by Maya Blake
She raised her chin. ‘I made a promise to Carlotta,’ she replied.
It was a promise the other woman had had no business demanding of her. And yet she had. And, because of the curse of the unknown that had always plagued Faye, she’d given in.
The man’s lips twisted. ‘Ah, si... A promise to attend a will reading but not to pay your last respects?’
Her spine snapped straight at his contempt. ‘For your information, Mr...whoever-you-are, Carlotta didn’t tell me she was ill. Not until our last conversation three weeks ago. After that I didn’t think it was appropriate to just...turn up. Not when I was a stranger to her.’
‘And yet here you are now,’ he said, his deep, rumbling voice and disturbingly attractive accent stretching out the words. Deepening their barbed meaning. Thickening their accusation.
Finally her muscles obeyed the commands she’d shrieked at her brain and lent her enough strength to stand. She pushed back her chair and grabbed the hobo bag she’d tossed on the floor beside her. ‘Save your accusations. I was already thinking this was a mistake before you walked in. You’ve just confirmed that I shouldn’t have come here. Let’s not waste each other’s time any longer. I’m leaving.’
‘I’m afraid it’s not going to be that easy, Miss Bishop.’
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. ‘What isn’t? And, seriously, are you going to introduce yourself, like a normal person, or is your identity some mystery I’m supposed to unravel to get to the next level of why I’m here?’
More than one lawyer gasped. Her impression of stepping deeper into a minefield heightened as the stranger’s gaze swept downwards in a slow, languid journey from her face, her throat, her chest, to rest on the three-inch gap between her midriff-baring pink top and the waistband of her bohemian ankle-length, patchwork skirt. There it rested, partly in disbelief, partly with a sizzling indecipherable look that sent gooseflesh skittering over her skin.
‘Sit down,’ he commanded after an aeon, his voice barely above a murmured rumble.
Faye couldn’t, because the look in his eyes had paralysed her again. And as he continued to watch her, other sensations crept in, adding to the chaos. Weakness swept through her frame. Her breasts began to tingle, shooting warnings that her bra-less state was about to become glaringly obvious.
To counteract that impending discomfort, Faye folded her arms and aimed a glare across the table. ‘Why?’ she asked, very much aware that his interest had shifted to the inked flowers decorating her arm. That he looked even more...intrigued.
Intrigue didn’t last long before his gaze hardened.
‘Because I’m about to lay a few facts on you, Miss Bishop. Contrary to what you think you’re here for, my revelations will far exceed your wildest dreams. Unfortunately for you, those dreams come with strings. Of course once I’m done you can still insist on taking this dubious high road you’re posturing about. And should you decide to relinquish your inheritance—’
‘My inheritance? What inheritance?’ Surprise made her voice cringingly squeaky.
‘Sit down and I will tell you,’ he instructed again.
Shock propelled her legs to obey. She sank into the seat, and in the moment before he spoke again her gaze darted to the lawyers, noting their solemn looks.
‘Now, let’s pretend you really have no clue who I am—’
‘I don’t. I’m not sure why that’s so unfathomable to you, but I haven’t the foggiest idea who you are.’
He stared at her for another long, tight stretch. Then he leaned forward. ‘My name is Maceo Fiorenti.’
The surname was familiar. Painfully so. She’d blocked it out of her life—albeit unsuccessfully, because of its sheer size and success—because of its association with Luigi.
‘I’m assuming that you’re in some way connected to Casa di Fiorenti?’
The lawyers exchanged stunned glances.
‘You could say that. But I am also... I was also connected to Carlotta.’
In her emails, Carlotta had signed off as Carlotta Caprio-Fiorenti. Faye hadn’t given the Fiorenti attachment much thought. Now she did, with a peculiar feeling dragging in her stomach.
The man across the conference table was too old to be Carlotta’s son, so he could only be—
Faye felt her jaw gaping again and caught herself. ‘You’re Carlotta’s husband?’ Why did that knowledge send sharp pangs through her chest? ‘But you’re—’ She stopped, bit her lip to cut off the rest of her words.
