The Passionate Italian 11 DECEMBER EPUB (7 page)

Giovanni’s mother rose from her seat slowly as if movement was difficult, her eyes focused solely on Rose. “Giovanni,” she still didn’t look at him. “What is this woman doing here?”

“Mother, my wife has kindly agreed to carry out the necessary security work. She has an international reputation in the field, as you are all no doubt aware.” He scanned the room observing who was nodding in agreement and who looked as uncomfortable as his mother. “Also, of course, she is a member of our family and so ideally placed to run the project.”

“And do you,
signora
, have anything to say about this?”

Her mother-in-law’s expression could have frozen a lesser person. But Rose knew her well and disliked her intensely. Not least for how she treated Giovanni.

Rose turned to the others. “Thank you for your welcome. It’s been a long time but I’m glad to be back and looking forward to working with you all.”

“Giovanni. We will discuss this.”

“Madre, we’ve already discussed this and agreed upon a course of action. Rose will take it from here.” He pushed his chair from the table and stood up. “Signora Rose Visconti will report directly to me for the duration of her contract and will provide a report to the Board upon completion.”

“And when will that be? How long will we have to put up with this slut amongst us again?”

Slut? That was a new insult. She’d called her many things during her time with Giovanni but she’d never suggested that she’d had lovers. There would have been no point. Rose and Giovanni were rarely apart—rarely alone maybe—but always together, except for those last months before she’d left.

The silence was even heavier than before. Rose was sure that the other executives would have loved to have dropped through the floor, escaped as best they could, so used were they to the Giovanni’s explosive temper. But they sat transfixed, like rabbits in a car’s headlights.

Rose didn’t dare look at Giovanni. But she could see his temper spark in the movement of his fingers, flicking straight and then curling tightly, trying to hold in the anger. What the hell was he going to say?
 

She saw him take a deep breath and then look to his team.

“The meeting has concluded. Signora Visconti will report her findings within six months.”

There was a quiet gasp of astonishment from the executives as they left the room as quickly as they could.

Rose knew that they weren’t surprised at the project, at her appointment or its report date. No, it was Giovanni’s reaction that had them flummoxed—and her.

“Rose,” he indicated that she should precede him.

She smiled tightly and walked on through to his office. She stood, arms folded, looking out the window, across the city to the vast plains beyond and waited for the door to close behind him.

“Thanks for telling me, Giovanni.”

“Thank you for taking it so well, Rose.”

“I am not taking it well. I’m furious.”

“Why? It is your specialty. Perhaps I had not told you all the details.”

“Yes, you’d omitted to tell me that you were pitching me up against your mother. God, Giovanni, she hates me enough already for taking her beloved son away from the family.”

“Not a beloved son, merely her most useful. I wouldn’t have thought my mother’s enmity would matter to you.”

“It doesn’t. But that’s not to say I like it.”

“Then why your anger?”

“Because, I…”

She sighed heavily and dragged the hair off her face as she paced the floor.

“Perhaps because you really did not expect there to be business to be done. Perhaps you thought I was using business as a pretext to lure you back to Milan, back to my bed. Is that why you’re angry? Because you thought it was personal and it’s not?”

Why indeed? He’d plainly told her that the only reason that he’d sought her out was for business. But he’d made her believe it was personal. And it wasn’t.

“I would have been a fool to believe it was personal.”

“And you are no fool. That is why I need you.”
 

She closed her eyes briefly as a defense against his words, against the meaning that he so obviously wasn’t expressing, and that she wished he was.

“You could buy anyone.”

“Who better than you? You have the creativity, the IT skills, you are a member of the family. But, most of all, it is your lack of trust in everyone and everything that is required here.”

His words hit home as she was sure they were meant to; all the more for their veracity.
 

She turned slowly to face him. “I trust where it’s earned. I just haven’t found anyone who’s earned it yet.”

“For your sake, I hope that one day you do.” He looked down suddenly and flicked through some papers before pushing them across the desk to her. “Here, you’ve some reading to do.”

“You and I need to talk some more first. There are things you aren’t telling me and I doubt that I’ll get from any document. What’s behind all this security work?”

“You need no further information. Prior knowledge may influence your work. Just do a thorough job.”

“Don’t I always?”

“You are thorough in everything, cara. Even, in covering your tracks.”

“But you still found me.”

“Because I have power and you do not.”

“Not over me you don’t.”

“Wrong. For the moment I do. Complete you work and then you can go.”

“It will only take me a few months.”

“Then you will be able to leave earlier than the six months. I’ll amend the contract. Just do the work, Rose. Comb the records for inconsistencies, set the traps and find any culprits. With proof. That is all. I will see you later at dinner.”

“Dismissed, am I? Is that how you dismiss your wife?”

“No. That is how I dismiss an employee.”

“I am not your employee in the strictest sense of the word.”

“In whatever sense you care to name you appear to be irritated that, as far as I am concerned, our relationship is strictly business.”

“And you, signore, are too conceited to believe that I am perfectly happy with a business arrangement.”

She scooped up the papers and walked out the door, trying hard not to notice the fact that he was smiling.

He sat there for some time watching the door through which she’d just exited, amused by her ability to deceive herself.
 

He rarely lied. But, in this instance, it was required if he was to get Rose back where she belonged—with him, permanently.

He needed a job doing. He needed to find evidence of Alberto’s pilfering. And he needed it done well and with discretion. But he needed something more.

He needed to show her that he’d changed. He wanted to show her that he would never again allow his jealous, possessive nature to run out of control. He wanted her to see that he could let her leave his office without his hands tracing the soft blush of anger on her cheek, without his lips persuading her lips to release the tight anger he could see there and to swell into soft submission.
 

It seemed Alberto had been correct.

