the fact that she wasn’t ready to get pregnant, as her career was at a critical juncture. Or that she had miscarried the last time she had carried Lorenzo’s baby, a soul-clawing experience she never wanted to repeat again. Not to mention the fact that her husband had shut down emotionally afterward, the impetus to the end of their marriage.
Lorenzo set a hard stare on his mother. “We had no problems conceiving before. We’re not in any rush.”
His mother lifted an elegant shoulder. “Angie was young then—at the prime of her fertility. I’m simply giving you my advice. Women think they can wait forever these days and it just doesn’t happen that way.”
Angie drew in a breath. Lorenzo’s fingers tightened around her thigh. He gave his mother a look that said that was enough and changed the subject.
She tried to shake it off as the meal wore on, but couldn’t. Of all the things she and Lorenzo were battling through right now, a baby was not a priority.
Unable to do justice to the delicious chicken dish Constanza had cooked because her stomach had coiled up into a tight little ball, she set down her fork. By the time the elder Riccis got up to make their departure just after ten, she was fuming. She managed a few more minutes of civility, discussing the current theater runs with Octavia while Salvatore pulled his son aside in the study.
* * *
“Maledizione, Lorenzo, who the hell leaked this deal?”
Lorenzo leaned against his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. He’d been hoping to avoid this discussion, had almost managed it, until his father had pulled him aside.
“I have no idea,” he said flatly. “There’s only been high-level people involved. But you know what it’s like—when there’s a juicy story waiting in the wings, someone is always willing to spill.”
“And if we don’t close it?” his father countered. “This is Ricci’s reputation you are gambling with. It’s one thing to pursue a company that wants to dance, another thing entirely to drag it kicking and screaming onto the floor.”
“I will close it,” Lorenzo growled. “We will dance the final waltz, Papà. But I am not a magician. I cannot summon Mark Bavaro back from South America with a snap of my fingers. You need to give me time.”
“I have given you time. A year this has been dragging on, figliolo. This needs to be done before the next board meeting. Before they start wondering if we know what we’re doing in the corner office or not.”
Lorenzo scowled. “They are a bunch of overreactors with too much time on their hands.”
“Who can make our lives hell if they choose to.” His father crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring his pose. “I am beginning to think your ambition has got the best of you on this one.”
His back stiffened. Bavaro’s disappearance was raising his blood pressure. He didn’t need the added pressure of his father trying to control everything around him even though he was no longer in charge of Ricci. But going head-to-head with Salvatore, he reminded himself, was like two stags locked in a fight to the finish. It never ended well.
“I am CEO of this company,” he said, eyeing his father. “I will get the deal done. Back off and let me do my job.”
His father gave a haughty tilt of his head. “October, Lorenzo. This needs to be signed and sealed.”
* * *
Too riled up to sleep, Angie put on a swimsuit and headed for the hot tub on the terrace while her husband returned a phone call. Maybe it would unwind the Octavia-induced knots in her shoulders.
Built into the deck, with a sensational view of the Manhattan skyline, it was her favorite way to relax after a long day. She dropped her towel on the deck, set her half-finished glass of wine beside the tub and stepped into the hot, bubbling water, immersing herself up to her shoulders.
A sigh left her. Closing her eyes, she let the jets unwind the knots, ease the band of tension encircling her skull.
“In a better mood?”
Her eyes fluttered open. Her husband stood on the deck in navy trunks, a perfect male specimen in the prime of his life. Her heart rate skyrocketed as he tossed a towel over the railing. He was leaner than he’d been before, muscle and sinew arranged in a spectacular grid pattern across his pecs and abdomen. The perfect symmetry of it made her stomach curl.
She swallowed past a suddenly dry mouth. “I thought you had to make a call.”
“It was a quick one.” He lowered himself into the water, taking the seat opposite her. Her heartbeat calmed. His slow inventory of her, however, sent it ratcheting back up again. The bikini she had on, a halter top and briefs, wasn’t overly revealing by any means, but her husband’s thorough perusal made her feel as if there wasn’t enough material to it. Not nearly enough.
“What happened with your father?” she blurted out, needing to distract herself from that...heat.
His dark gaze slid up to hers. “He is anxious about the Belmont deal. He is used to swallowing up tiny fish to build his empire. He doesn’t have the patience to stalk a bigger prey, one that might not be quite so willing.”
“You still haven’t been able to tie down Marc Bavaro?”
“No.” He exhaled a long breath and laid his head back against the tub. “He is MIA.”
She studied the intensity that came off him like smoke. “What?” he asked, brow raised.
“I’m just wondering where this all-consuming drive comes from? This never-ending need for more.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I was born with it. It’s in my blood. Franco’s, too.”
“Franco has a sense of balance. A safety valve. You don’t.”
His gaze narrowed. “I am not my brother.”
“No,” she agreed. “But you weren’t always like this. Franco told me that before Lucia you knew your limits. You knew how to live.”
The glint in his eyes took on a dangerous edge. “My brother likes to play amateur psychologist. My ambition is strictly my own sin, cara, recognized and owned.”
“It’s not a badge of honor,” she countered. “You push yourself to unsustainable levels, Lorenzo. You are going to drive yourself into the ground someday if you don’t watch it. Maybe you should take a page out of your brother’s book and allow yourself to be human once in a while.”
“And maybe you should tell me what happened tonight.” He raised a brow. “You knew my mother was going to bring up babies. It was a foregone conclusion. Why the overreaction?”
Heat seared her belly, her concern for him dissipating on a wave of antagonism. “It was not a foregone conclusion your mother would hammer me to the wall about a subject you know I am sensitive about. Knowing that, you should have diverted her. We haven’t even discussed it yet.”
He inclined his head. “Perhaps I should have. But you know you and I having a baby is a reality with Franco unable to conceive.”
She