One masculine brow lifted in mocking query. ‘I’m what, Miss Bishop? Too young? A toy boy, as you refer to it in your country? Don’t be afraid to speak up. You won’t be saying anything the media haven’t attempted to dissect a million ways.’
Heat flared up her neck, since she’d been about to say exactly that. Carlotta had been in her late-fifties, while Maceo Fiorenti looked at least thirty years younger.
But this wasn’t why she was here. Heck, she was still in the dark as to the reason for her presence in this room. With this man who fascinated her far more than she should allow him to.
‘Your relationship with Carlotta is none of my business, I’m sure. And now we’re properly introduced, perhaps you could enlighten me as to why I’m here?’
‘I’m CEO of Casa di Fiorenti and one hundred percent shareholder of this company. Or at least I thought I was until a week ago.’
Faye frowned. ‘What does that mean?’
He leaned forward, and every instinct urged her to retreat. She held her ground. Because to appear weak would be to grant him victory.
‘It means that my late wife informed me that Luigi—I’m assuming you do know who he is?’ he drawled.
She steeled herself against the pain that should have dulled after all this time, but curiously hadn’t. ‘Of course.’
‘Meraviglioso,’ he said sarcastically. ‘My late wife informed me that Luigi had requested that, should he pass away before you turned twenty-five, Carlotta pass on a bequest in her will or when you reached that age. I take it you celebrated your birthday recently?’
Faye nodded absently. ‘Three months ago.’ Then she caught her breath. ‘That’s when Carlotta first contacted me. But...why didn’t she tell me?’
‘Did you give her the chance? Or did you repeatedly rebuff her attempts to reach out to you?’ he asked.
She suspected he knew the answer. Guilt flushed through her, but she refused to cower. ‘I had my reasons.’
Pain. Betrayal. The stigma of shame that had never gone away. The anxiety of not knowing why Luigi had left and never looked back but had seemingly kept tabs on her.
‘No one can love an abomination like you...’
Matt’s words echoed in her head, intensifying the anguish. In truth, she’d succeeded in partially silencing the why of Luigi’s desertion until those damning words. Now she feared she would never move on. Not until she knew if Luigi had felt the same way.
‘Ah, but you didn’t feel strongly enough about those reasons to stay away because you’d “made a promise,” si?’
Far from being needled by his determination to get under her skin, Faye forced herself to sit back. To smile and shrug. ‘It’s obvious you think I have an agenda, so let’s dispense with the rhetorical questions and get on with it, shall we? I have...’ She made a show of checking the time on the clock before settling her gaze somewhere over his shoulder. From the corner of her eye, she saw his jaw clench. ‘I have about half a day’s sightseeing before I go back to my hotel.’
Terse silence greeted her. His tawny gaze compelled her. Unable to resist, Faye found herself looking into eyes that held what looked like grief. She couldn’t be sure because it had disappeared a second later. What didn’t disappear was the guilt that assailed her.
Regardless of what had happened in the past, the anguish Luigi’s desertion had caused her and
her mother, this man had buried his wife only a few days ago. At the very least she owed him a modicum of compassion.
She opened her mouth, but before she could retract her flippant words he spoke.
‘As the executor of Carlotta’s will, it falls to me to inform you that, through your stepfather’s bequest, you now own a quarter of one percent of a share in Casa di Fiorenti. Signor Abruzzo, kindly inform Miss Bishop what that means in monetary terms.’
One of the lawyers cleared his throat and flipped open a folder while Maceo lounged in his seat, all panther-like grace and piercing eyes, content to stare her down.
The effect of that stare caused her to miss the beginning of the lawyer’s heavily accented speech. Forcing herself to concentrate, Faye caught the last of it.
‘...at the last financial audit, Casa di Fiorenti was valued at five point six billion euros. Which makes the value of your inheritance approximately fourteen million euros.’
CHAPTER TWO
MACEO WATCHED THE strange creature’s full lush lips fall open. Then immediately cursed himself for that unwelcome observation.
