The Wild One

by Cardello, Ruth

  Her father’s chin rose. His eyes went dark with emotion.

  She continued, “I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m not going to lie, Dad. I’m scared, but that’s not going to stop me. I’ve always been better than you at coming up with ideas . . .” She went down on her knees before him. “But you’ve always been better than I am at seeing why something doesn’t work.”

  He looked from her face to mine, then back. His face tightened, and for a moment I wasn’t sure he could beat the sadness in his eyes. “I’m not the man I once was.”

  Wren nodded and shed a tear for him. “That’s what I’m counting on. This is a second chance for both of us. Mauricio helped me see I was letting fear of failing hold me back from reaching my dreams. Reach with me. I need you, Dad. Help me do this.”

  He leaned down and hugged her, closing his eyes as he did. “Oh, baby, I don’t know if I can.”

  Wren glanced back at me with love in her eyes before turning back to him. “I believe in you. I know it’s scary, but take a leap of faith with me . . . with us. Let’s design something together that makes a difference.” She glanced back at me again. “All of us. Together.”

  Her father helped her to her feet; then in a gruff tone he said, “The hand part should be detachable. Realistic with fingers is nice, but I’d want more practical options as well. Give me the ability to use it as a tool, to easily change out which attachment I’m using. Bluetooth isn’t a bad idea, either, while we’re brainstorming.”

  “Bluetooth,” I echoed. “I like that. We’ll be integrating it with AI, so that would be a natural extension. Essentially we could put a microcomputer inside. People have already developed the technology to have a hand respond to upper-arm movements. It would need sensors and a power source.”

  Wren came back to sit with me. She looked excited now. “It can’t cost more than a cell phone.”

  “It also needs a light. I hate hearing your father stumbling around in the dark,” my mother added.

  “If we connect it to the internet, I could get recipes while I’m cooking,” her father said, a smile beginning to spread across his face.

  Wren nodded. “Let’s write everything down, then see how much of it is possible. We need to keep it durable as well.”

  Her father was nodding again. “I can imagine what I want in my head. If you’re serious about me working on this with you, I can hire some more help for the gas station.”

  “Oh my God, yes, Dad.”

  Wren and I exchanged a look. I knew exactly what this meant to her, and being a part of why it was happening was a feeling I would always remember. It was a moment so intense, I had to add, “Now on to something more important.” I took a ring box out of my pocket and bounced it in my hand. “I’m getting ready to ask Wren to marry me. Before I do, could someone please tell me if she knows how to cook?”

  Wren’s father barked out a laugh.

  Her mother took out her phone to FaceTime with my parents. “This is it, Camilla. He’s about to ask.”

  “Wait for Dad,” my mother called out. “He’s coming. Okay. He’s here. Go ahead, Mauricio.”

  I looked over at Wren’s father. “I want to ask your permission, but . . .”

  He smiled at me. “She’d kick your ass for implying either of us held the outdated impression that I have some kind of ownership of her and could transfer that over to you.”

  “But we both know that it’s really a respect thing between you and me.” He nodded and I continued, “So this is me not asking.”

  His eyes were twinkling. “This is me not saying I wholeheartedly approve.”

  Wren wagged a finger at both of us. “Saying you are not doing something while you are doesn’t change what you’re doing.”

  “Just ask her, son, then let’s go out to dinner with your parents to celebrate,” her father said with a chuckle.

  I liked the sound of that.

  I dropped down on one knee in front of Wren and opened the ring box. I’d chosen something simple, built solid, like I wanted our marriage to be. “Wren Heath, marry me. Let’s build a business together, buy a big house, fill it with five kids, and live happily ever after with two dogs and maybe a cat. I’m not sure about the cat. I know kids like them, but they’re a little uppity to me.”

  She laughed and slid her finger into the ring. “We’ll figure the cat thing out later. I would love to marry you. Yes.”

  “She said yes,” my mother said in an excited tone.

  “I can hear,” my father joked.

  I stood, spun Wren in my arms, and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around my neck. It was a brief kiss, but one I would never forget.

  That’s my future wife—right there.

  My mother chimed in, “Don’t forget to call Nonna. You should plan to go see her too. Sebastian did after he got engaged.”

