A Marriage Made in Italy. Rebecca Winters

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to keep her wits. “Just so you know, I have no interest in moving overseas. So now that you’ve learned I’m not one of the paparazzi, I’d like your word that you’ll leave me alone, whoever you are.”

      “I’m Leonardo di Malatesta, the elder son of Count Sullisto Malatesta.”

      Her heart thudded too fast. It all fit with her first impression of a dark prince, and explained the signet ring with a knight’s head on his right hand. There was a wedding ring on his left. “I understand that name connotes someone sinister.”

      His smile had a dangerous curl. “If it would make you feel more comfortable, call me Leon.”

      “The lion. If that’s supposed to make me feel any better...”

      A velvety sound close to a chuckle escaped his lips. “I want to apologize for my unorthodox method of getting to know you, and frightening you. Considering the fact that you plan to return to the States on Sunday, perhaps if you told me exactly what you’re hoping to find, I could help speed up the process. I really would like to assist you.”

      “I doubt your wife would approve.”

      Those gray eyes darkened with some unnamed emotion. “I’m a widower.”

      “Yet you still wear your wedding ring. You must have loved her a great deal. Forgive me if I’m being suspicious. The truth is, I wouldn’t dream of bothering a busy man like you, one with so many banking responsibilities. The only thing I was hoping to get from the manager at Donatello Diamonds was a little information about the female members of the Donatello family. It would take just a few minutes.”

      “So you’re looking for a woman...”

      “That’s very astute of you.”

      A gleam entered his eyes. “Considering the very attractive female I’m talking to, surely I can be forgiven for my earlier assessment of the situation.”

      Don’t let that fatal charm of his get to you, Belle, even if he is still in mourning.

      “That depends on what you can tell me,” she retorted with a wry smile back at him.

      After a pause, he said, “Obviously you haven’t found her yet. Why is she so important to you that you would come thousands of miles?”

      The small moment of levity fled. “Because the answer to my whole existence is tied up with her. My greatest fear is that she’s no longer alive, or that I’ll never find her.” Sorrow weighed Belle down at the thought.

      He studied her with relentless scrutiny. “Is she a relative?”

      This was where things got too sensitive. “Maybe.”

      “How old would she be?”

      “Probably in her forties.” Again, maybe. According to Cliff, her adoptive father had called her mother “that Italian girl.” Belle took it to mean she was young. “I learned she was from Rimini, Italy, but that could mean the city or the province.”

      His black eyebrows furrowed. “My stepmother, Luciana, was an only child, born to Valeria and Massimo Donatello here in Rimini. Valeria died in a hunting accident on their estate when Luciana was only eleven. As the librarian told you, some people still believe it wasn’t an accident.”

      “What she told me sounded positively Machiavellian.”

      “You’re right. It was only a few months ago that the police finally solved the case. The shooting was ruled as accidental.”

      “I see. It’s still tragic when any child loses its mother.”

      “I couldn’t agree more,” he said in an almost haunted voice. Their eyes held for a moment. “My father was fifteen years older than Luciana, and he married her against my brother’s and my wishes. She was only twenty at the time and could never have replaced our mother.”

      Four years younger than Belle’s age now. “Of course not.” She could only imagine this man’s pain. Suddenly he’d become more human to her. He’d lost his own mother and his wife.

      “She’s forty-two now,” Leon added. “There must be quite a few Donatello women between those ages you’ve met while you’ve been here in Rimini.”

      “Yes, but so far I’ve had no luck, because none of them ever traveled to New York in their late teens or twenties.”

      * * *

      Leon’s heart gave a thunderclap. “New York is the connecting point?” he rasped.

      Belle nodded.

      What had she said in answer to his earlier question about why this was important to her? Because the answer to my whole existence is tied up with her. My greatest fear is that she’s no longer alive, or that I’ll never find her.

      As Leon stared at Belle, pure revelation flowed through him. He knew why she looked familiar to him. Had Marcello picked up on the resemblance? Or the manager at Donatello Diamonds? Probably not, or they would have said something, but he couldn’t be sure. Ruggio thought he’d seen her on television.

      Madonna mia!

      “I told you I’d like to help you, and I will, but we can’t talk here. Leave your car in the library parking lot and come with me. It will be safe.”

      “I don’t need your help. Thanks all the same.”

      She opened her shoulder bag to get her keys, but he put a hand on her arm. “If you want to meet your mother, I’m the person who can make it happen. But you’re going to have to trust me.”

      Her gasp told him everything he wanted to know. Those fabulous blue eyes were blurry with tears as they lifted to his. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Her voice shook.

      “Let’s find out. Is there anything in your car you need?”

      “No.”

      “Then we’ll drive to my villa, where we can talk in private. I have some pictures to show you.”

      She moved like a person in a daze as he escorted her to his car and helped her inside. At a time like this, the shape of her long, elegant legs shouldn’t have drawn his attention, but they did. Her flowery fragrance proved another assault on his senses.

      “Do I look like her?”

      “When I saw you come out of the alcove at the pension yesterday, you reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t place you. It’s bothered me ever since. Not until a few minutes ago, when you mentioned New York, did everything click into place.” He started the engine. “You’ll need to buckle up.”

      Leon wove through the streets to the villa, not really seeing anything while his mind played back through the years to the time he’d first met Luciana. He remembered his father telling him and Dante that she’d lived in New York for a year and could help them improve their English. How much had his parent known about the sober young princess he’d brought home to the palazzo, besides the fact that she had money and was beautiful?

      Yet even if she’d told

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