Italian Boss, Ruthless Revenge

‘Get off?’ Lazzaro frowned. Even if his English was excellent, sometimes he missed a point—but not this time, because Caitlyn wouldn’t let him.

‘I could put it far less politely—but I think you know what I mean. So, what did your family say?’

‘A lot. My mother was hysterical—she hit me…’ His voice was void of emotion now—detached, even. ‘She actually tore some of the stitches I had just had…Antonia vomited, told me she would hate me for ever, would hate Roxanne too—I told them it wasn’t her fault…’ He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘There are a lot of people who will hate me for ever…hell isn’t going to be lonely.’

‘I don’t hate you, Lazzaro.’ She looked at him for just an atom of time, saw the dart in his eyes, the tiny flicker of relief on his tired face. ‘Maybe I did at the time, or maybe I just said it to hurt you, but I don’t actually hate you now.’

‘Thank you.’

Which led to another tear—but only one. What she had to say, what she had to hear, was just too important to lose to emotion. ‘That’s why you and Roxanne didn’t carry on seeing each other afterwards?’ Caitlyn continued, watching him, watching every flicker of his reaction. ‘Just too much guilt?’

‘Of course.’

‘Of course,’ Caitlyn repeated in a clipped voice, watching again as he frowned at her response. ‘I don’t believe you, Lazzaro.’

‘What are you talking about?’

And for the first time since she’d sat down she did manage to look him in the eye and hold it—was able to stare into those dark liquid pools. Because, unlike Lazzaro, she had nothing more to hide now—nothing she couldn’t or wouldn’t reveal. Hell, she’d already told him she loved him, and had accepted his rejection. Funny, though, that through it all, dignity prevailed—that she, Caitlyn Bell, was actually incredibly strong.

‘You’re lying.’

‘Lying!’ His mouth opened incredulously. ‘I’ve been more honest with you than I’ve ever been. I’ve told you, told you what happened, and you have the gall to sit there and tell me—’

‘That you’re lying!’ Caitlyn finished for him, shouting the words almost, not caring who was watching, who was listening.

‘I spoke to Roxanne.’ She hurled the words at him. ‘I went to the woman I hate more than anyone in the world and I asked her what happened that day.’

‘What did she tell you?’

‘The same as you.’

She watched his frown, saw the confusion in his tired eyes.

‘Roxanne’s a liar—we both know that,’ Caitlyn spat, furious not with him, but for him. No, she conceded, her mind racing at a million miles an hour, furious with him too—for the agony, for the self-infliction of such pain, such guilt. ‘And you’re a bloody liar, Lazzaro, and you’re still making excuses for Luca, still cleaning up the mess he made.’

She stood up, hardly able to believe what she was doing—that she was walking out, walking out when perhaps he needed her the most, that she was furious when perhaps he needed calm. But she couldn’t help it—couldn’t contain what she was feeling within the parameters that might better fit.

‘After everything that’s happened, after all I’ve been through—with you, for you—you can sit there and look me in the eye and bloody well lie to me. If, after all that, you can still hold back the most essential piece of yourself, then—you know what? I don’t actually want the rest.’

‘Caitlyn!’

His voice barked at her to come back, ordered her to turn around and not walk out. But she did walk out, and she did what you’re not supposed to—Caitlyn looked back, just once, and she was actually glad that she had. She saw him sitting there, set in stone, frozen, immutable, and by choice completely alone, by choice refusing to get angry, refusing to see his brother for what he was, refusing to grab at life and move on. It was all the impetus she needed to walk faster—to shake her head in contempt and get the hell out of there. She was walking so fast she was almost running. She could hear the frantic clipping of her shoes on the polished marble as she dashed through the foyer crying, not in pain but in anger, and she heard him run behind her, tempted, so tempted, to slap him as he grabbed her wrist and spun her around.