  I looked down at Wren. “We did France. Are you up for Italy? I haven’t seen her in years.”

  “Absolutely. I remember what you said she did with Sebastian. Nonna needs to know you’re off the market,” she joked.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  WREN

  International flight was entirely different in a private plane. Amazing how a little champagne and a bedroom with a door made a flight zip by like nothing. We were dressed again and seat belted in and readied to land at a private airport near Montalcino, Italy, when the pilot came on and said we’d been asked to divert to a larger airport. The plane would circle as he requested information regarding why.

  “I’ve never had that happen,” Mauricio said, looking out the window. I did as well. We couldn’t see anything through the low-lying clouds.

  The pilot came back on the intercom. “Looks like the airport has a VIP who requested all runways close until he takes off. I exaggerated our fuel situation, and they said they’d speak to him about letting us land on a small runway on the side.”

  Mauricio frowned and stood, walking over to the cockpit. I went with him. It was rare to see Mauricio irritated. “Tell them we’re landing. I don’t know what asshole would require a plane that was low on fuel to wait, but unless they’re prepared to shoot us down—we’re landing.”

  I’ve never been afraid of flying, but I’ve also never landed when told not to. “We have the fuel to divert, though, right? I don’t care if it takes us a little longer to get there. Isn’t there a commercial airport nearby?”

  Mauricio shook his head. “I’m a nice guy, Wren, but if I have a button, it’s people who think having money means they’re more important than everyone else. Whoever is down there feels he or she is entitled to inconvenience us without thought about who we are or what we’re doing here. We’re landing.”

  The pilot spoke to the ground control, then turned to say, “We’ve just been given clearance to, but they said only on the side runway. It’s Dominic Corisi, and apparently he travels with a security team that secures the area as part of their protocol.”

  “Dominic Corisi,” I said, instantly recognizing the name of a man known for dominating the tech industry and becoming one of the richest people in the world by breaking into the Chinese market. He and his wife were reclusive. There should have been much more about him in the news, but people said he was that powerful—so powerful that in an age of everything ending up online, his family had a very limited presence. I touched Mauricio’s arm. “That’s kind of cool, right? Maybe we’ll catch a glimpse of him.”

  Mauricio didn’t look pleased, but by the time we’d returned to our seats, he was smiling again. “So what are you most excited about this trip?”

  I laced my fingers through his. “Nonna’s ravioli. I need to see if it lives up to the hype.”

  “Oh, it will.”

  “And meeting your cousins. I’ve been practicing some Italian, but beyond asking for the bathroom, I’m not sure how well I’ll do.”

  “They speak English. My Italian is horrible. I haven’t seen them in years, but if I remember right, we’ll all be drinki
ng so much we’ll feel like we understand them. They make their own wine.” He grinned at me. “They’re going to love you right after they initially hate you for not being Italian.”

  I laughed. “That’s reassuring.”

  “It’s a tight community. My mother said they take care of their own. When Gian first came to us, I heard Mom talking on the phone to her sister, Gian’s mother. I was young, so I might have gotten it wrong, but I thought she’d said she wanted him to be raised with family rather than on the run. It sounded like a witness protection program or something. I tried to ask my mother about it later, but she doesn’t talk about her sister. Years later, I asked Nonna about what I’d heard. She said she only had one daughter. I told her I knew that wasn’t true—Gian’s biological mother was her daughter. She said her other daughter was dead to her. I’m only telling you this because I don’t talk about Gian when I’m here. It makes Nonna sad.”

  “Of course. I won’t bring him up.”

  “That’s what I do. It’s sad, though, because I know Gian would like to come here, but none of us want to risk that it might not go well. His bio parents must have been real prizes. Or maybe mob informants. I really have no idea.”

  I nodded in understanding and held his hand. We touched down, and the topic naturally came to an end. After gathering up our things, we stepped out onto the plane’s stairway. There were enough black SUVs and security for a presidential visit. I smacked Mauricio’s arm when I spotted a man in a dark suit making his way toward the plane. He had jet-black hair. “I bet that’s Dominic Corisi,” I exclaimed.

  The man turned in our direction as if he’d heard me, even though he was too far away to. “Oh my God, doesn’t he look just like Sebastian? They could be twins.”

