Читать книгу Wedded, Bedded, Betrayed - Мишель Смарт, Michelle Smart - Страница 9
ОглавлениеELENA AWOKE TO find herself cocooned in a heavy duvet on a bed so comfortable that for a moment the fact she didn’t have a clue where she was didn’t matter.
She stretched then sat bolt upright as memories flooded her.
She’d fainted. She remembered feeling all...wrong, remembered strong arms holding her, overriding her protests.
Gabriele Mantegna .
He’d kidnapped her. He’d given chase, thrown her over his shoulder and spirited her to his yacht via a jet ski.
Or had he saved her?
Yes, that was right. He’d certainly saved her from the criminal gang who’d done the unthinkable and overridden her father’s state-of-the-art security system and broken onto their island.
But he was Gabriele Mantegna and instinct told her she’d be no safer with him than those men. The danger he carried was of a different kind.
He’d carried her away from the hail of bullets that had rained on them. God alone knew how they’d escaped without being shot.
What was he even doing there?
So many thoughts crammed in her brain it was a struggle to think straight.
Another memory came to her, of being placed on the bed and Gabriele’s rich voice murmuring in their native Italian that she should sleep.
The only comfort she could take was that her clothes were still on.
Climbing out of bed, she held onto the frame until she was certain her feet were steady, then drew the floor-length curtains.
Light flooded the cabin, almost blinding her with its brilliance. She opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony. The Caribbean Sea—at least she assumed they were still on the Caribbean—was calm, the yacht powering through it at a remarkable rate. If she closed her eyes she wouldn’t know they were sailing.
Movement behind her made her turn and find a woman dressed in a maid’s outfit standing at the door of her cabin.
The maid gave a tentative smile. ‘Good morning Signorina Ricci,’ she said in Italian. ‘Can I get you some breakfast?’
The sea air had done a good job of clearing Elena’s head and reinvigorating her. As much as she wanted food and a hot shower, what she needed was to see Gabriele and find out what the hell was going on.
‘I would like you to take me to Signor Mantegna.’
The maid nodded her acquiescence and Elena followed her out of the cabin and into a wide corridor. A flight of steps led into a huge atrium where a white grand piano sat in the centre ringed by a circle of plush white sofas.
Gabriele was found on the third deck, sitting at a table overlooking a large, oval swimming pool, eating from a bowl of fruit.
He rose to his feet. He wore only a pair of canvas shorts. ‘Good morning, Elena. How are you feeling?’
‘Much better thank you,’ she replied coolly, feeling her cheeks flame as she remembered basically falling into a dead faint at his feet.
Being eye level with his naked chest only caused the flames to burn harder. Quickly, she averted her gaze.
‘You gave us quite a scare. Please, sit down. Coffee? Food?’
She took the seat opposite him. ‘A caffè e latte would be nice.’
Turning to the maid, he said, ‘Esmerelda, a caffè e latte and a tray of pastries for our guest, and a fresh pot of coffee for me please.’
While he spoke to the maid, Elena took the opportunity to flash her eyes over him.
Last night Gabriele had been dressed in a black wetsuit. It had been obvious then that he had a good body on him. However, nothing could have prepared her for seeing it in the flesh. Strong and defined, it was covered across the pecs with fine dark hair. This, coupled with his deep bronze colour, was testament to a man who enjoyed the outside life.
But there had been a couple of years when his outdoor recreation would have been severely limited...
‘What’s going on?’ she asked abruptly.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen a topless man before, she reminded herself. She had three older brothers. The male physique was hardly a mystery.
‘I appreciate you saved me from those men last night but what were you doing on our island? If you had nothing to do with those men, how did you know to rescue me?’
It could only have been for nefarious purposes. Ever since Gabriele’s release from prison he’d been conducting a subtle one-man vendetta against her family. The media intrusion had become intolerable.
The handsome, charismatic billionaire head of Mantegna Cars, a convicted fraudster and money-launderer, never missed an opportunity to make digs at her father. Gabriele had pleaded guilty to the charges and taken sole responsibility—though it was widely believed he’d only done so to save his own father—but many whispers had reached the media that Gabriele was fingering Ignazio Ricci as the real culprit.
Thoughtful eyes, such a dark brown colour they appeared black, met her gaze. With his strong nose and wide, sensuous lips, Gabriele’s features had a soulful quality that was totally incongruous for a man such as him.
‘I heard you scream. That’s how I knew there was someone in danger.’
Her throat still hurt from that scream.
