in the main building, Gabriele took her up to the media suite, where a group of executives was waiting for them, trays of food and coffee laid out.
A wall-length flat-screen television played a montage of the new Alfredo supercar driving through the Tuscan hills.
‘It’s stunning,’ Elena marvelled as the screen changed to show the Alfredo powering up the German Autobahn.
‘I’m pleased you like it,’ he said with a grin.
‘Is this the advert you’ll be using?’ she asked.
‘This is only for the press launch. We don’t need to advertise.’ Gabriele took a bite of a mini cheesecake, noting the sparkle in Elena’s eyes. She really was in her element here. ‘We advertise heavily for our more family-oriented cars but our supercars are niche—only five hundred Alfredos will be manufactured and they’re sold out already.’
‘So why do any press for it?’
‘This car is a tribute to my father. I want the world to see it. I want to remind the world of his innocence.’ The dimming of her eyes made him feel like a heel. Wanting the light to come back into them, he added, ‘The launch also gives publicity for the Mantegna name, and prestige for our buyers. They like belonging to an exclusive club that everyone knows about but can’t join.’
Gratitude flashed in her eyes. ‘I’m tempted to ask you to produce one more just for me.’
He laughed. ‘A wedding present?’
‘A divorce present,’ she retorted drily.
He hooked an arm around her and kissed her temple. He liked that she didn’t automatically freeze when he touched her now. He liked it a lot. ‘I’ll see what can be done.’
It was amazing, he reflected, that a month ago the thought of a Ricci—any Ricci—driving the car named after his father would have been a dagger through his heart.
‘At the very least I can offer you a test drive,’ he said. ‘I’ll arrange for Monty, our resident test driver, to take you out on the track next week.’
Her eyes widened with enthusiasm. ‘That would be fantastic. Incredible.’
‘Am I right in thinking Mrs Mantegna is a petrol head?’
‘A what?’
‘It’s what they call car enthusiasts in the UK,’ he laughed.
‘I suppose I am.’ She sounded surprised at her agreement.
‘Many women are, you know. They don’t have to pretend to be just to be accepted as one of the boys.’
‘If that’s the case, why don’t you manufacture a supercar for women?’
‘We do.’ He grinned. ‘You like the Alfredo, don’t you? When you consider women have as much purchasing power as men, it’s ludicrous not to cater for their tastes too. For the past decade we’ve made sure all our cars, from every range, have gadgets that appeal to women as well as those that traditionally appeal to men.’
She gave an approving, if puzzled, smile and he thought of her obvious surprise about his deputy Chief Engineer being a woman.
He looked more carefully at her. Today she was dressed in her usual uniform of slim-fitting dark trousers matched with a mauve blouse, her hair loose around her shoulders. She seemed to enjoy her new wardrobe but was still unsure about wearing make-up or doing anything with her hair other than a knot or ponytail.
For Elena, being a woman was something she had fought her entire life. A new wardrobe and one make-up lesson could not overturn a lifetime of learned behaviour, no matter how much she secretly wished it could. He’d seen her watch Internet videos on make-up tips and hairstyles, her face screwed in concentration, but she never attempted them herself. He was certain she did want to embrace her femininity but something held her back.
There were times he’d be watching her and he’d feel such a heavy compression in his chest that his lungs would shrink and he would struggle to breathe.
It should be of no consequence to him whatever was going on in her head but it was there all the same. He wanted to scoop her thoughts out and throw away the ones that hurt her; the ones that told her she wasn’t good enough as she was.
There were times he could almost understand why Ignazio had gone to such lengths to protect her. There was something about Elena that made a man discover his inner Neanderthal. She was such a strange mixture of vulnerability and fieriness; so capable and determined yet so fragile too.
He smiled ruefully. One thing Ignazio had failed to learn but had taken Gabriele all of five minutes in her company to discover was that Elena didn’t need protection. She was more than capable of taking care of herself.
All she needed and all she wanted was respect.
Anna Maria came into the media room and caught his eye.
Excusing himself, he went to join her by the door.
There was an air of calm excitement about her.
‘We’ve got the proof,’ she said in an undertone.
Automatically, his gaze turned to Elena. She was now talking to the director of the promo that had been recorded.
‘Are you certain?’
‘Yes. Carlos came through. He’s emailed the proof.’
Gabriele closed his eyes.
At last.
Carlos was one of Ignazio’s closest aides. He’d worked with him for decades. Other than his children, there was no one Ignazio trusted more.
It had bitten at his craw to reach out to a man who had effectively betrayed his father as much as Ignazio had but desperate times called for desperate measures. He’d spent a lot of money buying Carlos’s loyalty and now it appeared to be paying off.
‘I need the originals.’ He wanted the proof of his innocence to be cast iron. As he spoke, Elena turned her head, saw his eyes upon her, and gave a small, shy smile.
How would she react when she learned what he’d been doing behind her back?
How would she react when she learned he had the proof?
And how would she react when she discovered what he planned to do with it?
He hadn’t lied to her. Their contract had been clear. Marriage and a baby in exchange for him destroying the documents he’d copied from the chapel basement.
Nowhere on the contract did it stipulate he couldn’t continue digging for evidence to clear his father’s name and have his own criminal record expunged.
That Elena had assumed this would be covered by the original verbal agreement was not his problem.
All the same...
His guts felt very heavy when he imagined what her reaction would be.
*
