Whisked Away by the Italian Tycoon

CHAPTER ONE

LUCA PETROVELLI SNAPPED his cufflink on. The simple design—a house that encompassed a cocoa bean—touched him with a familiar sense of pride. The logo represented his business—Palazzo di Cioccolato, an upmarket, growing chocolatier that Luca would one day take global.

Yet that ambition had been diluted, impacted by the death of his father. The man who had deserted him when Luca was only five years old. James Casseveti had left his pregnant wife and five-year-old son to marry another woman. An English aristocrat, with wealth and connections. His father had never looked back, had used the riches and contacts to set up his own company—Dolci, a dessert company that was a global success.

And as the young Luca had watched this success unfold, seen the glittering heights his father had reached, he’d made a vow. His success would surpass his father’s and one day he would find James Casseveti and demonstrate that superiority. He’d been so close, planned to launch a new product and open a flagship London store, had envisaged hand-delivering the invitation to the glittering opening party. Tried to picture his father’s face. The expression of surprise, shock, regret, pride... No! Luca didn’t want his father to feel proud—he had no right.

In any case, now that would never happen. Because eight months ago James Casseveti had died, robbed him of that opportunity. Taken away Luca’s chance for...revenge, justice, to ask the questions that had burned his childhood soul.

How could you leave me?

Why won’t you see me?

What did I do wrong?

His own pride clicked in as he snapped the second cufflink. Of course, he would not have asked those questions, the idea of his father believing he gave a damn horrific. In any case he knew the answers, at some point he’d figured it out. There must have been something intrinsically wrong with Luca—after all, what parent left a child they truly loved, and then never came back, never so much as called or wrote or sent a postcard? He knew what his mother would say, had said, in fact—that it was nothing to do with Luca, that it was James Casseveti who was wrong. He could picture the fierce look on Therese Petrovelli’s face as she said the words and Luca tried to believe her, told himself she was right, but deep down there was the sear of absolute certainty that the blame was his. A knowledge he’d worked to bury. To counter by a determination to show his father that he’d been wrong, that Luca had survived and thrived without him.

But now that couldn’t happen and since James’ death Luca had found himself in a state he did not recognise. Emotions strove to surface and he wanted none of them; he’d spent his life controlling his emotions, had long ago decided not to give his father the satisfaction of his feeling grief or anger or pain. So he’d subdued those emotions, then honed and focused them into a burning ambition and a desire for revenge.

A desire that had been thwarted and his conflict heightened by the irony of ironies that in death James had done what he hadn’t done in life. Reached out to his first family. He’d left Luca and his sister, Jodi, a third share each in Dolci. With the remaining share going to his daughter from his second marriage, Ava Casseveti. A half-sister Luca had never even met, though he had followed her charmed, glittering life in the gossip columns—the life of an heiress-cum-supermodel-cum-businesswoman.

Then a month ago Ava had turned up unannounced to his business headquarters and forced a meeting. And to his surprise and chagrin there had been an instant sense of connection. Plus an admiration that she had gone against all advice and reached out to ‘the enemy’. But despite the positivity of the experience Luca retained his natural wariness—instinct told him Ava was on the level, but experience told him to never show blind trust. Ava was James Casseveti’s daughter, after all.

Yet here he was in a plush London hotel room, about to attend Ava’s engagement party to celebrate her impending marriage to Liam Rourke. When he’d accepted the invitation he’d told himself it was a business decision. Dolci was floundering with the death of its founder and the uncertainty caused by the will. A show of unity would help calm the wate

rs, and whilst a part of him didn’t care if Dolci went under, he did care that it would take the livelihoods of many if it did.

But there was another reason he was here: a curiosity about this half-sister of his. For years he’d watched her grace the celebrity pages as an heiress, an aristocrat, and a model, the girl who had replaced him so comprehensively in his father’s affections. The child James hadn’t deserted. Hadn’t left behind to face poverty, to endure the schoolyard bullies who had delighted in taunting the child whose father had ‘desserted’ him. Even now his fists clenched as he remembered the acrid taste of fear, the writhing sense of self-loathing because he was too weak to fight back. Along with the knowledge that the bullies were right—his father had abandoned him.

The father Luca had adored, looked up to...loved and never seen again. Yet Ava had had James in her life for twenty-seven years; for all her life she’d been loved and wanted. Innate justice told him it wasn’t her fault and yet he couldn’t help but wonder what did Ava possess that he didn’t?

As if on cue there was a knock on the hotel-room door. ‘Come in,’ he called, even as he knew who it would be.

The door pushed open and—no surprise—Ava walked in, her amber eyes friendly but guarded. No doubt she was here to ensure he really would come downstairs, to attend the party due to start shortly.

Since their one meeting they had communicated by email and in that time Luca had worked hard to diminish any sense of kinship. After all, they might share a father but that did not make them family in a real sense. Luca’s family was his mother and his sister and for them he would do anything. Ava was family in name only, by genetic mischance.

‘Hey.’ They said the word at the same time, and both smiled with the same degree of awkwardness.

Ava stepped forward and again there was the twinge of recognition, a familiarity that made little sense. ‘I thought I’d check you were...’

‘Here?’ he asked, the quip half in earnest. ‘I told you I would attend—I do not break my word.’

‘Actually, I was going to say OK. I came to see if you were OK. I know you don’t particularly want to be here. So I wanted to thank you because it is my engagement party and I want my brother to be here.’ Her gaze met his with more than a hint of challenge and against his will he found himself admiring her stance. He knew it took guts to admit that, knew too that she felt deep regret for her father’s actions and he wished he knew what to say.

