The Italian's Final Redemption (Mills & Boon Modern)

by Jackie Ashenden

  What he was thinking, she had no idea.

  She didn’t know whether she still wanted him to change his mind, or whether she’d be happier in a jail cell. Either way it seemed she’d have to endure pain, so perhaps it was better that she didn’t know what he was thinking. Perhaps it was better to just be in the moment with him, where there was only his warmth and strength. The way he looked at her and the way he touched her. Where there was no past and no future.

  Only them. Together.

  He lifted his hands and cupped her face between them, staring at her as if she was a book in a language he didn’t know but had always wanted to learn.

  ‘Civetta,’ he said softly, ‘why should my principles matter to you?’

  Honesty was precious, he’d told her, and so honesty she’d give him, even though perhaps telling him this wasn’t wise. Even though she was still sorting through the implications of it for herself.

  ‘It’s not your principles.’ Her voice was scraped and raw. ‘It’s you, Vincenzo. You matter to me.’

  She wasn’t sure when it had happened, when he’d suddenly become important to her, but he had. And perhaps she’d only come to the realisation in the last ten minutes or maybe she’d known subconsciously for days. Whatever, the when didn’t matter. She only knew that she felt it now, like a fire burning hot and strong inside her. A fire that in the space of the last half-hour, as they’d shared their secrets, had only strengthened.

  You cannot feel anything for him, remember?

  Oh, she remembered. But this was merely a feeling of...kinship. Nothing more than that.

  Shock flickered in his gaze and something else, an instinctive heat that made her breath catch. His palms were warm against her skin, resting there lightly, holding her gently. Yet there was nothing gentle or light about the way he looked at her. Angry, almost. As if he hadn’t liked her answer one bit.

  ‘Don’t.’ An underlying thread of ferocity wound through his cool voice. An order that he wanted her to obey. ‘You can’t let me matter, Lucy. You can’t feel anything for me, understand? I negotiated immunity from my crimes so I could dedicate myself to bringing people to justice, and that’s my sentence. And it’s for life. I cannot be distracted from it, not by you. Not by anyone.’

  It was a warning, but she didn’t need it. She knew what was at stake already. Not that there was any kind of future for them even if she’d wanted there to be. He wouldn’t compromise his principles and she would never ask him to.

  Yet they could have this moment and perhaps a night. Perhaps even the next couple of days, too. Surely that wouldn’t be too much to ask?

  Her mother had wanted her to be happy, and she’d never been happier in her life than when was in his arms.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Believe me, I know. But I think we could have the next couple of days, couldn’t we?’

  An expression she couldn’t name rippled over his face. ‘Oh, civetta, I don’t—’

  ‘Please, Vincenzo.’ She stared up into the inky darkness of his eyes. ‘I’ve never been happy before, but you’ve given me a taste of it. And I wouldn’t mind a little more to take with me when I go.’

  He muttered something harsh under his breath, the glitter in his eyes full of anger and desire, heat and regret, and too many other things she didn’t understand.

  But she understood the demand of his kiss as he bent his head and took her mouth, hard and deep and hot. Knew, too, the taste of his desperation, because she felt the same. She put her arms around his neck, rose up on her toes, kissing him back just as desperately as he was kissing her. And everything suddenly became feverish and raw.

  He swept her up into his arms, carrying her from the terrace and through the villa till they reached his bedroom, where he tore the robe from her body and laid her on the bed. He got rid of his clothes, found the protection they needed, then eased apart her thighs and settled himself between them.

  He didn’t wait and she didn’t need him to. There was a yawning emptiness inside her, an echoing hollow space that only he could fill. And he did, thrusting deep and hard inside her. And this time he didn’t treat her as if she was made of glass. He didn’t go softly or gently, treating her as if she was vulnerable.

  He gripped her thighs, hauling them up and around his waist, tilting her hips back so he could slide more completely inside her, and then he was moving in an almost savage rhythm, forceful and hard and demanding.

  It felt so good. Exactly what she wanted. Because she wasn’t the scared little girl he’d brought to Capri days ago. She was different now. She was changed. She wasn’t afraid any more, not of herself and not of him, and not of what she wanted.

  And she wanted everything. She wanted it all and now, because she didn’t have long to enjoy it. Only a few days. But she would take those days and throw herself into them. Take as much happiness as he could give her and then come back for more. She wouldn’t hold back and she’d deny him nothing.

  She might not deserve it, but he did. Everything he’d given her she’d give back to him, because, whether he knew it or not, he needed it too.

  So she put her arms around him and tightened her thighs around his hips, holding him to her, moving with him. And she kissed him, nipped him, licked him. Let him know how much she liked what he was doing to her, how much she wanted all the pleasure he gave her.

  And when she’d reached the point of desperation, when her soul had been drawn so tight with pleasure she almost couldn’t stand it, she stared up into his intense face, and felt everything inside her still.

