It was nine p.m. and Santo was just settling in to his “massage therapy” appointment. His favorite masseuse, Brigitta, worked at the Stella d’Italia Verona but came to his office regularly to “work out the kinks.” Brigitta was in her twenties but looked about seventeen. Deep tissue massage was just the beginning of her skills.
Few people remained in the company offices at such a late hour. He’d kept Cristina late, as usual, but even she was about to head home for the night. Which is why it surprised him to hear her through the intercom.
“Signore, your brother is here to see you.”
For a moment Santo wondered which brother it was—until he realized he had only one brother left. A pity. “Tell him I am occupied.”
There was a moment of silence, then, “He says it’s very important. He—”
The intercom cut off and the door to Santo’s office swung open. Aldo stood in the doorway while Cristina sent Santo a beseeching look. “I tried to tell him, signore.”
Barging in was simply not Aldo’s style; it must be important. “Wait outside,” Santo said to the two women.
The masseuse gathered her clothing and squeezed past Aldo with a soft, “Excuse me.” Santo calmly sat up, hopped off the portable table and wrapped a towel around his waist.
Aldo pointed to the door. “Did your secretary do something to her hair? She looks quite different. Reminds me of someone.”
“I’m going to assume you didn’t interrupt me at this hour just to ask me that,” Santo said. “What is so important that it couldn’t wait until I returned to La Tana?” He walked over to his desk and reached into his humidor for a Cuban, clipping it nonchalantly. He offered one to his brother, knowing Aldo would decline because he’d never smoked a day in his life, and knowing it irked his brother that Santo invariably offered anyway.
“I’m happy to wait for you to get dressed,” Aldo said.
“I wouldn’t dream of wasting your time,” Santo rejoined. “Have a seat.”
Aldo sat ramrod straight in the chair, his hands clasped in apparent supplication. He was mild-mannered and gutless, always willing to go along with whatever Santo decreed, even though at two years older than Santo, he was the titular head of the family. Ciro, their father, had picked up on Aldo’s weakness immediately and exploited it whenever he got a chance.
“Here’s the little altar boy,” he’d say, or, “You came out two years too early. Santo should be your big brother, not the other way around.”
Looking at him now, Santo wondered which came first, his brother’s infatuation with Christ or his humiliation at allowing himself to be bullied by his own flesh and blood. Once, their father had blistered both of them verbally for some minor transgression. Santo had given it right back to the old man and gotten slapped for his efforts. Aldo had left the room and disappeared. Santo later found him in La Tana’s private chapel, mumbling a prayer: But the Lord has become my stronghold and my God the rock of my refuge. He will repay them for the iniquity and wipe them out for their wickedness.
Wickedness. Santo had always loved the sound of that word.
“I want to talk to you about the Alberghi Paradisi acquisition,” Aldo began, his voice surprisingly firm. “I have talked to Dante at length about it and he feels it is a bad investment for Stella d’Italia.”
Santo said nothing. He puffed thoughtfully on his cigar and gazed at Aldo. “This is what you pulled me off the table to say?”
“Therefore I choose not to vote for the purchase,” Aldo continued. He paused, apparently waiting for Santo to react. “Well?” he finally asked. “Have you nothing to say?”
Santo tapped his cigar and sat back in his chair. It was leather, beautifully upholstered, and made no sound as he rocked slightly back and forth. “You will vote your shares with mine,” he said, “as you have always done, because that is the way we do things.”
“Listen,” Aldo said, “I don’t think you understand—”
“No, my dear brother. It is you who doesn’t understand. Your son merely works for Stella d’Italia. He does not own it. He does not run it.”
“He will own it, at least part of it, when I give him my shares,” Aldo said. “I don’t want to resort to extreme measures, but if I have to, I will.”
Santo puffed indolently on his cigar. His movements were fluid and he took his time before responding. But when he did, he looked directly at Aldo, his eyes blazing with carefully banked rage. “Shall we talk of extreme measures, Aldo? How about this headline for L’Arena: ‘Bastard son of luxury hotel owner caught embezzling funds from company; admits mother was whore before becoming abbess of local convent school.’” He found pleasure in the stunned look on Aldo’s face.
“You would do something as vile as that?” Aldo choked out.
“Without blinking an eye,” Santo said. “Now listen carefully, for I am only going to say this once. I did not build Stella d’Italia into a five-star brand just to turn it over to a bastard nephew who just happens to be able to read a profit and loss statement.” He rose. “Now, I really must get back to my massage. You know the way out.”
