ready.’
Not answering, she lay back down and curled the sheets around her.
Gabriele showered and dressed quickly, then went back out into the early Manhattan sun.
This was his favourite time of the day. In prison, early mornings had been filled with noise and activity. Here, in the open city streets, he could be on a different planet. There were people around—of course there were, this city never slept—but there was a stillness about them, as if they were robots charging themselves to alertness.
The welcoming scent of fresh donuts greeted him in his favourite deli one block from his apartment.
While he waited for his order to be done, he found his mind replaying everything from last night with Elena, just as it had while he’d jogged. Normally jogging cleared his mind of everything, allowing him to start the day afresh. Today...
One thing he had determined during his run was that he couldn’t allow Elena’s virginity to cloud his opinions or the route they were taking. She was still Ignazio’s daughter. She was still up to her neck in his criminal doings and had played a hand in setting his father up. It was inconceivable that she wasn’t involved.
Just because she’d been an innocent in one respect did not mean she was innocent in any other.
He would not allow himself to be derailed from his ultimate mission: the exoneration of his and his father’s good names.
With that thought fortifying him, Gabriele took their breakfast and strolled back to the apartment block. While he waited for the elevator, his phone buzzed. It was a number he didn’t recognise.
Putting the bag of food and coffee on a marble table in the foyer, he hit the reply button and pressed the phone to his ear. ‘Ciao?’
‘Mantegna?’
The voice on the other end was music to his ears. It was the voice he’d been waiting for.
‘Ricci?’
‘Is it true? Have you married my daughter?’
‘Elena and I married yesterday afternoon—’
‘You son-of-a—’
‘It was a spur-of-the-moment thing,’ Gabriele continued cordially as if Ignazio hadn’t interrupted him, raising his hand to wave at the familiar face of a neighbour. ‘We’ll be having a party in a couple of weeks to celebrate. Your invitation will be posted today.’
The invitations would have the words ‘Mr and Mrs Mantegna’ emblazoned in large italics on them.
‘What the hell are you playing at messing around with her?’ Ignazio demanded, his tone full of menace.
Good. This was the reaction he wanted. Ignazio was wounded. He was also under threat. People under threat were more likely to make mistakes.
If Ignazio had any idea Gabriele was attempting to lure one of his most trusted aides away too...
‘Elena and I are not playing at anything.’ He didn’t care if Ignazio believed in his love. All Gabriele cared was that Ignazio believed Elena had fallen in love with him. ‘Elena loves me.’
He could hear heavy breathing down the phone, the sound of a man who’d smoked far too many cigarettes in his life fighting to control his temper.
‘If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.’
‘Why would I hurt her?’ He thought back to the shyness in her eyes when she’d awoken a short while ago. He remembered the breathlessness of her cries as she’d come in his arms.
‘I mean it.’ The voice was threatening but Gabriele detected an underlying tinge of panic.
Oh, this was very good.
Was this concern for his daughter or concern that Gabriele’s access in the family had made Ignazio vulnerable?
He put him on the spot. ‘Why do you think I would hurt your daughter?’
Ignazio didn’t answer for the longest time. Gabriele could almost hear his brain ticking as he thought up an answer that wouldn’t incriminate him.
When he finally answered, all he said was, ‘Elena is nothing to do with anything.’
‘Elena is my wife. She belongs to me now and I don’t hurt what’s mine.’
Terminating the call, he switched the phone to silent and stuck it in his back pocket.
Grabbing their breakfast, he got into the elevator and pressed the button for his floor, waiting for some form of euphoria to strike.
Ignazio was wounded. In the grand scheme of things it was a minor victory but one he had fully expected to relish.
Instead, he felt flat.
Back in the apartment he found Elena in the kitchen emptying the trays of food from the day before into a bin. As she leaned forward, her pert bottom, clad in black cropped trousers, curved for his eyes to appreciate.
After four years of celibacy he wasn’t surprised to find that one bout of lovemaking had reignited his libido. What he hadn’t expected was the strength.
She cast him a quick glance before tipping the remnants of the last tray in the bin. With a round-necked black and white striped fitted T-shirt, her damp hair loose around her shoulders and her face free from make-up, she looked as innocent as he knew she’d physically been only the day before.
‘I’ve brought bagels and coffee.’ He placed his wares on the kitchen table.
‘Go ahead. I’ll just be a minute.’ She didn’t look at him, intent on her clean-up mission. She moved to the sink, which she’d filled with soapy water, and dunked their champagne flutes into it.
‘There’s no need to do that. There’s a cleaner coming in later.’
‘It’s therapeutic.’
‘Elena, sit down and eat.’
She stood rigid at the sink then turned to join him, taking a seat at the far end of the table from him.
He watched as she ate, chewing slowly with each mouthful as if it were a chore that needed to be fulfilled.
‘Did it not cross your mind to tell me you were a virgin?’ he asked casually.
Her hand hovered in mid-air before she put her half-eaten bagel down. ‘No.’
‘You didn’t think I had a right to know?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
She fixed cold eyes on him, so different from the shock that had reflected from them when he’d thrust into her that first time and so different from the wonder that had resonated when she’d come in his arms.
To discover the woman in his arms
