“A pity he’s taking such a long time about it,” her husband said coolly.
She gasped. “Don’t you have any human feeling at all?”
“No,” he said. “Giuseppe Ferrazzi took that from me twenty years ago.”
She was frightened by the look in his eyes.
“What—what did he do?”
Maximo’s hands tightened. “He destroyed my family. He—”
“What?”
“It doesn’t matter. But for every hour he has left on this earth, he will feel the consequence of his actions. I’ve taken his beloved company. His family. Everything.”
She bit her lip. What could her grandfather have done? Surely that poor old man couldn’t have destroyed Maximo’s family. It all had to be some horrible misunderstanding…
A grandfather. She had a grandfather. A wave of protectiveness went through her. “You can’t expect me to just let him die!”
He ground his teeth. “I expect you to abide by the terms of our agreement. What part of ‘honor and obey’ don’t you understand?”
She muttered, “The same part of ‘love’ that you don’t.”
“This is nonnegotiable, Lucia. I have already made it clear to you. Disobey me in this—contact Giuseppe Ferrazzi in any way—and our marriage will end.”
She swallowed. She’d lose everything. Her daughter’s security—her future.
How could she risk her daughter’s well-being for the sake of a dying old man she’d never met?
And yet…how could she live in the same Italian village, knowing he was suffering in poverty, alone and unloved?
“He’s my grandfather,” she whispered, turning away to stare blindly out at the passing landscape.
There was a long pause.
“We’ll be in Rome shortly,” Maximo said. “You should think of that. And Wentworth. Do you know why he left you?”
She blinked hard, wiping the tears from her eyes. “His note said he was in love with someone else.”
He gave her a sardonic smile. “That’s one way to look at it, I suppose. He had a better offer. A former lover suddenly wanted him back, his boss, Violetta Andiemo.”
“The fashion designer?” she gasped.
“He wanted the wealth and luxury that she could offer. So when Violetta demanded to know if he’d had any other lovers during their yearlong break, he lied. He said no, that he’d spent the whole time pining for her.”
“He said he’d had no other lover?” she whispered. Alex had kept their daughter a secret—as if Chloe’s existence shamed him?
“Violetta Andiemo is forty-five, with all the insecurity and jealousy that comes with an artistic temperament. If she discovers that Wentworth lied—that he took a beautiful young girl as his lover and had a child with her—she’d not only end their engagement, she’d make sure he never got another job. I think that’s why he tried to make a secret deal with your grandfather.” He shrugged. “They’re not even married yet, but I think already he’s finding when you marry for money, you earn every cent.”
“Tell me about it,” she muttered. The car abruptly stopped, and she looked up. Following Maximo’s gaze, she saw a helicopter waiting on the tarmac of a small private airport. “What’s that?”
“A Sikorsky S-76C,” he said, climbing out of the car. Opening her door, he held out his hand. “Our ride.”
“A helicopter?” Her voice came out a nervous squeak. “Can’t we just drive to Rome?”
“Don’t be afraid.” His blue eyes smiled down at her. “I think you’ll like it.”
Like it? That was overstating the case.