The Sicilian's Bought Bride. Carol Marinelli
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‘Don’t lie,’ he spat. ‘Poor little Lily. I can just see you laying it on with a trowel to the social workers. I can almost hear the little sob in your voice as you said it!’ His eyes narrowed, his lips contorting as he eyed her distastefully. ‘Only she’s not so poor, is she? As of this evening, Lily’s incredibly rich. You must have been rubbing your hands in glee when the bloody Mancinis couldn’t even be bothered to make it to the hospital—rubbing your hands in glee when no one was there to stop you when you said you’d take care of her.’
‘It wasn’t like that!’ It was Catherine’s voice rising now. ‘How dare you? How dare you accuse me of trying to profit from my sister’s death? How dare you suggest I would use my niece as a pawn? Why would I—’
‘I’ll tell you why.’ His voice was low, a contrast to hers, his eyes forbidding as they stared back at her coldly. ‘Because you hate your life, Catherine. Because you’d go to any lengths to change it.’
‘You’re disgusting.’ Pulling her arms away, she attempted to wrestle it from his hand, but his grip only tightened. ‘Let go of me, Rico. I’m going to my niece.’
‘Over my dead body.’ His face was as white as marble in the fluorescent light, his cheeks jagged, his lips set in grim determination. ‘You’re coming back to the hotel with me, Catherine. Tonight we talk.’
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