Surrendering to the Vengeful Italian

She bit the lining of her cheek. Distrust was written all over his face. In the hard, narrowed eyes, the implacable jaw. The contemptuous twist of his mouth.

She looked him in the eye and spoke with a quiet dignity that camouflaged the turmoil inside her. ‘I lied to you once, Leo. I don’t deny it and I’m not proud of it. I made up a weak, hurtful excuse to end our relationship because that was what my father wanted. Demanded.’

She passed a hand over her eyes, the strain of recent days coupled with sleepless nights taking its toll.

‘My greatest mistake was believing that if I obeyed him, did what he wanted, that would be the end of it. Why he went after you I’ll never know. Maybe he was punishing me. Maybe he did it simply because he could. Whatever his reasons, I can assure you this—I did not tell him anything about you or your project. Wherever he got his information, it wasn’t from me.’ She exhaled on a heavy sigh, the last of her energy rapidly waning. ‘Is it really so hard for you to believe me now?’

His gaze held hers, no softening visible in those midnight depths. ‘After the stunt you just pulled, what do you think?’

She backed up a step, the ice in her belly trickling into her veins. Astonishing that a man could nurse his anger, his resentment, his need for retribution for so many years. Pride, rage, distrust—whatever the emotions that drove him, they were too strong, too ingrained for her to fight against and win.

&n

bsp; She collected her purse, turned to face him one last time. ‘You really want to know what I think? I think you’re right. This is insane, and I’m sorry I suggested it. Manipulation might be my father’s forte, maybe even yours, but it’s not mine.’ She walked to the door and glanced back, her smile brittle. ‘Good luck with taking my father down a peg or two.’ She inclined her head. ‘I believe he might have met his match.’

She opened the door and paused a moment, half expecting a presence to loom at her back, a hand to fall on her shoulder. But she heard no footfalls, no rustle of movement behind her. She stepped out, closed the door and rode the elevator down to the foyer.

Minutes later, striding through the brisk evening air to the nearest tube station, she angrily dashed the tears from her eyes.

She would not let them fall.

Leo didn’t deserve her anguish.

Not seven years ago, and not now.

* * *

Leo stopped pacing just long enough to glare at the whisky bottle and dismiss the notion of refilling his glass.

Getting tanked so he could obliterate this evening from his memory held a certain appeal, but he’d cleaned up his father’s drunken messes too often as a kid to condone such mindless excess. Not to mention he’d have one hell of a hangover. Besides, his pilot had scheduled an early-morning return to Rome, and a flight-change was out of the question. If he turned up to Marietta’s first ever art exhibition a dishevelled, ill-tempered wreck he’d spend days, if not weeks, earning his little sister’s forgiveness.

He flung his restless frame into a chair, his muscles stiff after the effort of holding his body in check. Of stopping himself from charging after Helena like some raging Neanderthal and forcing her to press those sultry curves against him one more time.

Scowling at the flash of heat in his groin, he got up to pace again. He was too wired to sit, his head too full of questions clamouring for answers. Answers he needed if he were to make any sense of Helena’s actions. The idea that she’d come to him without her father’s knowledge, that she and Shaw were estranged and had been for years, that she’d abandoned her studies, now lived alone in the city, worked nine-to-five as a secretary in a bank...

He shook his head as if he could clear the overload from his brain.

Truths, half-truths, or carefully constructed lies?

Whatever the answer, there were more layers to this situation than met the eye. And if his years of dealing with wily competitors and cut-throat corporates had hammered home any lessons, they were never to accept anything at face value, never to underestimate your opponent, and never to assume he’d go down without a fight.

Turning on his heel, he retrieved his tux jacket and pulled out his mobile. He placed a call and his friend Nicolas answered within two rings. Leo skipped the pleasantries—Nico didn’t do small talk—and launched into his request.

‘I need this ASAP,’ he finished.

A short silence came down the line, then Nico’s deep voice. ‘No problem, mon ami. I will have something for you in forty-eight hours.’

Gratitude surged, even though Leo had known his friend would do him this favour, no questions asked. Nicolas César ran a global security firm with an investigative arm reputed for its reach and discretion. He was a man with the resources to uncover the secrets of the world’s most powerful and influential people. Confirming a few basic facts about an Englishwoman would amount to little more than child’s play.

Leo tossed aside his phone, stripped off his clothes and headed for the en suite bathroom. He turned on the shower and let the steaming jets of water ease the tension from his muscles.

If Nico delivered with his trademark efficiency Leo would soon know if there was any truth to Helena’s claims. And whatever his friend’s probing unearthed, whatever truths—or lies—were revealed, she would soon discover this was far from over.

Whether she had planned to or not she’d started something tonight, and Leo intended to finish it.

The next time Helena Shaw walked out of his life it would be on his terms.

* * *