Italian Boss, Ruthless Revenge

by Carol Marinelli

  Just the way he once had.

  She hadn’t spoken to him since that night—not even once. And thank goodness for that, Caitlyn realised, because despite more than two years between drinks, so to speak, still he absolutely moved her. Despite the angry scar on his cheek, despite the closed, much more guarded expression he wore now, despite the pain in his eyes—still he was absolutely beautiful.

  ‘I need a bit more variety…’ Caitlyn answered truthfully—because she did. She needed to sample a world that didn’t have his name on every sheet of paper, needed to check her bank balance and not see ‘Ranaldi’, needed to just get over him—for good.

  ‘You’ll find nowhere better than right here.’

  ‘You’re probably right…’ Caitlyn’s face twisted slightly at the unwitting irony of his statement. ‘But I really think it’s time for a change—so you see today really doesn’t matter. I was leaving soon anyway.’

  ‘But it does matter, Caitlyn. You have worked for this hotel for two years and one month.’ He gave a small swallow as her eyes narrowed, and he glanced again at her file, as if he’d gleaned the information from there. Only he hadn’t—the date was indelibly etched on his mind, but she didn’t need to know why…

  It had nothing to do with her.

  ‘If anything untoward has happened, you have the same rights as any other staff member. Just because Malvolio is family…’

  ‘I hear your sister’s having a baby…’ She pulled a crumpled tissue out of her pocket and gave her nose a rather loud blow.

  ‘What does that have to do with this?’ Lazzaro’s voice was completely even, his face impassive, but he had to stop himself from drumming his fingers on the desk—actually had to remind himself to keep looking her in the eye as she voiced his very thoughts. How the hell would Antonia cope? She had just started to get her life back on track after Luca’s death, the new baby was due in just a few days, there was his niece, Marianna, just four years old—what the hell had Malvolio been thinking?

  ‘It has everything to do with this!’ Caitlyn gulped. ‘Look, I’m fine—I really am—and I don’t want any fuss. I just want to get my things and leave.’

  And, though it must surely be the last thing she wanted after the day’s events, all he wanted to do was to walk around the desk and put his arms around her, this little spitfire who had marched into his office on his command and was about to walk out against it. And, yes, technically it would be so much easier to let her go. But it would be wrong, so very wrong, if he did.

  ‘Caitlyn—let’s just talk about this. It can be dealt with—you really do not have to leave.’

  ‘Oh, but I think I do,’ she countered. ‘As I said, I’ve got the Mancini interview…I can muddle through till then. Though…’ Her voice faded, her head shaking at the impossibility of explaining her problems to him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘Probably not to me.’

  She managed a wan smile, realising she had no choice but to tell him. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of overtime for the last two months. A lot of overtime,’ Caitlyn reiterated.

  ‘I will ensure that you’re paid.’

  ‘It’s just that…’ Caitlyn took a deep breath. ‘I’m applying for a mortgage, and I need three months of payslips to show my earnings.’ She scuffed the carpet with her foot. ‘I told the bank it was my regular wage.’

  ‘Without overtime?’ Lazzaro checked. ‘But wouldn’t that show up on your payslip?’

  ‘Quite!’ Caitlyn blushed.

  ‘So you lied to the bank?’

  ‘Not lied exactly.’ Caitlyn gulped. ‘Malvolio said it…’ She watched his eyes narrow, realised he must be thinking there was something more to their working relationship. There truly wasn’t. She had asked and he had agreed—it was as simple as that. ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter.’ Caitlyn shrugged. ‘I need three payslips anyway.’

  ‘Then stay.’

  ‘I don’t want to.’ She stood firm. ‘I’d rather not put Malvolio down as a reference. I know he deals with the domestic staff, and I know he usually would be the one, but I…’

  ‘You can put me—I can assure you I have more influence with Mancini than Malvolio does, and I will ensure it is extremely favourable.’

  ‘How?’ Caitlyn frowned. ‘How can you write my reference when you don’t know anything about me?’