Her lips could rival Cupid’s bow. So what?
Per l’amor di Dio, she had purple and silver hair! There were other colours in there, too. She was garbed in hippie clothes and one arm was decorated with flowers. Lush lips and dramatically eye-catching figure or not, she belonged on the set of some fairy-tale movie, not in the corporate offices of his billion-euro empire.
So what if her skin was the most flawless he’d ever seen and her indigo eyes seemed almost too good to be true...the most alluring he’d ever looked into?
He’d buried Carlotta just days ago. And, while their marriage hadn’t been quite conventional, he owed her the respect of not listing adjectives to describe the shape of another woman’s—
‘You’re joking!’
Her words refocused him. Infused him with the iciness and distance and gravity he should be clinging to—especially now, when Casa di Fiorenti should be his sole occupation.
‘Of course I am. Because of course I would choose now, a few days after burying my wife, to make a tasteless joke about her wishes.’
She had the decency to flush. But her contrition lasted only a handful of seconds. ‘My reaction wasn’t intended as an insult. This really is the last thing I expected.’
‘Is it? Truly, Miss Bishop?’ Maceo didn’t bother to hide his scepticism. He didn’t intend to hide anything from her. Secrets were what had eroded his family’s foundations.
‘Yes, it is. Mr Fiorenti,’ she snapped, her peculiar eyes sparking.
‘Then do as you intended before. Refuse it and leave.’
Curiously fascinated, he watched her tilt her head and return his stare. Sunlight danced off the multicoloured strands of her hair and Maceo forced his gaze to remain on her face, attempted to stave off the effect of this woman’s presence on his senses.
He’d stopped in his tracks when he spotted her through the glass, certain he was hallucinating. And even after becoming aware that he was drawing the attention of his executive staff Maceo had been unable to move. He’d been stunned at the curious sensations cascading through him—the most startling and damning being the ferocious pounding in his groin. A torrid and wholly unwelcome reminder, today of all days, that he was a man. With primal needs. Needs long and ruthlessly denied because he didn’t deserve to have them satisfied. Needs denied in order to achieve his goals. To hold on to what his parents had devoted themselves to.
He hadn’t survived hell to fall prey to a passing fascination with this pixie-like creature.
‘Your lawyers appear uncomfortable with that idea. Why is that, Mr Fiorenti?’ she enquired softly, then held up the arm decorated with hennaed flowers. ‘Wait—don’t answer that. I’ll hazard a wild guess, shall I? They’re fidgeting because you’re not allowed to tell me to do that.’ She glanced at the lawyer who had spoken. ‘Am I right, sir?’
His lawyer—damn the man—squirmed guiltily. ‘That is open to interpretation, but broadly speaking...si—’
The blinding, dare-filled smile she’d flashed at the window as he’d stood staring at her from behind the veil of glass—the smile that had stopped every red-blooded employee within the vicinity—curved into view again, complete with groin-tightening dimples, cutting off his lawyer’s words.
Maceo’s insides dipped in a mixture of arousal and guilt that made his fist curl on the table. Her gaze swung to his hand and the smile dimmed. He frowned, unsure why the look in her eyes disturbed him. He visibly relaxed, but even though her smile remained, it lacked...something.
Something he wasn’t going to concern himself with.
He leaned forward, eager to get this meeting over and done with. Faye Bishop wasn’t the only inconvenience Carlotta had left behind for him to deal with. There was added the nuisance of her brothers.
‘The bequest must be administered. But here’s the stinger, Miss Bishop. I have the power to add my own stipulations.’
Her smile evaporated completely. ‘What?’
‘Your reluctance to engage with Carlotta gave her pause. In her will she’s given me the power either to make you a very rich woman today or...’ He sat back, let his silence speak.
Her lips firmed. ‘Or make me jump through hoops for something I had no idea about and didn’t want in the first place?’
Maceo delivered a derisive smile. ‘Indulge me, then. Get up and walk out. Prove you mean to refuse it.’
