The familiar feeling of guilt made Lanzo’s gut clench, and he stared out across the harbour to where the darkening sky met the sea, lost in black memories. He should not have gone on that business trip to Sweden. Cristina had begged him not to, saying that they needed to talk. But he had been shocked by her revelation that she was pregnant—so unprepared for the prospect of having a child when they had both decided that they would wait at least five years before they started a family.
He had been so young—only twenty—and determined to make his father proud of him as he took on more responsibilities at Di Cosimo Holdings. But that was no excuse, he thought grimly. He’d known Cristina had been hurt by his lack of enthusiasm for the baby. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it, and instead had insisted on going on the business trip when he had known full well that he could have sent one of his staff in his place. But he had wanted time alone, to get his head around the idea of being a father, and so he had ignored Cristina’s tears and flown to Sweden.
Within twenty-four hours he had realised that he had behaved like an idiot. He loved Cristina, and of course he would love their child. He had been impatient to get home and convince her that he was delighted about the baby, but his meeting had overrun, meaning that he had missed his flight, and he’d had to spend another night away. The following morning he had arrived in Italy and been met by Alfredo, who had broken the devastating news that his parents and Cristina had all died in the fire that had destroyed the di Cosimo villa.
Lanzo’s jaw tightened as he remembered the agony of that moment—the feeling that his heart had been ripped from his chest. He had not told Alfredo that Cristina had been a few weeks pregnant. The older man had been utterly distraught at the loss of his only daughter and there had seemed little point in making his grief worse. But the bitter truth was that he could not bear anyone to know how he had failed his fiancée and his unborn child, Lanzo acknowledged. He should never have gone away. Cristina had died believing that he did not want their child, and he had never been able to forgive himself for not being with her when she had needed him most.
Alfredo had never got over losing his daughter, but the older man had become an invaluable father figure and advisor, for with his own father gone Lanzo had become the head of Di Cosimo Holdings at the age of twenty. Five years later Alfredo’s death had hit him hard, but he had dealt with it as he had dealt with the loss of Cristina and his parents—by burying his grief deep in his heart.
The opening of a new restaurant in England had given him an excuse to spend some time away from Italy and his memories. He had thrown himself into work, and into offshore powerboat racing, which was a popular sport along the south coast. It had satisfied a need in him to push himself to his limits and beyond. He’d loved the speed, the danger and the adrenalin rush, the idea that death was one flip of the boat away—for deep down he had not really cared what happened to him. Subconsciously he had hoped that one day he would push himself too far and death would take him, as it had Cristina. But for fifteen years he had cheated death and been left alone to bear his grief. Sometimes he wondered if it was his punishment for those first doubts he’d had about being a father.
‘I noticed you,’ he told Gina abruptly. She had been a calming influence on his crazy mood that summer—a nondescript girl with a gentle smile that had soothed his troubled soul.
For the first two years after Cristina’s death he had not looked at another woman, and when he had finally started dating again his relationships had been meaningless sexual encounters. He had closed the door on his emotions and deliberately chosen mistresses who accepted his terms. But Gina had been different. Something about her youthful enthusiasm had reminded him of the carefree days of his own youth—a time that seemed bathed in perpetual sunshine before the black cloak of grief had settled on his shoulders. When he’d been with Gina his mood had lightened, and he had enjoyed spending time with her. It had only been when he had found himself thinking about asking her to return to Italy with him that he had realised there was a danger she was starting to mean something to him—and he had immediately ended their affair. For he associated love with pain, and he never wanted to experience either emotion ever again.
‘You were sweet and shy, and you used to stare at me when you thought I didn’t notice,’ he said gruffly. She had seemed painfully innocent, although she had assured him that she’d had several boyfriends, Lanzo recalled.
Sweet was such an unflattering description. It conjured an image of a silly lovesick teenager—which of course was exactly what she had been ten years ago, Gina thought ruefully. She remembered how her heart had thudded with excitement whenever Lanzo had been around—rather like it was doing now, a little voice in her head taunted. But the difference now was that she was a confident career woman—albeit one without a career at the moment—and she was perfectly in control of her emotions.
‘I admit I had an outsize crush on you,’ she said lightly. ‘But it was hardly surprising when I’d attended an all-girls school and had little contact with the male species—especially the exotic Italian variety.’
‘Why didn’t you remind me tonight that we knew each other?’ Lanzo asked her curiously.
She shrugged. ‘Because it was a long time ago, and I barely remembered you.’
His mocking smile told her he knew she was lying, and she was thankful that it was probably too dark now for him to notice her blush. They had reached the attractive block of six flats on the quayside where she lived, and as she slowed her steps he halted in front of her.
‘But you did not forget me completely during the past ten years,’ he stated arrogantly, his deep, velvety voice sending a little quiver down Gina’s spine. ‘Are you cold?’ he asked, noticing the tremor that ran through her.
‘Yes,’ she lied again, ‘but I live here. Well,’ she said briskly, desperate to get away from him before she made a complete idiot of herself, ‘it’s been nice to meet you again.’
She stepped back from him, but instead of bidding her goodnight he smiled and moved closer, so that they were enclosed in the shadowed porch area in front of the flats.
‘You can’t have lived here long. These flats were still under construction when I was here last year,’ he commented.
‘I moved here from London four months ago.’
‘That must have been a big change,’ Lanzo murmured, glancing over his shoulder at the fishing boats moored in the harbour.
Gina nodded. ‘I worked in the City and I’d forgotten how quiet it is here.’
‘What job do you do? I assume you have moved on from waiting tables?’ he said, his eyes glinting as he allowed them to roam over her navy silk dress and matching stiletto-heeled sandals. It was impossible to equate this elegant woman with the curly-haired young waitress from ten year ago.
‘Until recently I was PA to the chairman of the Meyers chain of department stores.’
He looked impressed. ‘That’s certainly a long way from waitressing. Meyers have outlets in virtually every major city around the world. But surely you don’t commute to the City from here every day?’
‘No, I decided to leave the company when my boss retired. There were a number of reasons why I wanted to move out of London.’ Not least the late-night abusive phone calls from her ex-husband, Gina thought grimly. ‘My father suffered a heart attack at Christmas. He’s recovered well, thankfully, but I decided to move closer to my family. Dad’s illness brought it home to me that you never know what the future holds.’
‘Very true,’ Lanzo said in
