Italian Boss, Ruthless Revenge

‘What?’ Lazzaro snapped, then shook his head—because he didn’t want to hear it, didn’t need to hear, didn’t want to be in the same room as Roxanne for even a second. ‘Get out, Roxanne—you make me sick.’

‘Did you fund her lawyers, Lazzaro?’

‘Lawyers?’ Narrowed eyes watched his smudge of a frown appear. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You mean she didn’t tell you? Did sweet little Caitlyn forget to mention when she had her legs wrapped around you that, even though her mother had freeloaded off my grandfather for years, not satisfied with living there, because Helen Bell couldn’t afford to raise her bastard child herself, even after he died they refused to move out, that they’re refusing to give my mother her fair share?’

‘You’re full of it,’ Lazzaro sneered. ‘You couldn’t tell the truth on your deathbed.’ A thud of papers on his desk held his gaze for a second. Legal letters. He pointedly pushed them away, but he was rattled now—and she knew it.

‘Why would I lie?’ Roxanne stared at him, those blue eyes the same as Caitlyn’s, but utterly, utterly steady—not even a hint of a flicker as they pinned him—and at that moment Lazzaro truly didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. Whether it was Roxanne looking him in the eye and lying, or Caitlyn who couldn’t.

‘Knowing Caitlyn, you were probably her plan B.’

‘What do you want, Roxanne?’ He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘As if I didn’t already know.’

‘I want what my mother’s entitled to.’

‘If she’s so entitled the courts would have seen it that way.’

‘Unlike Caitlyn, I don’t have access to limitless funds to pay lawyers—unlike my cousin, I’m not screwing a Ranaldi!’ Her face twisted with bitterness. ‘You really think she’s all sweetness and light, don’t you? You’re so bloody quick to make out I’m the bitch here.’

‘That goes without saying.’

‘You know, she always said she’d get you in the end…’ Roxanne watched his jaw tighten, but he shook his head.

‘You’re a liar, Roxanne,’ Lazzaro hissed. ‘You’re just rotten to the core.’

‘I can still see her the day before Luca died, with that stupid photo of you she carried around, rattling on about how you’d given her a lift home and how she was already a shoe-in.’ Watching his face pale, watching as a muscle pounded in his cheek, Roxanne was sure that she had him. ‘Anyway I’m tired of playing with lawyers. Journalists are far more fun—they actually pay to listen—and I’m sure they’d be delighted to hear the full story about Luca!’

‘How much do you want?’ Pulling out his chequebook, somehow Lazzaro’s hands were steady—but his face was as white and as cold as marble.

‘My mother’s share.’ Roxanne spat out the figure, her blue eyes boring into his as he wrote not the sum she quoted, but two very choice little words. He watched her greedy hand snatch the cheque from his, watched her mouth twist in rage as she read his none too polite request for her to leave.

‘Talk to your journalist,’ Lazzaro jeered as she screwed it up and hurled it at him. ‘But, as you pointed out, I have limitless funds—and if you do talk I will spend whatever it takes to ensure you never see a single cent. I tell you now that I will devote the rest of my life to making yours hell. Never threaten me again, Roxanne, and never try to bribe me. I don’t deal with dirt!’

‘Oh, but you do, Lazzaro—and, just like your brother, you’re too foolish to realise!’ She turned at the door, excising her jealousy, her venom, her hatred, with every spiteful word. ‘The only difference between Caitlyn and me is that she chose more wisely. My cousin happened to hitch her star to the right wagon!’

Her smell lingered long after she’d left—a sickly-sweet perfume that seeped into his pores, the same sickly scent she’d had on that day…here, right here. Sinking into his seat, he closed his eyes, waited for the nausea to recede—only it didn’t.