‘To make you sweat?’ he suggested. ‘Or to give you the opportunity to make me a better offer for my silence.’
‘I don’t have any money.’
‘I know. Such a poor little rich wife you are going to be, are you not, Freya? With Enrico keeping you short on cash because he cannot trust you with it and also having you watched night and day in case you decide to tumble into bed with other men.’
‘Get to the point of this call, or I will cut the connection!’ she sliced out.
‘You won’t do that. You are too damn scared.’
He was right: she was scared—terrified of the damage Luca could do to that small boy she could see down there riding on his father’s arm with a look of total adoration on his face. The late-afternoon sun was catching Enrico’s lean, dark profile. Freya’s heart turned over then gave a tight squeeze, because she could see even from up here the grim austerity underlining the warm smile Enrico wore for their son.
She was going to have to tell Enrico, she realised bleakly. She just dared not risk giving Luca the chance to carry through his threat and sell his story to the Press.
Her mind reeling, she walked across the bedroom, her face turned ashen now, because she knew what she was going to have to do next.
‘H-how did you get hold of Cindy’s mobile?’ she asked huskily as she quietly pulled open the bedroom door.
‘I—borrowed it,’ Luca answered drily. ‘Or a friend of mine did.’ For some reason he found that last remark funny enough to make himself laugh. ‘I would imagine your bridesmaid is hunting through her many bags of shopping looking for it, as you and I speak.’
‘Stealing from others again, Luca?’
Her insides were a twisting, quivering mess and her legs felt as if they’d been attached to live cables that made them tremble, as she walked down the stairs still clutching her phone.
‘It was necessary for me to reach you without going through Fredo or Sonny,’ Luca drawled.
‘Or worse—through Enrico,’ Freya put in as she crossed the hall and entered the drawing-room, where the crystal chandelier reflected rainbows across the pale gold walls. ‘You accuse me of being scared, Luca. But I know you’re scared of Enrico, or you would be having this conversation with him not with me.’
Silence met that last statement. The kind of silence that told her she had hit a raw nerve. Freya took grim pleasure in knowing it as she crossed the drawing-room floor.
‘I would watch what you say to me, cara,’ Luca came back eventually. His pleasant tone had disappeared now and a grimly threatening growl had arrived in its place. ‘I am the one in a position of power here. I can ruin your romantic wedding day with one easy phone call.’
Freya stepped through the open French windows into soft sunlight, its warm gold colour shimmering across her hair and her cold, pale skin. Nicky was riding his truck, skidding down garden pathways and showing off for Enrico.
Enrico must have heard her footsteps, because he spun round sharply. Freya’s breath caught in her chest, imprisoned there as she mentally compared the hard, handsome qualities that this Ra
nieri man before her possessed to the weak good looks of the one she was listening to on the phone.
They were really nothing like each other, she realised with an inner start of surprise. They might possess the same basic Ranieri features. But it was the way in which those features were arranged that made this man in front of her such a visibly dynamic force to look at, while the other was just a paler version—like a shadow without any substance.
Enrico took a step towards her, his lips parting as if to speak.
Freya stopped him with a quick warning shake of her head. ‘If you’re going to use blackmail, Luca,’ she said as coolly as she could in the circumstances, watching as the sound of his cousin’s name made Enrico stiffen fiercely, his face darkening into a savage black, questioning frown, ‘then why don’t you just get to the point and tell me exactly what will stop you talking to the Press?’
Without a pause, she handed the phone to Enrico, then just stood there, heart hammering as he put the handset to his ear.
‘I want you to jilt him at the altar,’ Enrico heard Luca say smoothly. ‘Nothing short of his public humiliation will do for me, cara. I want him to know how it feels to be cast aside like he is nothing. I want him to learn that, even with all his wealth and power and popularity, when it comes down to it his pride can still be wiped away under someone else’s feet. Are you listening to me, Freya…?’ he prompted suddenly, maybe aware that her silence was different.
Without saying a word, Enrico placed the mobile phone to Freya’s ear and gave a curt nod of his head.
‘Y-yes,’ she answered obediently.
The handset was removed again. Enrico listened without expression as Luca finished his blackmail pitch.
‘Do this for me and I will hold my silence with the newspapers,’ he promised. ‘I will even let your son keep his papa. God knows I have no desire to claim the boy and we both know it would be a battle I could never win with medical science being what it is. But I will have Enrico’s pride in return for this favour I will do for you—understand me?’
Enrico held the phone to Freya’s ear again and gave yet another nod of his head. ‘Y-yes,’ she repeated unsteadily.
‘And will you do it?’