  ‘Oh, but I think I do.’ Her words, only spoken through his lips now. He stared over at her—little, but strong and, unlike his brother-in-law, unlike the father of the baby, this stranger actually gave a damn about the woman who was carrying his child.

  ‘I will get the forms and have your pay made up. I will do it on Monday—that way, if you change your mind over the weekend—’

  ‘Could you get the forms now, please?’ She wasn’t looking at him now, instead staring out of his vast windows somewhere over his shoulder at the Melbourne city skyline. ‘I won’t be changing my mind.’

  ‘Just think about it.’

  ‘I’d like the forms now.’

  This time she didn’t add please.

  This time Lazzaro knew there was no persuading her otherwise.

  ‘Where’s Malvolio?’

  Storming through the Admin corridors, Lazzaro caught everyone by surprise. Admin staff with bags over their shoulders, hoping to slope off a little early, suddenly sat back down and started tapping at blank screens; the raucous laughter coming from the boardroom that signalled end-of-week drinks that Lazzaro supplied for his team, which should start at five but in fact seemed to start around lunchtime, snapped off as if the power had been pulled as he stormed into rather unfamiliar territory. His suite was on the top floor, and he had a private lift that absolutely bypassed the usually well-oiled engines of Admin.

  But come five p.m. on Friday, the wheels fell off somewhat!

  ‘He’s gone!’ Audrey Miller, Malvolio’s assistant, gave an anxious smile. ‘He had to dash off—Antonia rang and said she was having some cramps…’

  ‘Antonia’s in labour?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Audrey gulped. ‘But the staff got a bit excited, as you can see…’

  There wasn’t a hope in hell of getting the termination forms—let alone a final cheque cut.

  He’d deal with the lot of them on Monday.

  Right now, his sister could be in labour.

  His brother-in-law by her side.

  The same brother-in-law who had forced Caitlyn Bell’s resignation for all the wrong reasons.

  CHAPTER TWO

  DAMN!

  Pacing the floor of the huge office, Caitlyn paused for a moment to blow her nose again, and rummaged in her bag for her compact, powdering her reddened face and telling herself to hold it together for just a little while longer.

  She’d surely get another job—but she also needed those three blasted payslips just in case the court ruling went against her mother.

  It wouldn’t, Caitlyn consoled herself. Their lawyer had assured them that everything was under control. A moan of horror escaped her lips at the thought of that same lawyer’s bill, sitting on the dining room table—a bill that had to be paid before he’d proceed further.

  What the hell was she going to do?

  She’d lied to Lazzaro about a second interview with the Mancini chain—she hadn’t even had the first interview yet. Her application was still sitting half-typed on her computer! Actually, she’d lied to Lazzaro about everything. There had been no discussion about a promotion; Malvolio had just been his usual sleazy self. She’d been sitting on her afternoon break, minding her own business, when he’d come into the coffee room and again suggested they catch up for a drink after work.

  Again she’d declined.

  ‘You’ve got something in your hair.’

  He’d come over, had stood behind her where she sat, and, as if being touched by a lizard, she’d flinched as his hand had made contact with her hair. She had screwed her eyes closed as he’d brushed something that sur
ely wasn’t there away, wishing the horrible moment over, only the horror hadn’t even begun. The lizard had been on the move.

  ‘Come on, Caitlyn…stop teasing me…’

  His filthy hands had crept down; she’d been able to hear his breath coming short and hard behind her.

  ‘I’m not teasing you…’ Her head had been spinning. The confrontation she’d dreaded—dreaded but convinced herself would never happen, that she was surely imagining things—was actually here. ‘Malvolio, you’re married…’

  ‘Antonia….’ His hand had moved down. ‘She is so wrapped up in herself and the baby. You and I could be so good together….’

  Paralysed, she’d sat, watched his fingers sneaking at the top of her dress, her brain literally frozen. It had been like being stuck in a nightmare, where you couldn’t scream. She’d known that by doing nothing she was implying consent…and if she couldn’t speak, if she couldn’t scream, then there were two other choices that had sprung to her panicked mind: vomit or bite.

