me feeling like the worse bastard alive. And Lexi did not even know I’d said anything to you, did she? You didn’t tell her.’
As grim and silent as a corpse, Franco looked back at the monitor screen, the naturally sensual shape to his mouth clamping into a hard straight line.
‘She can’t have known,’ Marco muttered, as if he was talking to himself. ‘She was too nice to me.’
‘Is there a purpose in this conversation?’ Franco asked with a sudden flash of irritation. ‘We have a race to attend to, and it must be obvious that I have no wish to discuss the past with you.’
‘OK, signori, we have the go!’ As if on cue, the shout from their team manager across the tent broke through the tension eddying around the two men.
Franco began to walk away, but Marco grabbed his arm to hold him still.
‘For God’s sake, Franco,’ he murmured urgently. ‘I’m sorry if I messed things up between you and Lexi, but she has been out of your life for over three years now! Can’t we put the whole stupid incident behind us and go back to how we—?’
‘Shall I tell you why you’ve decided to drag all of this up?’ Franco swung back to him, icy contempt contorting his face now. ‘You are in debt to White Streak to the tune of millions. You are scared because you know you need my goodwill to keep that ugly truth under wraps. You have heard the rumours that I am thinking of pulling the plug on powerboat racing and it is scaring you to death—because you know the whole financial mess you’ve placed us in is likely to blow up in your face. And just for the record,’ he concluded icily, ‘your lousy attempt at an apology for what you did has come three and a half years too damn late.’
Tugging his arm free, Franco turned away from Marco’s frozen expression. In truth, he hadn’t expected Marco to drag this up—and it didn’t help the way he was feeling to know that back in his apartment divorce papers from Lexi sat waiting for him to find the stomach to read them.
He strode out of the marquee into the hot sunlight, cold anger fizzing like iced nitrogen in his blood. This was Livorno; his home crowd was out there. But he barely heard their rousing cheer. A red mist had risen across his eyes, in the centre of that his once closest friend lay entwined in the heaving throes of passion with the only woman he had ever loved. He had lived with that image ever since Marco had planted it in his head almost four years ago. He had taken it with him into his brief marriage to Lexi. It had coloured the way he had treated her and even made him suspect that the child she had carried was not his. It had changed the pattern of his life. It had embittered him until there was nothing left of the man he’d used to be, and when Lexi had miscarried the baby that image had shadowed the way he had reacted to the loss.
And the hell of it was that Marco was right: Lexi had never known why he’d behaved that way. The one small salve to his own wounded pride was that she’d never known how her betrayal of him with his best friend had broken his damn stupid, gullible heart.
Like a nemesis he could not shake off, Marco appeared at his shoulder again. ‘Franco, amico, I need you to listen—’
‘Don’t speak to me about the past,’ Franco cut in harshly, before Marco could say any more. ‘Focus instead on the job in hand, or I will take the decision to fold up the White Streak company. And the financial mess you’ve placed it in will come out.’
‘But you will ruin me,’ Marco breathed hoarsely. ‘My family’s reputation will be—’
‘Precisely.’
He watched Marco go pale, aware of the reason behind his terror. The famous Clemente name was synonymous with fine wines, honesty and charity. It headed some of the biggest charitable organisations in Italy alongside the Tolle name. Their two families had been close for as far back as he could remember—which was the reason he’d kept his rift with Marco so low-key. They still shared a business relationship. They met often at charitable and social events. He’d allowed Marco to laugh off rumours about the cooling of their friendship, and he knew he’d let him get away with it because it was less cutting to his ego than to let anyone learn the real truth.
‘Hey you guys, wave to the crowd,’ their team manager prompted from behind them.
Like an obedient puppet Franco raised his arm and waved while beside him Marco did the same thing, switching on his famously brilliant smile and charming everyone as he always did. Franco put on his helmet to give his hands something else to do. The moment he did so he lost his own smile. The two of them climbed into the boat’s open cockpit. They strapped themselves in. Their race advisor was droning the usual information into his earpiece about wind speeds, the predicted height and length of the ocean swell. They did their pre-start checks, working with the unison of two people used to knowing what the other was thinking all the time. They had been childhood friends, through adolescence and into adulthood together. He would have staked his life on Marco always being there as a deeply loyal friend through to his dotage. Growing old together, kids, grandkids … Warm summer evenings spent watching the sun go down while drinking the best wine the Clemente cellars had to offer and reminiscing about the good old times.
The twin engines fired, their throaty roar a sweet song to Franco’s marine engineer’s ears. They took her out towards the start line—a streak of bright white amongst the dozen other powerboats splashing the glistening ocean with bright primary colours and bold sponsor logos, all of them holding back on the throttle like crouching dragons, ready to roar into action the split second they were given the go.
He glanced sideways at Marco. Franco didn’t know why he did it—the old sixth sense they’d used to share making him do it. Marco had turned his head and was looking at him. There was something written in his eyes … a stark desperation that clutched like a giant fist at Franco’s chest.
Marco broke the contact by turning away again, then Franco heard the low sound of Marco’s voice in his ear. ‘Sono spiacente, il mio amico.’
Franco was still fighting to grasp what Marco had said to him as the engines gave a throaty roar and they shot forward. It took all of Franco’s concentration to keep them on a straight line.
Too fast, his brain was registering starkly. Marco had just said he was sorry, and he was taking them out much too fast …
CHAPTER ONE
LEXI was in a meeting when the door to Bruce’s office suddenly flew open and Suzy, the very new junior assistant, burst in.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she rushed out breathlessly, ‘but Lexi has just got to see this—’
Her riot of blonde curls bouncing around a pretty face flushed with excitement, Suzy snatched up the television remote from where it lay next to the coffee machine and aimed it at the television. Everyone else gaped at her, wondering where she’d got the nerve to barge in here like this.
‘A friend sent this news link to my Twitter,’ she explained, hurriedly flicking through channels. ‘I’m seriously not into mega crashes, so I almost stopped watching, but then your face flashed up on the screen, Lexi, and they mentioned your name!’
Crystal blue waters topped by deep azure skies suddenly filled the fifty-inch flat screen. A second later half a dozen long streaks of raw engine power suddenly shot across the water, flying like majestic arrows and kicking up huge plumes of foaming white spray in their wake. Before anyone else had even clicked on what was happening, an icy chill of recognition made Lexi jerk to her feet.
High-speed
