But he knew about the attempt, she thought, heart racing. He wasn’t surprised by her question. He was familiar with the incident. “What do you know?”
“I know you were hurt.”
Sam looked at him quickly, and then away. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“You were in the hospital for a week.”
She smiled grimly, remembering how Johann proposed while she was still in the hospital. Johann had said he needed her, and Gabby needed her and that by marrying him, Sam would make him a better man.
It didn’t work out that way, of course. After the wedding, and as soon as Sam had fully recovered from the beating, she assumed even more household responsibilities than before. She wasn’t just the nanny now, but the cook, the housekeeper, the bookkeeper, the gardener, the seamstress, the laundress because, Johann, citing financial difficulties, had let all hired help go.
“How did you find out?” she asked, knowing that even though the workload was exhausting, by that point she was so attached to Gabby that she couldn’t imagine leaving.
“I’ve been keeping my eye on van Bergen.”
She felt a shiver of apprehension. “You’ve been spying on us?”
Again he fell silent, and his silence was somehow more effective than other peoples’ words. His silence conveyed tremendous strength and power, as well as calm. The word, unflappable, crossed her mind.
She looked at him where he sat across from her in the oak booth, his long legs out and braced before him, his hands resting lightly just below his hipbones. Something in his stillness, something in his pose—his hands resting just so—reminded her of a gunslinger from one of the old cowboy movies she used to watch with her father late at night when there was nothing else on the telly.
“I’d prefer to call it investigating,” he said, speaking slowly, carefully. “I was intent on gathering facts. Evidence. Making sure Gabriela was safe until I could get her in my care.”
“So you’ve tried going to court?”
“We’ve been in court for years—but it takes so long. I expect a legal decree soon—”
She felt dangerously close to hysteria. “So why the poker games?”
“Revenge.” Cristiano’s upper lip curled. “I wanted to make him suffer. He made me suffer. It seemed only fair.”
“Suffering is never fair.”
“You’re such a good girl, Samantha.”
She wouldn’t be baited, not this time. “So I wasn’t important. You never wanted me—”
“Not true.” He cut her off. “I wanted you from the beginning. I gambled on the fact that once I had you, Gabriela would follow.”
“That’s illogical.”
“Sam, you married Johann for Gabriela. If you came to me, you’d bring Gabriela. And I was right.” He smiled at her but his smile was predatory. “You’ve protected her from the beginning. I don’t hold that against you. In fact, I appreciate the fact that you love her for her—not for her bank account.”
“She has a bank account?”
“A huge trust fund. She’s a Bartolo.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
Cristiano’s lashes lowered and he studied her as though she were a curiosity, something he’d uncovered in a dusty secondhand shop. “It means she’s rich. It means she will always wonder when she grows up if men love her for her, or if they love her money.”
“That’s horrible.”
“That’s reality.”
She pursed her lips, trying to digest this and everything else she’d learned. “And that’s what you want for her? Some harsh reality where her life is ruled by money, not love?”
“Sam, life is what it is. I’m not going to sugarcoat it for Gabriela, you, or anyone. But I’ve been observing Gabriela. She’s a bright girl. She’s confident and assertive. There’s no reason she can’t be rich, and be loved.”
Somehow Sam felt the inequities very much. She—who’d tried so hard for so many years—had neither love nor money. “Do you have both? Are you rich?”
“Yes.”
“Loved?”
He laughed, cool and mocking. “No. But that’s my choice.”
Sam had never met anyone like Cristiano Bartolo, didn’t understand anyone like him, either. “Why wouldn’t you want love?”
“Love’s complicated. It involves layers of emotion including guilt and fear. I’m happier without it.”
“Without love.”
“As I said, I’m happy as I am.”
She shook her head, perplexed. “So why do you want Gabby?”
He hesitated for the briefest second. “Because she’s a Bartolo. She should be raised by a Bartolo.”
He was making her sick. She couldn’t stand his way of thinking. It was harsh, horrible, selfish. “This isn’t why you take a child—”
“It is for me,” he cut in sharply before lifting the menu. “Do you know what you’re going to eat?”
Sam couldn’t imagine eating a bite after that but when the waitress appeared at their table, she ordered toast and tea, thinking she had to put something in her stomach if she was going to survive the day.
They sat in virtual silence while they waited for their breakfast to arrive until Sam couldn’t stand the miserable tension a moment longer. “So what are you going to do? How exactly does this work?”
“In the morning we’ll fly back to Monte Carlo. On Monday Gabby will begin at her new school.”
“A new school?”
“Yes.”
Sam stared at him aghast. So upset she ignored the waitress when she brought Sam her pot of tea. “You’re out of your mind.” And he was. He had to be to think he could just rip Gabriela from everything she’d known and loved. “Maybe adults understand moves and shifts, maybe adults can be relocated overnight, but not children—”
“I’m not asking you, Samantha. I’m telling you this. The decision is made. It’s no longer your concern.”
She shuddered, knowing he was wrong, knowing Gabriela would always be her concern. She might not be her nanny anymore, might not even be her stepmother, but Gabby was part of her heart, her life. “What is the rush?”
“I’ve lost enough time trying
