tied a cufflink to his sleeve and smiled at his reflection.
It made no difference.
He still looked shot.
He tried again. This time his mouth wouldn’t co-operate.
His driver was waiting outside for him. At Mantegna HQ, over two dozen media journalists were congregating for the launch of the new Alfredo car, along with over a hundred of the staff members who had worked most closely on it. Caterers had delivered enough canapés to feed an army and enough champagne to get a battalion drunk.
This was the culmination of the past year’s hard work, a car made to honour his father, and he could no longer bring himself to care.
How could he ever care about anything when the best part of him wouldn’t be by his side?
She would never be by his side again.
Having got increasingly frantic that Elena had seemingly dropped off the face of the earth, he’d hired a bunch of private detectives on all continents to find her. Just to satisfy him that she was well. Four hours ago he’d got the message that she’d landed in Rome.
The relief had been indescribable.
After five days of silence he at least had confirmation that she was alive.
She wouldn’t see him. He knew that. She refused to answer his calls or his messages. His emails bounced back as undeliverable.
How could he stand up in front of one hundred and fifty people and make a speech when he couldn’t think of a single thing to say that wasn’t a plea for Elena to come back to him?
Why had he attempted to defend himself?
There was no defence for what he’d done and the more he tortured himself by thinking about it, the more he accepted how blinded and despicably wrong he’d been.
He could hear his housekeeper hovering behind his bedroom door, knew she wanted to remind him of the time and how late he was going to make the launch.
Instead of getting into gear, he slipped into Elena’s dressing room.
All her clothes were still neatly hung up or folded away, as if waiting for her to return to claim them.
He knew she would never reclaim them.
He spotted the silver top she’d worn on their first night out together and pulled it off the hanger, burying his nose in it, hoping to catch her scent before it faded completely.
It had already gone.
A sharp burn at the backs of his eyes caught him. He blinked it away as a commotion outside caught his attention. Swaying slightly, he went back into his room and opened the door.
Anna Maria stood there, looking flushed.
‘Have you seen the news?’
* * *
Elena’s house was in a quiet, affluent street in Rome’s Parioli district. Soft lights glowed behind the shuttered windows When Gabriele found the red door he was searching for, he put his hands to his knees and allowed himself to breathe.
It had been two hours since Anna Maria had shown him the coverage dominating the Italian news channels and, he suspected, the US ones too. In that time he’d commandeered a helicopter to fly him from Florence and taken the cab ride from hell across Rome’s streets, which were only marginally better to drive through than Florence’s. Ten minutes ago he’d thrown a hundred-euro bill at the driver and got out, figuring it had to be quicker walking.
Taking one last apprehensive breath, he climbed the steps and pressed the doorbell. He banged on the door for good measure too.
When there was no answer, he rang and banged again. He would ring and bang on the door all night if he had to.
After what was probably only a minute but felt much, much longer, he heard a clicking noise followed by the slow turning of the door handle.
The door opened a fraction and a green eye appeared in the gap.
‘Elena...’ He couldn’t say anything more. His throat had closed up.
She didn’t say anything, her mostly concealed face staring at him blankly as if a stranger were on her doorstep.
‘Can I come in?’ he asked hoarsely.
Still not speaking, she shook her head.
‘Please? I will only take a minute of your time.’
Another shake of her head.
He bowed his head and exhaled heavily. ‘I understand.’
He raised his head to look back at her. She had almost entirely closed the door. Only the tiniest of gaps remained open.
‘I don’t expect you to believe me but I had nothing to do with your father’s arrest,’ he said quietly, certain she was listening. ‘I destroyed the evidence I had. I just wanted you to know that and to tell you that I’m sorrier than words can say for what I’ve done to you.’
He bowed his head again and swallowed.
He expected no response and none followed.
But she was still there, still listening.
Gabriele sank to the floor and pressed his cheek to the door. ‘My father would be heartbroken if he knew what I’d done in his name. I forced you into a marriage you didn’t want. I made you dress in clothes you didn’t want. I made you sign a contract stating the only way you could leave was if my baby was in your belly. I took your virginity.’ He sucked in a breath and gazed up at the starry night sky. ‘I did all that for revenge against your father, not against you. But you were my pawn and I was going to play you—I did play you. I told myself that you had to be in league with your father, as if that could excuse what I was doing. But you were nothing like my prejudices expected. You were everything. You are everything. My everything. I fell in love with you, Elena, but I was so blinded by revenge I couldn’t see it.’
Placing a palm against the door, he prayed she was still there, still listening to him.
‘You told me once that there wouldn’t be a minute of the day when I didn’t regret what I’d done to you. Well, that day is here. I know you will never forgive me but I wanted you to know that I will never forgive myself either. You wanted to see me burn in hell and you have your wish; I’m there. Every day without you is agony.’
He pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked rapidly, then got to his feet. He’d said everything he wanted to say. Everything he could say.
Almost stumbling back down the steps on legs that felt filled with lead, he stood on the pavement not having a clue where to go.
Elena leaving him had left him rudderless.
‘I know it wasn’t you who had my father arrested.’
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
He
