money from its Brazilian base.’
‘You’re lying.’ She bit into her cornetto. A small dollop of raspberry jam dripped down her chin. She wiped it away with a finger and licked it, all the while staring at him with eyes that had hardened.
‘Read them for yourself,’ he answered with a shrug. ‘The proof is there. The US authorities will find it indisputable.’
Something flickered in her eyes.
‘Your father’s been running his business from Brazil for well over a decade. However, the accounts concerned use US dollars. That gives the US a jurisdictional right to launch an investigation. Trust me, should I give them these documents, they will be on your father and the rest of you like a pack of hyenas on a fresh carcass. Why do you think I spent only two years of a six-year sentence behind bars? They know your father’s up to his neck in corruption but, until now, they’ve not had the evidence to charge him with anything.’
She swallowed her food and swiped a hand through her fringe, then snatched the file from him. Sipping her caffè e latte, she began reading through the papers.
Gabriele watched her closely. Her green eyes zoomed from left to right and back again, a concentration frown just noticeable beneath her fringe.
In the years since he’d last seen her, she’d gained a doll-like prettiness about her that, combined with her rather grubby appearance and boyish clothes, had the effect of making her appear younger than her twenty-five years. He had to remind himself that there was nothing doll-like or immature about her spine. She’d proved her tenacity last night: she’d had an escape route planned despite the terror that would have frozen any other person’s brain, and not only had she run away from him but, when realising she couldn’t outrun him, had fought back. If his own reflexes weren’t so quick she would likely have escaped him.
But she would never have escaped the men. They would never have let her go. They couldn’t have afforded to, not once she had seen her captor’s face.
Whatever direction this conversation took, he could not afford to let those big green eyes beguile him into thinking she was something less than she truly was.
‘Whoever created these documents is clearly a master forger,’ she said tightly when she’d finished reading.
‘Don’t fool yourself. They’re not forgeries. I took the pictures myself last night, in your chapel basement.’
‘Which you broke into.’ Her eyes narrowed, more suspicion and distrust ringing from them. ‘Were you in league with those men?’
‘No.’
‘So it’s coincidence you were there at the exact same time an armed gang raided our holiday island?’
‘No coincidence at all.’ He gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘I knew they would be making their heist. I’ve waited a year for it.’
She stared at him with a clenched jaw.
He allowed himself a smile. ‘The thing you have to understand about prison is that it’s full of criminals. Not all prisoners are discreet. One liked to brag about how his brother was a member of Carter’s gang. Have you heard of Carter?’
She shook her head.
‘Carter steals to order. His price tag for a job is reputed to be ten million dollars.’
She let out a low whistle.
‘He also does jobs for himself—heists where he knows illegal artefacts are kept. The kind of stuff no owner would dare report stolen to the police.’ Gabriele rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. ‘It was a simple matter to tell my fellow prisoner of the island off the Cayman Isles packed full of illegal art worth tens of millions of dollars.’
‘That’s a lie,’ she snapped, finally showing some animation.
He shrugged. ‘Carter didn’t believe it to be a lie and he does meticulous research. I knew it was only a matter of time before word reached him. I’ve been keeping close tabs on him and waiting for his gang to make their move—I have to give credit to your father, his security system is second to none. I knew it would take the best to break it and Carter is the best. All I had to do was wait for him to make his move and use his gang as cover to enter the island undetected.’
Her green eyes flashed with contempt. ‘So you brought those men to my family’s island?’
‘All I did was plant the idea.’ He rubbed at his jaw. ‘You weren’t supposed to be there. No one was. Carter’s got away with it for so long because he doesn’t take unnecessary risks.’
‘If you’re so convinced of my father’s guilt, why didn’t you take the risk yourself? Why use a bunch of criminals as cover?’
He smiled without humour. ‘I’ve already spent two years in prison. Believe me, I have no wish to spend another day there. I let the experts take the risk.’
Without warning, she jumped up from her chair and hurried to the railing, whereby she threw the file overboard. The papers flew out, the breeze lifting them and scattering them in all directions.
‘That’s what I think of your evidence,’ Elena said coldly, trying desperately to hide the fact her heart was thrumming madly and her blood felt as if ice had been injected directly into her bloodstream.
This was all a horrible lie. There was no other explanation.
Her father was not a criminal. It was possible some of his art might not be entirely legitimate but illegal art was a world away from fraud and money laundering. He was a good, loving man who had raised her and her three older brothers single-handedly after her mother’s death when Elena had been a toddler.
She watched Gabriele’s jaw clench. He gripped hold of his coffee and downed it.
She hoped it scorched him.
‘There is plenty more evidence,’ he said in a tone far more even than the brimstone firing from his now black eyes portrayed. ‘One phone call will be enough to have the FBI and the local police obtain a search warrant. One call. Would you like me to make it?’
‘Why would they believe you?’ she sneered. ‘You’re a convicted criminal and that “evidence” is illegally gained. It wouldn’t stand up in any court.’
‘It’s enough to get the ball rolling. The authorities are watching your father. They’re watching your brothers...and they’re watching you. Your family is like a collection of kindling. All the authorities are waiting on is the match to light it. If the worst happens and they judge they can’t use the evidence, then copies of the documents will be emailed from an anonymous, untraceable email address to every major news outlet in the world. Either way he’s finished, and you’re finished too.’
Elena put a hand to her chest and blinked hard to clear the clouds swimming in her eyes.
Whoever Gabriele had paid to create the documents was a master of the art. Anyone looking at them could be forgiven for thinking they had an air of legitimacy to them.
Her father—her entire family—had been living under a cloud of suspicion for a year, ever since Gabriele had been released from prison and begun his whispering campaign
