The Italian's Revenge

It was a decision she had come to at some very low point during the night. That there was very little she could do to change the status quo, so she might as well just get on with it.

Which was the reason why she was dressed for the city this morning. Getting on with it meant getting a life. A life outside the suffocating confines of this house, anyway.

‘What about Santino?’ Vito tried another tack.

Catherine smile a rueful smile. ‘Santino has more people eager to amuse him here in this house than a whole school of normal children have.’

‘He prefers to have his mamma at home with him. I prefer to have his mamma at home with him. What is the use of my providing all of this,’ he said, with a wave of a hand meant to encompass their luxury surroundings, ‘if you will not let yourself appreciate its advantages?’

‘That is a terribly arrogant thing to say,’ Catherine replied.

‘I don’t feel arrogant,’ he confessed. ‘I feel damned annoyed that you did not discuss this with me before making your decision. It is so typical of you, Catherine,’ he censured, unaware that her face had quite suddenly gone very pale. ‘You are so stubbornly independent that you just go ahead and do whatever it is you want to do and to hell with what anyone else may think!’

‘I’m sorry you think that,’ she murmured, but her tone said she was not going to change her mind.

Vito released a driven sigh. ‘Listen to me...’ he urged, curling his fingers tensely around her fingers. ‘I don’t want to wage war with you every time that we speak. I want you to be happy here. I want us to be happy here!’

‘With you as the family provider and me as the trophy you keep dusted in the corner?’ she mocked. ‘No, thank you, Vito. I’m not made of the right kind of stuff to play that particular role.’

‘That woman should learn to curb her stupid tongue!’ he muttered.

A criticism of Marietta? Catherine almost gasped at the shock of it—albeit sarcastically. ‘Don’t you have some work to do?’ she prompted him.

As if on cue, the door suddenly opened. ‘Have you two finished?’ a cool voice questioned. ‘Only we have a lot to get through, Vito, if we are to catch that noon flight to Paris today.’

The air in the sunny breakfast room suddenly began to crackle. Catherine glared at Vito. ‘You’re going to Paris today—with her?’ she demanded.

He looked fit to wreak bloody murder. ‘I—’

‘Oh—didn’t you know, Catherine?’ Marietta inserted. ‘I assumed Vito would have told you.’

‘I was about to,’ he gritted—at Catherine, not Marietta.

‘No need now, though,’ Catherine pointed out, raking her fingers from beneath his as she shot stiffly to her feet. ‘Since your ever-efficient compatriot has done the job for you.’

‘Catherine—’ Vito’s voice was harsh on a mixture of fury and frustration.

‘Excuse me,’ she spoke icily over him, ‘I have some calls to make.’ And she walked towards the door. ‘Enjoying yourself?’ she asked sweetly of Marietta as she passed by her.

The other girl’s eyes widened in mock bewilderment. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she lied.

Catherine just laughed—a hard, scoffing sound that jarred on the eardrums—and left the two of them to it, with Marietta’s voice trailing after her. ‘Vito, I am so sorry. I just thought...’

Vito followed her. Catherine would have been more surprised if he hadn’t. He found her standing in their bedroom grimly pulling on the jacket to match her cream skirt.

‘Don’t you have a plane to catch?’ she questioned sarcastically.

His angry face hardened. ‘Don’t do this, Catherine,’ he warned. ‘Don’t rile me today when I’ve worked right through the night and am low on sleep and on patience.’

‘And where were you working last night?’ she challenged.

‘You know where. The office,’ he said heavily. ‘I told you.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes—alone!’ he snapped.

‘What time did you come home?’