Aldo rose, a look of pure hatred on his face—a look Santo had never seen on him before. “The only bastard in this company is the head of it,” Aldo spat.
“As you wish,” Santo said. “And brother, don’t cross me on this. I have asked Daniela to head the new division, but she is perfectly capable of taking over Dante’s position as well. And she is family.”
After Aldo left, Santo found himself contemplating Aldo’s prayer of so long ago. He will repay them for the iniquity. Payback came in all forms, didn’t it? Perhaps God had meted out his own divine justice by blessing Aldo with a strapping, intelligent son while Santo’s only issue had been a sick weakling with so many health problems he’d died before he even became a man. Suddenly his cigar tasted fetid and he stubbed it out angrily. Soon I will remedy that, he thought with cold determination, while thoughts of Dani swam in his head.
He pressed his intercom. “Cristina, tell Brigitta I am ready for her now.”
“You will love this Recioto. It goes extremely well with Gina’s torta,” Marco said, uncorking yet another bottle. Dani smiled, shaking her head even as she held out her glass for the sweet wine. The evening with the Clementes had turned out to be a total delight. The young detective and his wife accepted Dani and Gabe into their modest home as if they’d been friends forever—which of course, Gabe and Marco had been. But Marco’s wife had been equally warm and inviting, so much so that it took no time at all to feel completely at ease. Dani was surprised not only by how fluent Gabe was, but how her own Italian had finally started to kick in, even after a dozen years of speaking only English. From traditional antipasto through a grigliata mista—barbequed pork and chicken served with grilled vegetables and polenta—the wine and the laughter had flowed readily. After the first couple glasses, Dani hadn’t even minded when her hosts started talking so fast that she couldn’t always make out what they were saying.
Gina Clemente was blond, buxom, and beautiful. It was obvious by the way Marco found any opportunity to touch her that he adored her as well as the chubby eight-month-old, red-headed son they had created out of their love for each other. Earlier in the evening, Gabe had wasted no time in picking little Eduardo up, tossing him in the air, and then bussing him soundly on his belly when he caught him. Two or three times and little Eddie announced his approval with squeals of delight. Dani had wanted to call out “Be careful!” but was glad she didn’t, because it was immediately apparent that Gabe knew exactly what he was doing.
“Ah, Gabriele, you are as bad as Marco,” Gina admonished with a smile. “For that, you must calm him down when it is time for bed.”
Gabe held the baby up and looked him directly in the eye. “We have been challenged, my little man. And we will meet that challenge, no?” Eddie gurgled and grabbed Gabe’s nose in response. Gabe looked at Dani and grinned. “Uh oh,” he said.
Is there anything sexier than a gorgeous hunk of a man holding a baby? Dani gazed at Gabe while sipping from the wine glass that had been continually filled all evening. She held his eyes for an instant and an overwhelming sense came over her, that he was thinking the same thing she was. We can make one of those. We should make one of those. She shook her head. That was ridiculous. Preposterous. Except that a little thought made its way to the forefront of her mind: Is it? Is it really so impossible? She dared not think like that…should she?
A little while later, Gabe was indeed dispatched to put Eddie down for the night. Marco volunteered to show him the ropes and give him moral support. While they were gone, Gina wasted no time before extolling Gabe’s virtues.
“Marco has known Gabe all his life, and says he’s the salt of the earth,” she said. “Did you see how good he is with Eddie? It’s obvious he likes kids…and it’s obvious he’s head over heels for you.”
Out of habit, Dani attempted to set the record straight. “No, we’re just friends. Really.”
“Uh huh, right. So the way he stays close to you and is always seeing to your comfort and keeping your body close to his—that’s all just friendship, you say?”
“Well, he’s…affectionate,” Dani said.
Gina laughed and tilted her glass toward Dani in a mock toast. “Well here’s to friendship and affection then. May Marco always feel that way toward me! Come, I will get dessert, and you can tell me what you thought of tonight’s meal. Gabe says you are a master chef. Maybe you can give me some pointers.”
Once in the kitchen, Dani couldn’t help but set Gina straight, and the young woman let out a sigh of relief. “I could tell from the beginning you were a lovely person,” she said. “All I really worried about was whether or not you’d like my cooking. Thank you for clearing that up.”
“Well, you can see you have nothing to worry about on that score. Only, don’t tell Gabe, okay? I have never lied to him, but I’ve never exactly told him everything. And my chef and his wife seem to think it’s funny, so I have let them run with it. Now I’m kind of worried about what he’ll do when he finds out.”