  Mauricio dismissed my observation and led the way down the steps. He walked up to the nearest security guard and said, “My name is Mauricio Romano. Tell Mr. Corisi I’d like to have a word with him before he leaves.”

  “He doesn’t do autographs,” the guard said with a closed expression, then walked away.

  I put my hand on Mauricio’s arm. “Come on. Forget about him. He doesn’t matter.”

  Mauricio’s expression warmed as he looked down at me. “You’re right. I’m sorry. This trip is about us and family. I wanted to tell him he should show a little more consideration for fellow fliers, but he’s probably a miserable prick who wouldn’t care anyway.”

  I touched Mauricio’s cheek and mimicked how a mother would talk to a child. “Oh, did poor little Mauricio almost have to wait to land his plane?”

  His grin returned in full force. “I’m not that bad.”

  I went up on my toes and kissed his lips. “You’re exactly that bad, but I love you anyway. Forget about him and let’s go see Nonna.”

  He laughed and pulled me full against him. He kissed me deeply, then said, “Forget about who? Where are we? You’re dangerously capable of wiping everything else from my brain.”

  There was so much I could have said. I was so happy I could have started every day by thanking him for showing me love could be fun and still be responsible. I could have listed all the ways he made my life better and gotten teary just by thinking that I still wanted to pinch myself every time I pictured forever with him at my side.

  Yes, life could be that good and be real.

  Instead I took a page from his book, batted my eyelashes at him, and said, “I know. Now shut up and kiss me.”

  He did, and I discovered that I loved Italy as much as I’d loved France. Wherever Mauricio and I were was now my favorite place.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  DOMINIC

  Dominic Corisi downed a shot of scotch as soon as he boarded his plane. Before sitting down, he poured himself a second and downed that as well.

  He wasn’t a drinker—hadn’t been for a very long time. He needed something, though, to take the edge off his rage.

  Everything he’d achieved, even the peace he’d finally come to with his past, had been swept away as soon as the first door had slammed in his face. He hadn’t needed to say his last name; everyone in Montalcino recognized him.

  He remembered this feeling all too clearly, this absolute rejection. His prior visits there were burned into his memories. He’d told himself they’d been able to hurt him only because he’d been young and desperate. A younger him had begged everyone who’d made time to meet him—begged them for information about where his mother was.

  He had his mother back in his life now. He didn’t need their help anymore.

  And still—their refusal to talk to him cut him to the core. His own grandmother had refused to meet with him.

  Like I’m no one.

  Like they didn’t hurt my family as much as my father did.

  A dark anger, one he’d thought he’d conquered long ago, took hold of his heart. As his plane took off, he called the one person he knew could get him what he wanted. “Alethea,” he growled into the phone, “I want you to go to Montalcino. Dig up every secret that town has. I don’t care what you have to do. Bring me leverage on every damn person there. They will never say no to me again.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I am so grateful to everyone who was part of the process of creating The Wild One.

  Thank you to:

  Montlake Romance, for giving Dominic a chance to find his family. Special thanks to Lauren Plude for encouraging me each step of the way.

  My very patient beta readers. You know who you are. Thank you for kicking my butt when I need it.

  My editors: Karen Lawson, Janet Hitchcock, and Krista Stroever. As well as all the talented line editors who polished away my mistakes.

  My Roadies, for making me smile each day when I log on to my computer. So many of you have become friends. Was there life before the Roadies? I’m sure there was, but it wasn’t as much fun.

  Thank you to my husband, Tony, who is a saint—simple as that.

  And my children, who have given me so many wonderful memories. I hope my love for them shines through in every story I write.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Ruth Cardello is the New York Times bestselling author of the Westerly Billionaire novels and The Broken One in the Corisi Billionaires series. She loves writing about rich alpha men and the strong women who tame them. Before becoming a novelist, Ruth was an educator for two decades, including eleven years as a kindergarten teacher. Born the youngest of eleven children in a small city in northern Rhode Island, Ruth has lived in Boston, Paris, Orlando, New York, and Rhode Island again before moving to Massachusetts, where she now lives with her husband and three children. Learn about Ruth at www.RuthCardello.com.