  It was as if he held her in the palm of his hand, her whole being gathered up tight in his fist. Then he opened his fingers and her soul flew free, caught in a spiralling ecstasy. Only to fall into the hot darkness of his eyes.

  And drown there.

  For the first time in his life, Vincenzo had no idea what to do. Always, his path had been clear to him. Always, he knew in which direction to turn and which route to take.

  Justice was what he was after. Justice for the woman he’d lured into that dark alleyway. Justice for Gabriella and her father. And perhaps some justice for himself, too. For the way he’d been used and manipulated.

  There had never been any conflict within him. He always knew that what he was doing was the right thing, and even when there had been protests and denials from the people he’d put away, he’d never doubted that they deserved what they got.

  But now he was made of doubt and the path that had always been so clear was shrouded in fog.

  Lucy had accepted that she was guilty of the crimes she’d committed for her father and that Vincenzo would turn her over to the police. And not just accepted it. She felt she deserved it.

  Days earlier, there had been none of this conflict. Yes, she was guilty. Yes, she deserved it. But now...things were different.

  He sat on a sun lounger under the shade of a big white linen umbrella, gazing at the woman who lay face down on the lounger next to him, her head buried in the crook of one arm, her mass of dark hair in drifts over her pale shoulders. Beyond was the cool blue of the pool built right on the edge of the cliff, and beyond that the deeper blue of the sea dotted with white sails.

  The past couple of days they’d done nothing but make love, eat, talk, swim, before starting back at the beginning again. He’d wanted to take her for a tour of the island, but the safety concerns were significant and he didn’t want her to feel hemmed in by his security staff, so he’d organised to take her out on his small yacht, which at least gave her the illusion of freedom and meant they could be by themselves, even if his staff followed along behind them in another launch at a discreet distance.

  She’d loved that, sitting out on the deck in the sun with the wind in her hair. Then he’d got her to take the wheel while he stood behind her, his hands guiding hers as she steered the little yacht. She’d laughed with delight, leaning ba
ck against him as they guided the yacht through the waves. The wind had been up and they’d moved fast, which had thrilled her.

  Afterwards, after they’d talked more, sharing pieces of their childhoods that weren’t too fraught as they’d eaten the lunch Martina had given them, he’d anchored in a sheltered, private bay and they’d gone swimming off the boat. Then, still wet and salty from the water, he’d taken her down onto the deck and made love to her under the sails as the boat rocked gently.

  ‘I’ve never been happy before,’ she’d told him the night she’d handed him her laptop, ‘but you’ve given me a taste of it...’

  He’d given her a taste of that happiness. He, who’d only ever delivered justice, had made someone happy. And she’d wanted more of it, so she’d have something good to take with her when she went to jail...

  The thought of that was unbearably painful for reasons he couldn’t describe even to himself. Because why should he care whether she was happy or not? And why did he want to be the one who gave her that happiness?

  Why did he even think she deserved it? She’d hidden her father’s money and had enabled him to make more, helping him build the crime empire he now commanded whether she’d been aware of it or not. She’d helped him evade the law and she’d known that was wrong.

  Yes, she did deserve a prison cell.

  But she’d also watched her mother bleed to death. A death she held herself responsible for. And she’d lived in fear for years afterwards, threatened and terrorised, deprived of companionship and love and happiness, everything that made life worth living.

  She’d been forced into doing things that went against her loving, loyal and honest nature, things that might have broken another person. But Lucy hadn’t broken. She’d made a promise to the mother who’d died to protect her and had survived any way she could. He couldn’t fault her for that. But it had left scars on her. The weight of a guilt she couldn’t escape, just as he couldn’t.

  Lucy sighed and stretched on the sun lounger. She’d been wearing a swimsuit, but after their last swim, when he’d stripped it off her and had her up against the wall of the pool, she hadn’t bothered to put it on again, and so was lying there naked, her pale skin flushed in the sunlight.

  His beautiful civetta...

  She doesn’t deserve that cell and you know it.

  His chest felt tight, as if his heart was pressing hard against his ribcage, a strong, steady ache. He felt as if he was looking through a window that had once been crystal clear, but had fogged up, rendering the view indistinct and out of focus. He couldn’t even work out what he was looking at now. A badly hurt innocent or a criminal who deserved prison?

  She was both, and that was the issue. That was why he didn’t know what to do.

  She is you, you realise that, don’t you?

  Vincenzo abruptly shut the laptop he’d been working on, the constriction in his chest getting tighter. No, surely not. She wasn’t him.

  She didn’t have a history of corruption of her own family and she hadn’t actually led people to their deaths as he had.

  You think she should pay for her crimes while you escape having to pay for yours?

  He was paying for his crimes. What he’d told her that night was the truth. He was serving a life sentence, using his contacts and his knowledge to help the police. Dedicating his life to the pursuit of justice.

  He’d put a lot of people behind bars, more than if he’d been rotting in a cell himself. And it wasn’t as if the life he had now had anything to do with freedom. Yes, he had money and a life of ease, but he lived in a cage all the same. A gilded one. Hemmed in by security, since not a day went by when someone didn’t make an attempt on his life. Isolated, since he could trust nothing and no one. Curtailed in everything he did because, as far as he was concerned, everything had one point and one point only: justice.