“Finds out what? That you can’t boil water? Dani, the way that man looks at you, that is going to be the least of your problems.” As Gina spoke she sliced pieces of delicate, mouthwatering apple cake and put them on a tray along with a pot of espresso and four tiny cups. Dani followed her back to the living room where Gabe and Marco were in the midst of what seemed to be an intense conversation. As the women approached, the men stopped talking. Gabe casually folded a piece of paper that Marco had given him and put it in his jacket pocket. He then leaned back and patted the seat next to him.
“So, Dani, I hope you jotted down the recipes from dinner tonight. I bet the mixed grill will be a real winner back home.”
Back home. That sounded wonderful. Especially since the way Gabe said it implied he considered it his home, too. She was beginning to feel a flush throughout her body and she thought at first it was too much wine. But then she realized the truth: she wanted him. She almost laughed out loud at the sensation—one she never thought she’d experience in her lifetime. “Uh, yes, Gina was very helpful. She’s, um…she’s a good cook.”
“Good?” Marco said, putting his arm around his wife’s waist and giving her a smacking kiss. “She’s not just good. She’s incredible…in every way.”
“Ah Marco, cut Dani some slack. Remember, she’s in a league by herself when it comes to cooking.” He put his own arm around her and squeezed. “Right, Daniela?”
Dani looked at Gina, who raised her eyebrows and smiled. “I suppose I am,” she said.
The conversation turned to exclamations over the dessert, which turned out to be an old recipe handed down from Gina’s grandmother. Dani, who tried to limit her sweets to the occasional gelato, found herself sighing with pleasure as she closed her eyes and let the buttery, sugary apple confection melt in her mouth. When she finally refocused, she caught Gabe looking at her lips. He looked up and their eyes held.
“Did you ever do this in the States?” Marco asked.
It took Dani a few seconds to shift her thoughts from “doing something” with Gabe. “I’m sorry. Do what?”
“Little rinsers.” He had served espresso with sugar and was pouring a few drops of grappa into their nearly empty cups. “It’s a tradition here in Veneto.”
“Oh yeah, I used to indulge once in a while with my uncle and his friends,” Gabe said. “Sometimes the old traditions are the best.” He winked at Dani. “Bottoms up.”
The four friends spent another hour in good-hearted conversation. They talked about Verona, the town they’d all grown up in, and how it had changed over the past several years. Dani enjoyed the banter but eventually felt herself coming down from the rush of the caffeine and feeling the effects of so much alcohol. Snuggling up to Gabe, it was so tempting to put her head on his shoulder, close her eyes, and listen to the singsong cadence of her native tongue. Gabe didn’t seem to mind and it felt so wonderful…
“I think it’s time to get this party girl back to La Tana,” Gabe said, putting his hand lightly on her thigh to wake her up. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s let these good folks have their beauty sleep.”
It was past midnight when they made their farewells. Gina hugged Dani and whispered “Your secret’s safe with me,” and Dani hugged her back, not sure whether Gina meant the fact that Dani couldn’t cook, or her lust for Gabe. They made plans to get together again during Dani and Gabe’s stay.
“I’ll be in touch,” Gabe said to Marco and the two exchanged looks that Dani couldn’t decipher.
Dani didn’t mind it a bit when Gabe put his arm around her as they waited outside to hail a taxi. It was dark, yet she felt safe. So safe. And yet excited, too. An idea kept running across the stage of her brain: “Why not tonight? Why not tonight?” Dani’s mind wasn’t sure what it meant, but her body certainly did.
“Remind me to monitor your intake, sunshine,” Gabe muttered an hour later. They’d gotten back to La Tana and Fausta had grudgingly let them in. Dani was practically asleep on her feet. “Hey, you can always give us a key,” he’d joked, but his aunt hadn’t said a word.
Once in their suite, Dani had perked up enough that Gabe could point her in the direction of her bedroom. He reluctantly bid her good night. God she was beautiful. Perfectly proportioned and so graceful, although she didn’t put on airs at all. He’d spent the entire evening fighting the impulse to touch her everywhere, even in places that demanded privacy at the very least. He’d known instinctively she’d get along great with Marco and Gina, and she hadn’t disappointed him.
