gut. His hands rolled tight as he stared at the florid man waving a champagne glass at the women.
‘Come on up. The bubbly’s on ice.’
Raffaele knew that voice.
Even after twenty-one years he recognised it.
That smug tone, that hoarse laugh, had crept through his nightmares since he was twelve.
He’d given up hope of finding him. He’d never known the man’s name and the slimy villain had disappeared from Genoa faster than a rat leaving a scuttled ship. No one had listened to a skinny twelve-year-old who’d insisted the foreigner with hair the colour of castagne was to blame for Gabriella’s death.
Gabriella...
Fury ignited. The wrath of thwarted retribution, of loathing and grief.
The blast of emotion stunned him.
He’d spent his life perfecting the art of not feeling, not caring for anyone, not trusting, since Gabriella. But now... It took everything he had merely to stand still and take in the scene.
Keenly he catalogued everything, from the guy’s features, grown pudgy with age and self-indulgence, to the name of the cruiser and the fact his staff, neat in white shorts and shirts, spoke English as only natives could. One of them offered to help the women aboard.
Girls, Raffaele amended, not women. Both blonde, both in their teens, though one was made up to look ten years older. Raffa was an expert on make-up and on women.
The Englishman’s tastes hadn’t changed. He still liked them young and blonde.
Bile rose. Raffa’s heart thrashed with the need to climb aboard and deliver justice for Gabriella with his fists. There was no doubt this was the same man.
But Raffa was no longer an impulsive, grieving kid.
Now he had the power to do more than beat the man to a bloody pulp. That thought alone held him back. Even so, it was a battle to rein in his need for instant vengeance.
‘Ciao, bella.’ He strolled forward, curling his mouth in a half smile the camera, and millions of women the world over, loved. Not for a second did he lift his gaze to the middle-aged man above them.
‘Lucy—’ The taller one nudged her companion. ‘Quick. Turn around. He looks like... He couldn’t be...could he?’
Two pairs of eyes widened as he approached. Twin gasps of excitement. The one who’d spoken smiled wide while her companion looked dazed.
Raffa was used to dealing with besotted fans. But instead of a nod of acknowledgement before moving on, he increased the wattage of his smile in an invitation that had never once failed.
The taller girl stepped closer, pulling her friend along, the boat and its owner forgotten. They didn’t even blink as the man above them called agitated instructions for them to come aboard.
‘You look just like Raffaele Petri. I suppose people say that all the time.’ Her voice was breathless and young. Too young for the man on the boat. Or for Raffa. The difference was that with him she’d be safe.
‘That’s because I am Raffaele Petri.’
Twin gasps met the announcement and the smaller girl looked as if she might faint.
‘Are you all right?’
She nodded, goggle-eyed, while her friend dragged out her phone. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Of course not.’ The world was full of amateur photos of him. ‘I was going to get a coffee.’ He gestured to a street leading away from the waterfront. ‘Care to join me?’
The girls were so busy chattering as they walked that only Raffa heard the Englishman’s abusive yells. He’d been deprived of his afternoon’s amusement.
Soon he’d be deprived of everything that mattered to him.
The Englishman wouldn’t escape again. Justice would be sweet.
This time Raffa’s smile was genuine.
‘STOP PULLING MY LEG, PETE.’ Lily leaned back from the desk and shifted her grip on the phone. ‘It’s been a long day. You might be just waking up in New York but it’s bedtime in Australia.’
Looking towards the window, she saw the reflection of her office in the glass. Her house was too far from town for street lights and the stars wouldn’t show till she switched off her lamp. She rubbed her stiff neck. Completing this project within deadline and to her own exacting standards had been tough.
‘No joke.’ Pete’s usually laid-back voice with its Canadian accent sounded excited. ‘The boss wants you here and he never jokes about business.’
Lily straightened in her seat, her pulse thudding. ‘You’re serious?’
‘Absolutely. And what the boss wants, the boss makes a policy of getting. You know that.’
‘Except Raffaele Petri isn’t my boss.’ Even saying his name aloud seemed somehow ridiculous. What could she, ordinary Lily Nolan, living in a rundown farmhouse an hour south of Sydney, have in common with Raffaele Petri? ‘He doesn’t know I exist.’
Petri inhabited a stellar plane ordinary mortals only dreamed of or read about in gossip magazines, while she...
Lily dropped the hand she’d lifted to her cheek. She hated that old, nervous gesture.
‘Of course he knows. Why do you think you’ve had so much work from us? He was impressed with your report for the Tahiti deal and asked for you on every one since.’
Lily blinked. She’d never imagined Signor Petri himself reading her research reports. She’d assumed he had other things to do with his time, like indulging himself at the world’s most luxurious fleshpots.
‘That’s fantastic, Pete. I can’t tell you how pleased I am.’ Despite her recent success, the size of the loan she’d taken to buy this house and expand the business kept her awake at night. But after years feeling like an outsider she’d been driven by the need to establish her own place in the world, something she’d achieved and could be proud of. Even though it meant moving across the continent from her anxious family. She needed this to turn her life around.
Tight muscles eased. If Signor Petri had personally commented on her work—
‘Excellent. You’ll find the contract in your inbox. It will be great finally putting a face to the voice once you’re working here.’
‘Whoa. Wait a minute.’ Lily shot to her feet. ‘I meant I’m pleased to have what I do valued. That’s all.’ She drove herself to excel and knew her service was first class, but it was reassuring having it confirmed by her most influential customer, especially now she had this mortgage.
‘You don’t want to accept the boss’s offer to work here?’ Pete’s hushed tone made it sound as if she’d refused mankind’s