‘We’ll wait until your refreshments have been served and then we can talk about the rest of it.’ His gaze flickered over her, scrutinising her in a fashion that made her flush. Having not looked in a mirror, she could only imagine how awful she looked with her bed hair and the clothes she’d fished in, made a bonfire in and slept in.
‘Can you at least tell me where we are?’
‘We are currently in the Gulf of Mexico. All being well we should arrive at Tampa Bay by early evening.’
Since assuring himself that Elena’s faint wasn’t anything to worry about, Gabriele had done some research on the woman he hadn’t set eyes on in over two decades. His mind had been so filled with revenge on Ignazio and, to a lesser extent, his three sons, he’d almost forgotten she existed.
From thinking a man like Ignazio didn’t have the capacity to love anyone, Gabriele now knew that, in Elena, he had found his nemesis’s Achilles heel.
Their fathers had been close friends since childhood. When Alfredo, Gabriele’s father, had emigrated from Italy to the US with his wife and young son, their friendship had endured. Alfredo had passed on his new American contacts to Ignazio and vouched for him, enabling him to expand his own growing empire.
Their businesses had been complementary, with Ricci Components supplying many of the parts fitted in Mantegna Cars. Both men had subsequently diversified from their business origins and a decade ago had merged the overlapping aspects of their respective businesses, at Ignazio’s suggestion. Gabriele had had some reservations about the merger but had kept them to himself—after all, Ignazio was practically family.
Despite their enduring closeness, Ignazio had kept his only daughter hidden away in Italy. Gabriele doubted he had seen Elena in the flesh more than a handful of times since she was a toddler. His only real memory of her was as an unabashed tomboy.
The light of her father’s eye, she had been home educated and protected all her life. She’d joined her father’s business at the age of eighteen and worked closely with him for a number of years before being given the role of running the European division of Ignazio’s empire.
Unlike her brothers, who had all the subtlety of a trio of strutting peacocks, she still, as an adult, kept in the background. Media sightings of her were slim and those that existed were all business related.
One particular broadsheet interview with Ignazio had caught his attention. It had been conducted four years ago, when Gabriele’s father had first been charged. Ignazio had slated Alfredo and spoken eloquently about how ‘duped’ he felt. The only sincere words Gabriele had sensed from the man had been about his daughter:
‘Elena is the hardest worker of my staff and the best child a man could hope for. I know when I become infirm, she will be there to care for me.’
He allowed himself a smile.
Gabriele’s visit to the Ricci chapel might not have provided the evidence to clear his name he so badly wanted but in Elena he had found a silver lining. He’d found a weapon that could hurt Ignazio much more than merely sending him to prison.
Oh, yes, as a weapon to hurt Ignazio, he had found none better.
But then his smile dropped.
There would be nothing to celebrate until he found the evidence that cleared his father’s name—and his own—and would allow his mother whatever peace she was capable of finding.
‘I should tell you that your presence here has presented me with something of a dilemma,’ he said.
Her brows drew together, her startling green eyes holding his. ‘What kind of dilemma?’
‘You have provided me with options I hadn’t considered before.’ Seeing Esmerelda returning to them, he left it at that.
Elena’s caffè e latte, a large fresh pot of coffee and a plate of pastries were placed between them, and Gabriele’s coffee poured.
‘Please, eat,’ he instructed with a wave of a hand, as Esmerelda disappeared back inside.
‘Tell me why I’m a dilemma.’
‘I would prefer to have this conversation without worrying you’re going to fall into another faint due to hunger.’
‘I’ve never fainted before,’ she stated matter-of-factly. ‘It was the shock and adrenaline of everything, that’s all. I’ve never been kidnapped before and then rescued, then chased, then thrown over a shoulder to a jet ski with live ammunition being fired at me.’
‘Why did you run from me?’ he asked curiously.
‘Because you have a grudge against my father and hate my family. You appeared in the room like a dark phantom—I was scared.’
‘I don’t hold a grudge against your father,’ he denied calmly. ‘My loathing towards all you Riccis is much stronger than that.’
Her pretty, lightly golden face paled. ‘Then why did you rescue me?’
‘Because I’m not such a monster that I would leave you at the mercy of those men.’
A tiny, shaking hand took a cornetto. Instead of biting into it, she put it on the plate before her, then took a sip of her caffè e latte.
‘I don’t understand why you hate us all so much.’
‘Really?’ He allowed his disbelief to ring through the syllables. Elena was a child of Ignazio’s loins. She worked closely with him. Gabriele doubted there was anything about Ignazio’s business practices she was unaware of. She was as guilty as he. ‘Then let me educate you.’
