She was being fanciful, but couldn’t help it. His deep voice with barely a trace of accent in English had agitated her nervous system. Even after twelve hours she could still feel it resonating. Though she’d never forget him, she needed to push thoughts of him to the back of her mind. Her flight home Sunday would be here before she knew it, which meant she needed to intensify her search.
Once she’d showered down the hall, and had slipped on a short-sleeved, belted white cotton dress, she left the pension armed with her detailed street map and notebook. She’d kept a log of every Donatello name so far. Her destination for the last Donatello she could find in the city of Rimini was Donatello’s Garage.
After following the directions she’d been given on the phone yesterday, she talked to the manager, who spoke passable English. He told her a man by another name now owned the shop. The original owner, Mr. Donatello, and his wife had both died of old age. They’d had no children who could inherit the garage.
This was the way it had been going since last Sunday, when she’d started working through the list of Donatellos in the Rimini phone directory. In most cases the people she’d talked to were willing to help her, even going to the trouble of finding someone to help them understand her English.
They were proud of their genealogy. Many of them told her she could come by their house. The others told her their information over the phone, but so far there were no leads on a woman with the middle or last name Donatello, in her late thirties or early forties, who’d been to New York twenty-six years ago. It was like looking for a needle in the proverbial haystack.
Resolving not to be dispirited, Belle thanked him and headed for the library near her pension, to do more research on the other nineteen cities and towns within Rimini Province. They were ten to twelve miles apart and had much smaller populations, so there wouldn’t be as many Donatellos to look up. That could be bad, if nothing was discovered about her birth mother.
En route to the library, Belle stopped at a trattoria for breakfast and filled up so she wouldn’t have to eat until dinnertime. She would be doing a lot more driving over the next few days. Before she left Rimini, she approached the woman in the research department, who spoke excellent English and knew she was looking for Donatello names.
“I have one more question, if you don’t mind. Could you tell me anything about the Malatesta Bank?” The striking Italian who’d shown up at the pension had refused to leave her mind.
“How much time do you have?”
That’s what Belle had thought. “Yesterday the manager of Donatello Diamonds directed me to the bank to get information, but I learned nothing. Why would he do that? I don’t understand the connection.”
“The House of Malatesta was an Italian family that ruled over Rimini from 1300 to 1500. There’s too much history since then to tell you in five minutes. But today a member of that old ruling family, Count Sullisto Malatesta, runs the Malatesta Bank, one of the two largest banks in Italy. They own many other businesses as well.
“Another, lesser ruling family of the past, the House of Donatello, made their fortune in diamonds, but over years of poor management it started to dwindle. Some say it would have eventually failed if Count Malatesta, then a widower, hadn’t merged with the House of Donatello.
“He saved it from ruin by marrying Princess Luciana Donatello, the heiress, whose father was purported to have died of natural causes.” The woman lowered her voice. “I say purported because some people insisted both he and his wife had been murdered, either by another faction of the Donatello family, or by the Malatesta family. Soon thereafter, the count made his power grab by marrying her, but nothing definite came of the investigation to prove or disprove the theories.”
Belle shuddered. The dark stranger from the bank had looked that dangerous to her.
“The Donatello deaths left a question mark and turned everything into a scandal that rocked the region and made the wedding into a nationwide event.”
“You’re a fount of knowledge, and I’m indebted to you,” Belle told her. “Now I’m off to the other towns in Rimini Province to look up more Donatellos. Thank you so much for your time.”
The woman smiled. “Good luck to you.”
Belle was glad to be leaving the city, to be leaving him. Before she left, she would pay her bill at the pension and turn in her rental car. In case the man from the bank made more inquiries about her, he’d be thrown off the scent. Leaving no trail, she’d take a taxi to another rental agency and procure a car for the rest of the week.
She left the library and walked out to the parking lot to get in her car. As she opened the door, she heard a deep familiar voice say, “Signorina Peterson?” Her heart jumped.
It was déjà vu as she looked around and discovered the man who’d been responsible for her restless night. This time he was dressed in a blue sport shirt that made him even more breathtaking, if that was possible. His eyes played over her with a thoroughness that was disarming.
“Why are you following me, signore?”
“Because I overheard your conversation with the librarian and am in a position to help you in your search if you’d allow me.”
“Why would you do that, when you won’t even tell me your name?”
“Because you’re a foreigner who has suffered two frights. The first from me, because I put you through an inquisition yesterday. The second from the librarian, who increased your nervousness just now when she answered your question.”
He’d been listening the whole time? That meant he’d followed her from the pension. Belle held on to the door handle for support. “What makes you think I’m nervous?”
“The pulse in your throat is throbbing unnaturally fast.”
Those silvery eyes didn’t miss a detail. “I imagine it always does that when I’m being stalked.”
“With your kind of beauty, I would imagine it’s an occupational hazard, especially at your workplace.” While she tried to catch her breath, he said, “I had you investigated.”
“I knew it,” she muttered.
He cocked his dark head. “Not in a way that anyone from your store could ever find out. I called headquarters in New York and explained our bank was doing the groundwork to sponsor an American cell phone company in Rimini, to see how it would play out.”
“That was a lie!”
“Not necessarily. American cell phone companies are one asset we’ve had an idea to acquire for some time. When I asked which store manager might be equal to the task, you were mentioned among the top five managers for your company on the East Coast.”
“What did you do? Talk to the CEO himself?” she demanded.
“Actually, I did.”
Good heavens. He was handsome as the devil and just as cunning.
“I find it even more compelling that you started with that company at age eighteen and six years later are still with them. That kind of loyalty is rare. I was told you’re going to be promoted to a regional manager in the next few months. Perhaps it might land you in Rimini.”
What?
