located her phone and dialled his number. She let it go to voicemail three times before she finally left a message. Her father would ans
wer her summons, or face the lawyers she intended to hire on Monday.

  As for Javier, she prayed that, when the time came, whatever punishment he chose to dole out would be tempered with the same consideration that had prompted him to take her to his mother’s secluded garden.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHE SAW JAVIER for fleeting periods over the weekend, the last being an abrupt greeting and goodbye at the door on Sunday night when he told her he had a meeting in Los Angeles the next morning and would be gone for two days.

  Slotting the mild bereft ache in her chest under the firm heading of listlessness during his absence, she gathered the product information Darren had provided and parked herself in the window seat of the living room. A glance down to the street showed the crowd that had been thinning over the weekend had finally dispersed.

  Breathing easier, she made plans to go for a walk after lunch, and opened the pack.

  The full-page, colour headshot of Javier stopped her breath. He was staring straight into the camera, the cobalt blue of his open-necked shirt making his eyes reflect a lighter bronze shade than their normal mahogany. His captivating mouth was trapped in the beginnings of a smile that promised charm and sin, his stubbled jaw and strong throat completing a heart-stopping package that absorbed her attention for much longer than she deemed wise. It was only when she realised her lungs were burning from holding in her breath that she impatiently roused herself from her lust-drenched stupor.

  He was just a man.

  A complex, dynamic man who it turned out was just as prone to human vulnerabilities as the next person.

  But it doesn’t make him less fascinating to you. Quite the opposite.

  She flipped the page over, irritated with herself for her inability to stop thinking about Javier. The next page gave a brief history of J Santino Inc. Javier had started out as a corporate investor barely out of college. But his love for the finer things in life and a keen eye for design had seen him branch out into luxury-goods marketing by the time he was twenty-five. He’d added a late design degree and started the J Santino product range. Carla knew that the overnight success most people attributed to people like Javier was the product of hard, relentless work. But for a man like Javier, the burning desire to succeed had been born from the circumstances of his life. He’d wanted to rise above the label placed on him in his mother’s womb.

  Her heart squeezed and she fought the urge to turn back the page and glance at his picture once more. Instead she moved on, familiarising herself with the fascinating history behind Javier’s latest launch.

  He hadn’t been joking when he’d referred to her tequila excess that night three years ago. What he didn’t know was that she’d overheard him talking to Draco about his love for the liquor, and, feeling bold and rebellious, had decided to try it for herself. She’d been fascinated with the smoothness of the spirit and the heat that burned through her, just as she’d been fascinated with the man who’d instigated a similar heat inside her.

  The rest had been history...

  Or not.

  She finished reading and checked her phone and email, her heart squeezing with dread and disappointment to see nothing from her father. This was rougher, uncharted territory for them, one she didn’t think would get easier seeing as her father obviously didn’t want to take the amicable route.

  Restless and angsty, she tugged on her ankle boots. She didn’t exactly feel cooped up in the apartment, but, with Felipe the butler also off for the day, the continued silence was beginning to get to her. Plus she couldn’t walk past the sofa without reliving the heated moments she’d shared with Javier, and that was wrecking her concentration. Another glance down to the street showed it was still clear.

  Going to her room, she pulled a cashmere jumper over her top and brushed out her hair before pulling a stylish cap over it. Locating her sunglasses, she slipped them on and grabbed her handbag. In the foyer, she smiled at Johnny, the concierge manager, then froze as her way was blocked by a giant of a man with a crew cut and a muscle-bound body straining in a three-piece suit.

  ‘Morning, Miss Nardozzi,’ the giant greeted her.

  Her smile slipped a notch. ‘Morning. Umm, I’m sorry, do I know you?’

  ‘No. We haven’t been introduced yet. I’m Antonio, your minder. Mr Santino asked me to ensure you aren’t disturbed if you decide to leave the building.’

  Carla wasn’t sure which emotion surged higher— irritation at Javier’s blithe domination of her life, or the unwanted gladdening of her heart that he was looking out for her.