  Caitlyn had chosen the latter!

  She could still hear his screams of rage—hear again the vile torrent of words he’d spat at her as he’d jumped back—and, like a child, she put her hands over her ears, blocked out what he had said to her. She just didn’t want to go there right now.

  How, Caitlyn begged herself as she resumed her pacing, could he think she’d teased him? She’d gone out of her way to avoid him, though she had felt his unwelcome eyes on her for months now, had done everything possible to avoid…Her eyes shuttered in wretched horror. The consequences of her resignation were starting to hit home. The prospect of going home and telling her mother that she no longer had work…Oh, a chambermaid’s wage wasn’t going to change the world, but for now at least it meant holding onto her mother’s.

  A single mother, Helen Bell had done everything to provide not just for her daughter, but for her own father. When Caitlyn’s grandmother had died, two years after Caitlyn was born, concerned about her father’s declining health and mounting financial problems, Helen had moved back to the family home, working several jobs to pay the mortgage and bills and had gradually cleared his debts. It hadn’t all been a struggle, though—the home had been a happy one, with Caitlyn’s grandfather more than happy to mind his grandchild while Helen worked hard. And in later years, as his health had declined, both Helen and Caitlyn had in turn been more than happy to care for him—nursing him at home right till the end.

  Caitlyn’s aunt Cheryl had rarely put in an appearance—until after the funeral. Of course the family home Helen had worked so hard to keep and pay for had been left to her. But Cheryl had had it valued—the beachside suburb close to the city was prime real estate now—and Cheryl wanted not only the generous cash sum that her father had bequeathed to her in his will, but half the value of the family home. Egged on by Roxanne and a greedy lawyer, she was moving heaven and earth to ensure that she got it.

  ‘Bloody Roxanne and Aunty Cheryl…’ Caitlyn hissed. Why couldn’t they just leave them alone?

  The ringing of the phone halted her pacing for less than a second. Her mind was so consumed with her own problems that at first she didn’t even give it a glance.

  She needed work so badly, but here it would be impossible. Lazzaro was hardly going to fire his own brother-in-law. It would be her word against his. And what about Malvolio’s poor wife? How—?

  The phone resumed its shrill, and irritated now, unable to ignore it, Caitlyn picked it up.

  ‘Lazzaro Ranaldi’s phone. This is Caitlyn Bell speaking.’

  She didn’t notice Lazzaro come in at first, just listened as a rather exasperated female voice demanded that she be put through.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Ranaldi isn’t in his office right now. But if you’d like to leave your name, as soon as he returns I’ll let him know that you called…’

  Half turning, she saw him, and was just about to hand the phone over when instinct kicked in somehow. The dash of bitters in the woman’s voice was telling Caitlyn that perhaps this was one call Lazzaro might be glad to miss, so instead of handing him the receiver, she grabbed a pen and scribbled down the woman’s name. Lucy.

  She even managed a little smile when he grimaced and shook his head while Lucy vented her spleen down the phone.

  ‘Of course,’ Caitlyn said sweetly. ‘I’ll be sure to let him know.’ Replacing the receiver, she turned to her very soon to be ex-boss. ‘You’re a bastard!’

  ‘Thank you for passing it on.’

  ‘And she knows you’re there and just refusing to talk to her.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Er, that was pretty much it,’ Caitlyn lied. Well, she was hardly going to tell him that ‘just because he’s fabulous in bed, it doesn’t make up for the way he’s treated me’. Though she did give him a rather edited version of the teary conclusion to the call. ‘She’d like you to call her—any time,’ Caitlyn emphasised. ‘Any time at all! So…’ Noticing his empty hands, she raised her eyebrows. ‘Where are the forms?’

  ‘In a filing cabinet.’ He gave an apologetic grimace. ‘Only I’m not sure which one…but I will write you a cheque now…’

  ‘A cheque’s not much good to me at this time on a Friday.’ She didn’t want to stay another second. Another second and she’d start crying; another second and she’d crumple. The brave façade she was wearing so well was seriously falling apart—the hem unravelling along with the seams—so she hitched her bag on her shoulder and headed for the door. ‘Just have it all posted to me on Monday.’