He was confident that she wouldn’t. No one in their right mind would walk away from such a—
Shock reverberated through him when she rose again. Her indigo eyes effortlessly pierced the layers of his calm until Maceo wasn’t sure whether he was breathing in or out. Whether he was going to jump up to stop her leaving or remain seated and watch her go.
The latter.
He most definitely wasn’t going to stop her.
She took one step, then another. Despite her tasteless clothes, her grace was unmistakable, and her hips swayed beneath her sweeping skirt with a raw sensuality that made Maceo shift in his seat. And stare.
She reached the door and grabbed the handle. Tension coiled tight within him. Realising his fingers were drumming on the table, he killed the action just as she turned to spear him with a reproving look that would have levelled a lesser man. A man who hadn’t committed the sins he had and emerged with the demons he fought every day.
‘I came here because I thought that after all this time Luigi had provided the answers I’ve been seeking all these years. I see now it was a waste of time.’
Maceo sent his lawyer a warning glance as the older man opened his mouth. Carlotta’s other request, over and above the financial bequest, had been specific—the delivery of a letter addressed to Faye Bishop. He didn’t know whether it would provide the answers she claimed to seek, but Maceo knew he would only deliver it when he was absolutely sure of her motives.
‘I’m sorry for your loss, Mr Fiorenti. But I hope I never see or hear from you ever again.’
She walked out, leaving astounded silence behind.
‘Did she...? Did that really just happen?’ one lawyer asked, stunned.
Maceo refused to acknowledge his own astonishment. She had to be playing a game. What she didn’t know was that he was an expert at games. He’d been playing them for the better part of a decade with the paparazzi, keeping them distracted so they didn’t dig and uncover his family’s secrets. The same games he had played with those board members who deemed him weak.
As if on cue, two of his opponents walked in. Stefano and Francesco Castella—Carlotta’s older brothers. Maceo’s life had taken a fateful turn the night his parents and his godfather had perished, but these two remained a constant reminder that, besides the secrets that had eventually shattered his family, lies and greed were a menace he also had to deal with.
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He neutralised his features into a mask of indifference even as his gaze flicked to the door. What had Faye Bishop meant? What had his godfather done to her?
And how did I not know Luigi had a stepdaughter?
Realising his thoughts were cartwheeling, Maceo pushed the subject of the ethereal Faye Bishop to the back of his mind.
‘I didn’t realise we were letting in strays off the street these days. Who was that curious woman?’ Stefano asked.
‘She’s none of your concern,’ Maceo answered, a little taken aback by the bite in his own voice.
Stefano smiled his oily smile. ‘Ah, but I’m a board member. That makes everything my concern.’
Maceo swallowed a growl. There was another reason he needed to deal with Faye Bishop. That fraction of a share was the only thing preventing him from having absolute power over the board. However measly, it might be the difference between ridding himself of Stefano and Francesco—who’d made Carlotta’s life a living hell until Maceo had stepped in—and enduring their unpalatable presence.
‘You’re here to discuss your sister’s personal affairs. That woman isn’t any part of that,’ he said.
Stefano shrugged. ‘I was simply being civil to pass the time—’
‘You don’t know the meaning of the word civil, so don’t insult me.’
Francesco’s gaze narrowed. ‘Watch your tone, figlio. We not only managed this company while you lay incapacitated in a hospital bed and Carlotta was uselessly wringing her hands, we allowed you to marry our sister—’
‘I was under the impression that decision was entirely ours,’ Maceo inserted calmly. ‘I’m sure that’s why we married without informing either of you.’
Stefano slapped his palm on the table. ‘Ascoltami—’
‘No. You listen,’ Maceo interrupted, his patience gossamer-thin. ‘Carlotta was too kind-hearted to tell you that she despised both of you. You made her life hell when she married Luigi and you treated her contemptibly at every opportunity until she made you rich. Now she’s gone, and I harbour no such inclination. Your positions in this company are secure...for now. Don’t push me or your circumstances will change very quickly.’