  Or perhaps she was deluding herself entirely by assuming the latter scenario. Javier had left her with little doubt that he intended to keep pursuing reparations for the wrong done to him. He didn’t trust her. Antonio’s presence was a bracing reminder of that. Perhaps he expected her to run away while he was in LA.

  Her smile melting off her face, she glanced at the bodyguard. ‘I’m going for a walk. I have no idea how long I’ll be.’

  ‘Not a problem. You won’t even know I’m there.’

  Resisting the very unladylike urge to snort her disbelief, she exited into the sunshine, digging out her phone as she hit the sidewalk.

  I don’t need a bodyguard, grazie. I’m perfectly capable of ensuring my own safety so you can call him off now.

  The reply came within seconds.

  Since you’ve met him, I’m assuming you’re no longer in the penthouse. He stays. And don’t think about sending him away. He answers to only me.

  She gritted her teeth.

  This is unacceptable.

  Your safety is non-negotiable. He stays. And, Principessa...

  I told you not to call me that!

  Any stunts you attempt to pull will be answered with equal punishment.

  You’re thousands of miles away. What’s the worst you can do?

  Try me.

  Eye-roll.

  Attempt that when I’m standing in front of you.

  Double eye-roll.

  Your fearlessness is commendable. If extremely foolhardy. Eat something, Principessa. You’ll need your strength to repeat this feat of daring you’re suddenly brazen enough to attempt.

  Bring it.

  Carla realised she was grinning as she stopped at a crossing. Curious glances from strangers had her straightening her features as she crossed the street onto Fifth Avenue. The sights and sounds of New York City buffeted her as she walked in the spring sunshine. On impulse, she stepped into an exclusive boutique of a designer whose work she was familiar with. She browsed until Antonio’s solid presence outside the door began to draw attention. Smiling at the attendants, she quickly exited only to stop outside when her phone rang.

  Her heart performed a crazy somersault, but the number displayed on her screen wasn’t familiar. Or the one she’d texted Javier with minutes ago.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, Carla, it’s Darren.’

  Her stomach dipped. Swallowing what she refused to acknowledge was disappointment, she injected lightness into her tone. ‘Ciao, how can I help you?’

  ‘I know Javier is out of town, but I’ll be scouting the three nightclubs we shortlisted for the shoot tonight, and wondered whether you’d like to come along. The earlier we nail it down, the quicker we can move things along.’

  Carla opened her mouth, an automatic refusal rising out of habit. Socialising for anything but her career had been struck off her list after her one and only life-changing time in Miami. But slowly, she closed her mouth. The idea of spending another evening alone in the penthouse drew a grimace. Besides, this wasn’t really socialising. It was work-related.

  ‘Uh... Carla?’

  ‘Sì, I’m here. I don’t know much about nightclubs, but I’d like to come along.’

  ‘Great! I’ll swing by and pic
k you up at seven? We can get something to eat beforehand if you want?’

  Eat something, Principessa.

  ‘I want. I’ll see you at seven.’

  She hung up with a different smile on her face. The break for independence was a tiny one, but it felt good. She glanced at her phone again, her smile dimming at the thought of her father.

  Pressing the buttons, she dialled.

  He answered after several long rings. ‘What do you want?’

  A cloud floated past the sun, echoing her mood as her chest tightened. ‘You know what this is about. I’ve left you several messages.’

  ‘You can’t summon me like a lapdog. You forget who is the father and who is the child here.’

  ‘I just want to talk, Papà. Find a way to resolve this.’

  He laughed, an overloud, slurred rumble that made her frown. ‘Are you drunk?’

  ‘Watch yourself, ragazza. You may think you suddenly hold all the cards, but I’m not averse to bringing you down a peg or two.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means call off Santino and whatever plans he has of sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong, or...’

  Her stomach hollowed. ‘Or, what?’

  ‘Or I’ll give a different kind of interview. One he won’t have the power to stop. You want to know how your mother died? I’ve tried to spare you the gory details, for your own sake, but if you really want to know, I’ll tell you when I’m ready. Or you can find out about it at some point in the future. Either way, I hope you’re as strong enough to take the truth as you insist you are.’