At the foot of the table sat his briefcase. He pulled it onto his lap, opened it, and took out a document file.
‘I went to Nutmeg Island last night searching for evidence of your father’s criminality. These are a few of the documents I copied from the basement of your family chapel last night. As you can see, I’ve had them printed off to make digesting them easier. These are irrefutable proof that Ricci Components is laundering money from its Brazilian base.’
‘You’re lying.’ She bit into her cornetto. A small dollop of raspberry jam dripped down her chin. She wiped it away with a finger and licked it, all the while staring at him with eyes that had hardened.
‘Read them for yourself,’ he answered with a shrug. ‘The proof is there. The US authorities will find it indisputable.’
Something flickered in her eyes.
‘Your father’s been running his business from Brazil for well over a decade. However, the accounts concerned use US dollars. That gives the US a jurisdictional right to launch an investigation. Trust me, should I give them these documents, they will be on your father and the rest of you like a pack of hyenas on a fresh carcass. Why do you think I spent only two years of a six-year sentence behind bars? They know your father’s up to his neck in corruption but, until now, they’ve not had the evidence to charge him with anything.’
She swallowed her food and swiped a hand through her fringe, then snatched the file from him. Sipping her caffè e latte, she began reading through the papers.
Gabriele watched her closely. Her green eyes zoomed from left to right and back again, a concentration frown just noticeable beneath her fringe.
In the years since he’d last seen her, she’d gained a doll-like prettiness about her that, combined with her rather grubby appearance and boyish clothes, had the effect of making her appear younger than her twenty-five years. He had to remind himself that there was nothing doll-like or immature about her spine. She’d proved her tenacity last night: she’d had an escape route planned despite the terror that would have frozen any other person’s brain, and not only had she run away from him but, when realising she couldn’t outrun him, had fought back. If his own reflexes weren’t so quick she would likely have escaped him.
But she would never have escaped the men. They would never have let her go. They couldn’t have afforded to, not once she had seen her captor’s face.
Whatever direction this conversation took, he could not afford to let those big green eyes beguile him into thinking she was something less than she truly was.
‘Whoever created these documents is clearly a master forger,’ she said tightly when she’d finished reading.
‘Don’t fool yourself. They’re not forgeries. I took the pictures myself last night, in your chapel basement.’
‘Which you broke into.’ Her eyes narrowed, more suspicion and distrust ringing from them. ‘Were you in league with those men?’
‘No.’
‘So it’s coincidence you were there at the exact same time an armed gang raided our holiday island?’
‘No coincidence at all.’ He gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘I knew they would be making their heist. I’ve waited a year for it.’
She stared at him with a clenched jaw.
He allowed himself a smile. ‘The thing you have to understand about prison is that it’s full of criminals. Not all prisoners are discreet. One liked to brag about how his brother was a member of Carter’s gang. Have you heard of Carter?’
She shook her head.
‘Carter steals to order. His price tag for a job is reputed to be ten million dollars.’
She let out a low whistle.
‘He also does jobs for himself—heists where he knows illegal artefacts are kept. The kind of stuff no owner would dare report stolen to the police.’ Gabriele rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. ‘It was a simple matter to tell my fellow prisoner of the island off the Cayman Isles packed full of illegal art worth tens of millions of dollars.’
‘That’s a lie,’ she snapped, finally showing some animation.
He shrugged. ‘Carter didn’t believe it to be a lie and he does meticulous research. I knew it was only a matter of time before word reached him. I’ve been keeping close tabs on him and waiting for his gang to make their move—I have to give credit to your father, his security system is second to none. I knew it would take the best to break it and Carter is the best. All I had to do was wait for him to make his move and use his gang as cover to enter the island undetected.’
Her green eyes flashed with contempt. ‘So you brought those men to my family’s island?’
‘All I did was plant the idea.’ He rubbed at his jaw. ‘You weren’t supposed to be there. No one was. Carter’s got away with it for so long because he doesn’t take unnecessary risks.’
‘If you’re so convinced of my father’s guilt, why didn’t you take the risk yourself? Why use a bunch of criminals as cover?’
He smiled without humour. ‘I’ve already spent two years in prison. Believe me, I have no wish to spend another day there. I let the experts take the risk.’
Without warning, she jumped up from her chair and hurried to the railing, whereby she threw the file overboard. The papers flew out, the breeze lifting them and scattering them in all directions.
‘That’s what I think of your evidence,’ Elena said coldly, trying desperately to hide the fact her heart was thrumming madly and her blood felt as if ice had been injected directly into her bloodstream.