  He had paid and he was still paying. He’d be paying for the rest of his life.

  Fine, but do you really think she should? Hasn’t she paid already?

  Putting the laptop down on the table beside him, he got off the lounger and paced over the green lawn towards the stone parapet that stood between him and the cliff face.

  Her life had been a misery, spent in fear and loneliness, and so really she had paid. She’d been forced into committing offences and, regardless of what he’d told himself about choices, Lucy hadn’t had one. Was she really guilty? And did she really deserve to be handed over to the authorities?

  But then, what would he do with her if he didn’t? She’d asked him to help her escape, find a new life for herself in the States...

  Or you could keep her.

  A fist closed around his heart, squeezing him tight, making it so he could hardly breathe.

  He could keep her. She could live here in the villa. With him.

  Slowly, Vincenzo turned around, his gaze settling on her where she lay on the sun lounger, a primitive sense of possession filling him. Perhaps he wouldn’t give her up. Perhaps he would keep her. She would be there whenever he wanted her, warm and silky and sweet. Giving him her honesty and her passion. Her loyalty and her trust. He wouldn’t have to be alone any more. He would have her.

  And why not? He was paying for his crimes, but why couldn’t he have something for himself? And it wouldn’t be only for himself. It would be for her too, because she’d told him that he was important to her, and surely staying with him was more important to her than being imprisoned in a cell?

  Is that really what she needs, though? And isn’t being trapped on this island with you really just another cell?

  A chill washed over him, burning away the burst of possessiveness. It was true, he could keep her here with him. And he could make her happy, he was sure. In fact, perhaps he even should, since with her help he’d be able to take down even more people than he would on his own.

  But what kind of life would that be for her? She’d be in constant danger from those looking to use her to get to him, unable to go anywhere without security. It would be a curtailed, narrow sort of life.

  It was the life she’d escaped when she’d run from her father. The life her mother had told her to get free of.

  You can’t do that to her.

  Over on the sun lounger, Lucy sighed and turned her head, her hair trailing down her back. He could see her face, naked without her glasses, and for the first time he didn’t see vulnerability and fear there. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was curved slightly in a satisfied way, and she looked at peace. She looked...happy.

  He could give her more of that here, but not for ever. She was curious and intelligent and he could imagine her living a life without fear, where she was free to explore everything that interested her. Where she could put those impressive financial skills to better use in a way that would fulfil her, not cause her guilt and pain.

  But that life wasn’t with him. He’d chosen his path and it was a solitary one; he couldn’t make her walk it with him. And if he couldn’t trap her in a cage here with him, he couldn’t trap her in any other cage either.

  The knowledge filtered through him, not fast like a lightning strike but slowly, like the sun rising.

  He couldn’t give her to the authorities. He couldn’t let her go to prison.

  Yes, she’d broken the law but there were extenuating circumstances. She’d lost so much and there was so much good she could do out in the world. So much good she would do, because of the kind of person she was.

  What things could she do if she was allowed to follow her own passions? What kinds of things could she create if she weren’t hemmed in by fear?

  What kind of person could she become?

  Ah, but he knew already. She would be amazing.

  He couldn’t keep that from her. He wouldn’t.

  It went against everything he’d thought justice was, but maybe there were more forms of justice
in this world than he’d previously thought. And besides, it would be a greater injustice to put her back in a cage than it would be to take her out of it.

  Determination sat inside him, a new sense of purpose.

  He’d never wanted anything more from this life than to bring down the people who hurt others and he would keep on with doing that. She’d brought him a little space of peace and he would remember that for ever.

  But she wasn’t his and she never would be. And the greatest gift he could give to the world would be to let her go.

  Lucy sighed again and rolled over, glancing to where he’d been sitting. She frowned when she didn’t see him, sitting up and looking around.

  Then her gaze found his and her face lit up, and she smiled.

  No, that was the sun rising. That was the lightning strike. Her and her smile, and the way she looked at him. As if he was a sight that made her happy and gave her joy.

  Then she held out her arms to him and he felt something inside him crumble and fall away, like a narrow cliff path collapsing under his feet. There was nothing to stop him, nothing to hold on to. One moment the path was firm and solid, the next he was in the air and he was falling.

  It was dizzying, terrifying, a rush of intense happiness and hope, along with a despair that he hadn’t felt since he’d betrayed Gabriella.

  He didn’t know how he was ever going to give his civetta up.

  But he was going to have to.

  CHAPTER TEN

  LUCY PAUSED BESIDE the bed and briefly debated whether to grab the book she’d been reading to bring down to the pool, or the financial magazine Vincenzo had given her. The book was some nice escapism, but the magazine had some interesting articles, and she wasn’t sure what she was in the mood for. Both, perhaps?

  She picked them up and turned to the door just as Vincenzo strode in.