  ‘Caitlyn.’ His strong voice summoned her back, but she kept on walking. ‘Just listen to me for a moment. What if I were to offer you a job as my personal assistant?’

  Now, that was enough to stop her in her tracks—only not enough to make her turn around.

  ‘Me?’

  Her hand paused as it reached for the handle and Lazzaro spoke on. ‘Clearly I need someone, and you have no idea of some of the poor efforts the agency has sent. You handled that call well, you are qualified, and you are clearly…’ he gave a slightly uncomfortable cough ‘…discreet…’

  ‘I can’t.’

  The words shot out on instinct—her dream job, everything that she’d wished for coming true, and the money, oh, God, the money would make such a difference. Only she couldn’t do it—just couldn’t do it. And bitter, so bitter, was her regret.

  ‘I can’t face seeing Malvolio again.’ Her voice was shrill, and still she didn’t turn around. Her hand was on the door now, but not to open it, more for support. The horrors of the day were finally catching up, the feelings she had denied, had willed herself not to examine until she was safely alone, were making searing contact with her brain now. ‘I don’t think I could stand to be…’

  Silence filled the room. Only it wasn’t peaceful. It was that horrible silence of a strangled sob, the thud of reality, that moment when it all catches up and there’s nothing that can be done to push it back down—when you can’t keep smiling as if you’re stupid, when you can’t pretend that you don’t care and that it didn’t really matter that filthy hands had dirtied your life. Yes—in a while she’d no doubt be able to shrug it off; in a while she’d probably put it all into perspective and apportion the correct blame. In a while it wouldn’t matter as much as it mattered now.

  But right now it mattered.

  And it mattered to Lazzaro too.

  Seeing her convulse—seeing this proud, strong woman wilt for a second—he found it mattered enough to propel him from his desk, to literally peel her trembling body from the door, to turn her around to face him and hold her. Like some mountain rescuer he reached her on the cliff-edge and tried to imbue her with his warmth.

  ‘I hate him…’ She wasn’t talking to Lazzaro; he knew that. ‘I hate him.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I’ll be okay soon.’ She gulped, knowing she would, just confirming it to herself. She was embarrassed now at letting him see her cry, but he held her closer as she st
arted to pull away, and after just a second of protest she let him—let him comfort her, let him hold her as the horror slowly receded, her breathing slowing at just listening to the soothing thud of his heart in his chest.

  For Lazzaro there was one inevitable end to holding a woman in his arms. The luxury of having a penthouse suite as your office meant there was a bed just a door away, and as he stared down at lips swollen from nibbling teeth and salty tears, instinct told him to kiss her—to soothe her in the way he soothed women best. Only a deeper instinct prevailed.

  Morality—which was usually void—crept in. His kiss was surely not what she needed now.

  Only it was.

  It felt like for ever that she’d dreamt of being in his arms, but now it had happened Caitlyn found out dreams didn’t actually compare. Being held by him was so blissfully consuming, the circle of his arms so strong and safe, that nothing else could invade. She felt the shift in him, felt the shift from comfort to more, and she actually wanted him to kiss her, wanted his hands on her to erase the grubby stains Malvolio’s had left.

  But he didn’t. Instead he held her for just a little bit more, held her close as she assimilated all that had taken place and put it into some sort of order, and when finally he let her go, when finally she could stand alone again, the world was certainly a nicer place than the one she’d left just moments ago.

  ‘Malvolio manages the housekeeping staff. He’s rarely in the office and I’m rarely here. The job would involve a lot of travel…’ His voice was low, his gaze direct as he told her he hadn’t changed his mind.

  ‘But even so…’ Caitlyn protested. ‘I’d still have to see him sometimes…’ Again she shook her head, but she wasn’t so certain now. Lazzaro believed her. Lazzaro knew. And he would, she was sure, sort it.