This was all a horrible lie. There was no other explanation.
Her father was not a criminal. It was possible some of his art might not be entirely legitimate but illegal art was a world away from fraud and money laundering. He was a good, loving man who had raised her and her three older brothers single-handedly after her mother’s death when Elena had been a toddler.
She watched Gabriele’s jaw clench. He gripped hold of his coffee and downed it.
She hoped it scorched him.
‘There is plenty more evidence,’ he said in a tone far more even than the brimstone firing from his now black eyes portrayed. ‘One phone call will be enough to have the FBI and the local police obtain a search warrant. One call. Would you like me to make it?’
‘Why would they believe you?’ she sneered. ‘You’re a convicted criminal and that “evidence” is illegally gained. It wouldn’t stand up in any court.’
‘It’s enough to get the ball rolling. The authorities are watching your father. They’re watching your brothers...and they’re watching you. Your family is like a collection of kindling. All the authorities are waiting on is the match to light it. If the worst happens and they judge they can’t use the evidence, then copies of the documents will be emailed from an anonymous, untraceable email address to every major news outlet in the world. Either way he’s finished, and you’re finished too.’
Elena put a hand to her chest and blinked hard to clear the clouds swimming in her eyes.
Whoever Gabriele had paid to create the documents was a master of the art. Anyone looking at them could be forgiven for thinking they had an air of legitimacy to them.
Her father—her entire family—had been living under a cloud of suspicion for a year, ever since Gabriele had been released from prison and begun his whispering campaign against them. He’d been clever about it, always making sure his comments were right on the cusp of slanderous.
There had been other incidents too, minor in the grand scheme of things; investors pulling out of deals at the last moment, the banks insisting on greater scrutiny of the books, all the little things that could be passed off as consequences of a turbulent global economy but as a whole were evidence of someone working against them.
She clung to the railing, her knuckles turning white. ‘Do you hate us because my father never stood up for your father when the accusations first came out? Is that the reason for all this?’
He laughed. It was the bitterest sound she had ever heard.
‘You’re very good at the wide-eyed ingénue act, I’ll give you that,’ he said with a shake of his dark head. ‘One could almost believe you’re naïve about the fact that it was your father behind it all.’
She shook her head. ‘You’re lying. Everyone knows you and your father were in on it together. You took the rap to spare him. My father was questioned once and they found no evidence against him.’
‘They found no evidence against your father because the trail he made was deliberately laid to lead to my father,’ he snarled, showing the first real sign of anger, enough to make her recoil and tighten her hold on the rail. ‘The FBI has been trying to pin something on him for years. Our fathers went into business together at your father’s instigation so he could hide behind my father’s respectability. He used my father’s affection, good nature and loyalty to an old friend, and framed him.’
‘Where’s the evidence? You’re making a lot of nasty insinuations and accusations here but where’s a shred of evidence to back up the claims?’
‘It’s out there and I will find it.’
‘Or forge it like you did those other documents you claim are from the chapel basement.’
Her father had stored business documents in the chapel basement for decades. There was nothing sinister about it—it was simply the most secure place for them. Or, rather, had been.
‘Admit it, Elena, the documents I copied last night are the real deal. Their release is the smoking gun the FBI is waiting for.’
‘They’re forgeries.’ But she could not deny that they were brilliantly constructed forgeries. As far as forgeries went, they were perfect.
‘You know perfectly well they’re not. You’re up to your pretty neck in all this.’
‘I’m not up to my neck in anything.’ She wanted to scream. This entire conversation was like something from Dante.
‘You are. But there is a way for you to save yourself. And your father. And that is what I mean about you posing a dilemma for me.’
‘Go on.’
‘The lack of documentary evidence to support mine and my father’s innocence is a setback for me.’
‘That’s because it doesn’t exist.’
‘If I’m such a master forger don’t you think I would fake it?’ he demanded. ‘Your father is a meticulous record keeper. It’s out there somewhere and I will find it...or I could be persuaded to forget the whole thing. With the right incentive I could also be persuaded to destroy the evidence I copied last night rather than pass it on.’
‘What incentive are you talking about?’ she asked, the anger leeching out to be replaced with wariness.
‘I’ve held back from sending the documents to the FBI because I have a proposition to make. You and you alone can save your father from financial ruin and a hefty prison sentence.’
‘What does this proposition entail?’
A smile curved his handsome face. ‘That, you will find, is the crucial question. To secure a healthy future for your father and the rest of your family, you will have to do one very simple thing—you’ll have to marry me.’
