A Shadow of Guilt

Gio had gone to his father. He’d been sixteen years old and hadn’t stuttered in a couple of years but in front of his father he could feel his vocal chords closing up the way they always had, but he’d swallowed hard and concentrated. ‘Father, give me a week—if I can’t break him by then you can do what you want.’

His father had been drunk and had taunted Gio cruelly, ‘Are you s-s-s-s-sure, G-G-G-Gio?’

His father couldn’t resist the chance to goad him. Gio wanted to punch him in the face but held his fists by his side. How many times had Mario counselled him that it wasn’t worth it to show emotion to his old man? As soon as he could he’d be gone from his family palazzo to set up his own business. Somewhere far, far away.

His opportunity to do just that had come much sooner than he’d thought. Gio had confounded everyone by taming the horse within a week and his father had said grudgingly, ‘You can have him then, seeing as how you put so much work into him—perhaps you’re not a complete loss to the Corretti name after all.’

Gio had seized his opportunity. He’d never excelled at school anyway, so he’d left his house that night and with the help of Mario had taken his horse to a stables nearby. In the following weeks Gio had searched for and found work at another stables near Syracuse, and had made a deal with the owner so that he could work for food and board while stabling his horse there for free. He’d trained his horse in his free time, honing him into a champion.

His boss had seen something in Gio and the horse—when he’d been transporting his own horses to race in England, Ireland and France, he’d offered to include Gio’s horse, Misfit. Gio had never looked back after that. Misfit had become a champion racer almost overnight and Gio had paid back his mentor and boss many times over.

He’d been winning millions at the biggest racetracks in Europe by the time he was nineteen, making a name for himself as a prodigiously natural trainer and then breeder.

Misfit had been retired for a long time now, but with his stellar track record, horse breeders from as far away as the Middle East and Ireland sent their mares to Sicily to be covered by the renowned stallion for astr

onomical fees. He’d already sired at least another dozen champions.

Gio ran a cursory but expert eye over his horse now and, satisfied that he was in good condition and comfortable, gave him a last affectionate pat on the neck. As he was walking back out of the stables all he could think about though was how the hell he was going to get through the foreseeable future with Valentina Ferranti around every corner….

By the end of the first week Valentina could hardly see straight she was so tired. She was driving almost two hours each way every day in her clapped-out car and after calling in to see her father in hospital it was usually after midnight before she got to bed, before getting up again at 5:00 a.m.

Her father’s condition was not good. He was on a waiting list for a major heart operation but it could take months for him to be next in line. The very real fear that he could have another heart attack, and this time a worse one before the operation, was constantly on Valentina’s mind. Not to mention her mother, who was beside herself with worry.

She was in the act of turning with a plate of pastries in her hands when the door to the kitchen opened, startling her. When Valentina saw who it was, the plate slipped out of her fingers, smashing all over the floor.

Even the sound couldn’t really jar her out of her exhaustion as she bent to start picking up the pieces.

‘Wait, let me do that.’

Valentina stood reluctantly and watched as Gio bent down at her feet and started picking up the biggest pieces. One of the evening cleaners came in then and Gio instructed him to clean up the mess. He took Valentina by the arm and led her out, protesting, ‘I should clean it up—it’s my mess.’

‘Leave it,’ growled Gio before letting her arm go and turning to face her outside the kitchen door. Nearly everyone else had already left for the evening.

Gio looked at his watch and asked, ‘What on earth are you doing here at 8:30 p.m.?’

Valentina flushed, far too aware of Gio’s earthy smell—musky and masculine. He must have been working with the horses. He seemed very tall and imposing right then, his broad shoulders blocking everything out behind him, making a curious ache form in Valentina’s belly. She hadn’t seen him much during the week and she only realised now as some tension ebbed away that she’d been unconsciously waiting for him. It made her angry and she glared up at him, hands on hips. ‘I’m working late because it’s the only quiet time in the kitchen when I can experiment with new recipes.’

‘Working late isn’t a problem, as long as you start work late, but you’ve been in every morning this week at 7:00 a.m., well before most other people.’

‘How do you know?’ Valentina asked suspiciously.

‘Because it’s my business to know these things.’

Valentina bit her lip when she could feel a retort springing up. She remembered the last time and how her cruel words had rang in her head for days afterwards.

‘Fine,’ she said grudgingly, ‘I won’t work so late from now on.’

Gio sounded grim. ‘You look exhausted, and I don’t believe you.’

Valentina looked up at him and was actually too tired at that moment to argue. All she could do was wearily pull her apron over her head and say, ‘Well, then you won’t stop me going home.’

Gio took her arm and all but frog-marched her out to where his jeep was waiting. ‘I’m driving you—you’re a liability.’

Valentina started to protest but he all but lifted her into the passenger seat and secured the seat belt around her. Her mouth was open to say something but when the hard muscles of his arm brushed her breast she shut it abruptly, heat flashing up through her body.

As grim-faced as Gio, Valentina crossed her arms and once they were on the main road to Palermo she managed to get out a strangled, ‘How am I supposed to get to work in the morning or are you providing a personal chauffeur service to your staff now?’

Gio sent her a quelling look. ‘It’s Saturday tomorrow so you shouldn’t be working anyway, but I’ll have someone drop your car home for you.’