Ava must have sensed his turmoil—not hard as a quick glance at his reflection showed a terrifying scowl etched his face. One he attempted to replace with a rictus of a smile and, perhaps emboldened by this, Ava inhaled deeply and continued. ‘I wish Jodi could be here too. Have you heard from her?’

‘No.’ His voice was clipped as the ever-present worry resurfaced. After James’ death Jodi had thrown in her job and gone travelling. At first she had stayed in touch, kept him apprised of her travels through Thailand and India. Had been excited to visit the Indian island of Jalpura, home to the cocoa farm that Palazzo di Cioccolato had recently signed up to provide beans for a new product. Whilst there she’d got involved with the Royal Film Festival held on the same island. But her communications had changed, become briefer and at longer intervals. She’d sounded different. Then two months ago she’d said she needed some space and she’d be in touch soon. Whatever that meant. Had made him promise not to try and find her, do anything ‘dramatic’ or go into ‘overprotective overdrive’.

Ava moved a little closer. ‘I know you’re worried, but Jodi has told you she is OK. Given everything, it’s understandable she wants space.’

‘Yes.’ But Luca knew that wasn’t true. Because he knew his sister and this was not like her. To shut him out. Something was going on—he knew it, suspected Jodi was in trouble. But this was nothing to do with Ava. Jodi’s feelings about their half-sister were even more ambiguous than his own and so he only told Ava the minimum, just enough to explain why he couldn’t make any decisions about what to do about his share in Dolci.

Nodding, he forced a smile to his face. ‘I am sure you are right.’ Then, wanting to change the subject, ‘Thank you for your email with the guest list.’ Ava had sent him the list along with details about ‘friendly faces’. Something he appreciated but didn’t need. Luca had no qualms about his ability to navigate a social gathering, even if it would contain people who didn’t like him. People who resented the fact he and Jodi now controlled Dolci. And as he looked at Ava he realised that this woman, the one who had the most right to resent them, didn’t. Was actually concerned about his welfare. Almost against his will the knowledge touched him.

‘No problem. I thought it would help.’

Luca smiled. ‘It will. Do not worry about me, Ava. Enjoy your party, be happy.’

‘I am happy.’ Now her smile was radiant. ‘Truly happy.’

‘I’m glad.’ And part of him was, though it went against the grain to wish happiness upon this half-sister he did not know how to feel about. If only he could simply decide to hate her, to transfer his anger at his father to this woman. But he couldn’t, knew it was not Ava who had done wrong. ‘I will see you later. At the party.’

* * *

Emily Khatri looked round the glitter of the ballroom, the theme of love clear in the setting. Candles, white flowers intertwined with red, the pop of champagne corks and the background strains of the orchestra. And for a second a tiny taste of bitterness invaded her. Because for a brief period she had believed in love and romance and happy ever after, allowed herself to be deluded, conned into a belief in fairy tales.

Well, no more. Her marriage had been a disaster of epic proportions and had ended in betrayal and misery. Remembered grief over her miscarriage twisted inside her, the grief made even worse by its lateness, at a time when she had believed her baby to be safe, had felt him kick inside her. On instinct she placed a hand over her now flat belly, remembered the swell of pregnancy, and she closed her eyes to ward away the pain as a stab of sadness hit her heart.

A sadness she had borne alongside the sheer humiliation of the discovery during her pregnancy that her husband had been having an affair.

Enough. The all too familiar haunt of guilt threatened. If she and Howard hadn’t had a row over his infidelity would she still have lost the baby? Had the miscarriage been caused by the emotional fallout? Been caused by any action of hers? Not now. Those questions had hammered at her incessantly. She had spent months in an abyss of misery and despair, one she had slowly and excruciatingly pulled herself out of. This was a happy occasion and she would embrace it. For Ava’s sake if not her own, she could and would still be happy for her best friend. Ava literally glowed and there was no way Emily would rain on her parade.

Plus it was time to get her life back together, to try and barricade against the might-have-beens, the gut-wrenching knowledge that right now she should be holding her baby in her arms. That was not to be; all she could now do was throw herself back into work.

Though that was proving easier said than done; so far all her efforts had been to no avail and now anxiety threw itself into the emotional churn. Because it seemed as though her marriage to and divorce from Howard had alienated a whole load of people. Howard’s pernicious influence made itself felt as people she had believed to be friends avoided her calls and emails. Perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised that people had taken Howard’s part so readily. Howard, of globally renowned fame, winner of numerous awards and accolades for his hard-hitting photography from all over the world. Howard, presenter of wildly successful documentaries, Howard in talk with Hollywood producers... As such her ex wielded a whole heap of influence, had a network of friends in high places ready to believe him or make excuses for him. And in the aftermath of the miscarriage Emily hadn’t cared about anything, had left the field to Howard, who had spun rumours and lies and somehow made himself out to be the hero of the hour, a persecuted husband who had do

ne his best. After that sheer pride had prevented her from even attempting to tell her side of the story; she would not use her miscarriage to garner sympathy.

The only silver lining was that they had never announced her pregnancy—Howard had decreed it to be a private thing. Hadn’t wanted it to distract from his imminent book launch, or so he’d said. When there had been speculation in the press he had denied it, without so much as consulting her. Turned out it was because he didn’t want the other woman he was sleeping with to find out; he’d been lying to her as well.