Man, she was killing him. He rubbed the back of his neck to rid himself of the knot he felt starting to form. Both tired and wired, he couldn’t tell which was more to blame, the booze or the stress of keeping his desire in check. He reached into the small refrigerator for a beer before realizing he was already half pickled, so he opted for water instead. Damn, he was thirsty. Drinking half the bottle before he’d even pulled his shirt out of his slacks, he sat down to focus on the investigation. Maybe that would keep his libido where it belonged. He pulled out the report that Marco had given him earlier that evening.
“I think we’re on to something,” Marco had told him quietly. “We found a match.”
He was just beginning to scan the document when the bedroom door opened and Dani appeared. Her hair was tousled and she walked a bit uncertainly, like she was slogging through mud in high heels, even though she was barefoot. She wore a short, ivory-colored cover-up of some kind and she looked nervous.
“I’m ready,” she said.
He looked at her quizzically. “Ready for what, bella?”
“For us…you know.” He didn’t have a chance to reply before she tottered up to him and threw her slender arms around his neck, locking her lips with his.
After his initial shock, Gabe took a moment to enjoy the feel of Dani’s curves against him. Despite all the alcohol he’d consumed, his body still reacted immediately, hardening in response to her softness. She felt so damn decadent—like falling into the most luxurious bed when you’ve been sleeping on the floor all your life. And oh, did she smell good, like some small, sweet flower. He smiled inwardly at her earnest attempt at seduction, and cursed his inner cop—the prig who wouldn’t let him take advantage of her while she was intoxicated.
Reluctantly he took her by the upper arms and peeled her away from his body. “Uh, sweetheart, I don’t think this is a good thing to be doing…”
“What?” she asked, her voice soft and earnest. “Don’t I measure up to your other women friends? Don’t I? Just a little?” She stepped back and before he could stop her, she dropped the cover-up, revealing a perfect—and perfectly naked—female form encased in a five-foot-two-inch frame. Her breasts were full, high, cream-colored mounds with luscious pink nipples. Her waist was small and her hips slightly flared. She was biting her full lower lip, practically screaming for his approval.
An image flashed before him of Dani pregnant. She was ripe and luscious—the epitome of Woman. Instead of cooling him off, the thought of her big with child—his child—only made him hotter, and made what he had to do all the more difficult. He looked at her a long time, so long that he could see uncertainty, followed by embarrassment, overtake her. He reached down and picked up the wrap, putting it around her shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I thought…” She turned to go, but Gabe took her shoulders and turned her back toward him.
“If you think for one second that I don’t want to bury myself in you right now, you are sadly mistaken,” he said roughly. He pulled her wrap off her shoulders once again, but only so that it imprisoned her arms, pressing her breasts together and lifting them. With his right hand he pushed the wrap beneath her breast, raising it even higher so that it spilled out of its cover and he could suckle it. Dani let out a gasp, automatically pressing herself against him. After a minute, Gabe realized he’d better stop before his body took over completely.
“When you and I make love, I am going to be all over you,” he rasped. “You are going to feel me everywhere and know when I’ve taken you higher than you’ve ever been before.” He tore himself away and covered her back up. “And the next morning, you’re going to remember everything I did to you and want me to do it all over again. Count on it. Now go to bed.”
“But—”
“Please,” he said firmly, turning her around and practically pushing her back into the bedroom. It took several minutes after her door shut for Gabe’s upper brain to start functioning again. “Keep your eye on the prize,” he repeated like a mantra. “Keep your eye on the prize.” The prize, in this case, was a Dani who felt no regrets about whatever physical gymnastics they might partake in together. He’d waited this long for the timing to be right; he could wait a little longer, even though it was damn near going to kill him.
A half hour later he’d sobered up enough to focus on transferring details from Marco’s report to his own little notebook. Turns out a name from the hotel reservations list, Tino Abruzzo, had matched fingerprints uncovered at the scene, but interviews with the boat owner apparently showed no nexus between Abruzzo and the racing syndicate.
He was sitting on the sofa, working by the light of a small table lamp, when the light went out, pitching him into darkness. The small refrigerator stopped humming. The air from the suite’s ventilations system stopped circulating.
There was no sound at all.
He opened the door to see if the sconces leading to their suite had been affected. All of them were out. It was completely black. “Must be a circuit,” he murmured, wondering if the old house still used fuses. He made his way back to the daybed to stretch out and wait for a staff member—Fausta, no doubt—to deal with it. Worst case, he figured he could get back to his notes in the morning.
He must have nodded off because the light from the lamp woke him. Just as he remembered where he was, he heard a sound from somewhere down the hall.
Someone was screaming.