That night, two years ago, when Rose had failed to turn up to meet him when he’d returned to Milan, he’d found only Alberto and a story that he’d had no choice but to believe.

Alberto had described how Rose had come to him complaining of the way Giovanni stifled her, of how she needed someone who could think like her, who could love like her—a cool, northern love that was subtle, refined. A love that she thought she could find in the blonde Alberto. According to Alberto, he’d repulsed her advances and she’d left.
 

Giovanni’s pain had overtaken his sense at the time.
 

Devastated, he’d not questioned Alberto, knowing in his heart that the accusations were true: he
was
demanding, he
was
emotional, he
was
possessive. And Rose hadn’t been able to take it any more. In the last few months before she’d left, she’d become evasive in their phone calls, not answering him directly. She’d avoided meeting up with him during their enforced separation. He’d been suspicious, wondering what it was she was covering up. It had all seemed to fit with Alberto’s story. She’d wanted Alberto; she’d been rejected and she’d left, unable to face Giovanni any longer.

He didn’t doubt that someone could want and love Alberto more than they loved him. It had always been that way with his parents. Rose had fallen for Alberto, just as he’d always feared.

But it wasn’t just Alberto’s testimony, some of his own staff had back up Alberto’s story.

Damning, convincing and devastating. Until that night only a few weeks ago when he’d met up, by chance, an old friend of Rose’s who asked after her child.

Whose child was it? His? Alberto’s?

That Alberto had been lying about spurning her advances, he was sure. No-one could refuse his Rose anything. Least of all his brother who had no morality whatsoever.

Could she have been pregnant with Alberto’s child and lost it? Is that why she’d left him? Too ashamed to return, rejected by Alberto when he’d learned of the child, and likely to be spurned by the jealous Giovanni?

After he’d spent the evening with Rose’s friend, trying to glean as much information as possible, Giovanni had walked home in the hot summer night, oblivious to everything except the fact that Rose could have been in pain, needing him and he hadn’t been there for her.

The thought hadn’t left him over the following week. Making love, drinking heavily, work—nothing could expunge it. All he could think of was Rose: vulnerable beneath that unemotional façade, hidden from herself as much as from the world, alone.
 

It had taken only days to find her and even less time to organize the finer details. All he needed now was for her to tell him the truth but for that he needed to earn her trust. He needed to show her that he could control his jealous, passionate nature for her sake. Words wouldn’t do it this time.

He rubbed his eyes. He was tired; he was impatient but there was too much at stake to rush her. To earn her trust she needed time and space. He could afford to give her a little of both.

CHAPTER FIVE

After Giovanni had briefed Rose’s team, there was an exchange of baffled looks at Rose’s sudden reappearance. The status of Giovanni’s and Rose’s relationship remained unexplained and Rose certainly wasn’t going to enlighten them—not when she didn’t have a clue herself.

She spent the afternoon with her team in meetings discussing the new security systems she’d devised and how they’d be implemented. They’d be working closely together but she’d do the one-off investigation, have overall control and only she would know the identity of anyone found implicated in illegal transactions. Giovanni had insisted.

The rest of the day past in a whirl of meetings, culminating with a presentation to Giovanni of their plans. Giovanni listened to Rose’s presentation with an uncharacteristic, inscrutable expression. He didn’t say a word as she described the details of the overall aim and functionality of the project down to the creative strategies. Luckily, her professionalism was faultless, despite Giovanni’s unnerving attitude, and he appeared satisfied. With a flick of his hand they were all dismissed, including her.

She pulled together her papers and smiled at her team, trying hard to keep the hurt at bay.

It wasn’t until early evening that she closed down the laptop and called it a day. She stretched, yawning. Jet lag was catching up with her.

The office was deserted and she headed for the elevator.

As she exited the building, a car pulled up alongside. Simon, Giovanni’s assistant jumped out.
 

“Signora?” He held the door open.

“No thanks, Simon. I need some air.” She smiled and continued to walk on.

But he merely slammed the car door shut and fell into step with her as the car crawled beside them.

“Signore Visconti would like a few words.”

She stopped walking abruptly. “Would he now?”

Simon smiled and nodded diplomatically. He never elaborated, always said the minimum. Rose knew from old that there would be no information forthcoming from Simon about his boss. He was both devoted and discrete.

She bent down and peered inside the shaded interior before turning back to Simon. “I take it Signore Giovanni is too busy to ask me himself.”

“Signore Visconti is working.”

Simon opened the door and Rose got into the car next to Giovanni who was talking on his phone.

He barely acknowledged her as they drove off, stopping and starting through the rush-hour traffic.

She looked out the window and listened to the stream of Italian and the deep timbre of his voice. Her stomach clenched with desire.

He flicked the phone shut suddenly—without any niceties, abrupt and final.

“You really should learn how to say goodbye nicely, Giovanni. It’s only polite.”

He angled his body to hers and hooked one arm across the back seat, grazing her hair with his hand.

“And you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

She looked at him sharply. “That was different.”

“Ah yes, it’s always different, always a special case when it comes to yourself, isn’t it?”

“It certainly appears to be. I don’t know many people whose husbands rob them of their company and money and force them to return to them against their will, despite the fact they have no future together.

“Their men must be weak.”

“Their men are normal.”

He laughed, harsh and short.
 

“If you’d wanted normal you should have stayed in London amongst your own people.” He lifted his hands and pulled back a shaft of hair that fell over her shoulder. “But you didn’t, did you? You wanted more.”

“You’re wrong. I want what every woman wants.”

“And that is?”

She grimaced. She wasn’t going to admit what she wanted to him. What was the point?

“You don’t need to tell me,” he continued. “You want a man of passion when it suits you—in the bedroom—and a man without the inconvenience of passion outside the bedroom.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Ah, but the catch is that you cannot have both. Which do you want most, I wonder?”