Castiglione family, just as he had. Knew that along with being one of the most powerful real estate and gambling czars in the United States, his empire reaching from New York to Las Vegas, Stefano Castiglione was reputed to carry darker connections beneath that smooth, charismatic facade of his as the head of an international crime syndicate.
“We aren’t doing business with him, Laz.” He dismissed the notion with a shake of his head. “End of story.”
His brother hiked a lazy shoulder. “I wasn’t actually suggesting we do business with him,” he drawled. “I was merely yanking your chain to see how you would react. Which was predictable.” His brother narrowed his gaze on him. “You’re still hung up on her.”
“Who?”
“Gia.” Lazzero waved a hand at him. “You’ve gone on a tear through half the women on the planet since her, but you’re not even remotely interested in any of them. Take tonight, for instance. You could have had that redhead—the publicity girl. What’s her name... Sylvie? Sophie? Instead, you are completely distracted.”
“Because I should be back at the office working.”
“Says the man who likes to socialize more than he likes to breathe.” His brother rolled the Scotch around his tumbler, the amber liquid flickering in the torch light. “So if I were to tell you that Gia is standing behind you it would be of no interest to you?”
He turned to stone. Fingers locking around his glass, he swiveled, his scan of the crowd pinpointing the woman he’d spotted earlier talking with Delilah and another guest. His heart stalled in his chest as he took her in. Confirmed what he’d instinctively known. It was Gia.
Clad in a vibrant coral dress that hugged every inch of her curvaceous figure, she was thinner than he remembered, her gorgeous long, dark hair cut into a sophisticated blond bob that gave her a completely different look. Her cheeks were gaunt under her perfect, dramatic bone structure, her eyes deep, dark pools of green that seemed to vibrate emotion.
Exactly as they had that night four years ago when she’d given him her innocence, then walked away, as if what they’d shared had meant nothing. When she’d married another man.
Turn around, he told himself. Pretend she isn’t here. Do exactly what you said you would do if you ever saw her. But he stayed where he was. Gia looked up. She froze as their gazes collided, her eyes widening beneath long, dusky lashes. Like a curtain coming down over her face, the blood fled, rendering her whiter than a sheet.
A midnight storm darkened those beautiful eyes. Twisted something in his insides tight. Maledizione. Why tonight? Why here, when she hadn’t been seen in public for an eternity?
“Santo,” Lazzero said on low note. “She is bad for you. Nothing good ever came of the two of you. Leave it alone.”
He was wrong, Santo corrected silently. They had been good that night. Perfect. Before she’d torn out his heart. And even though he knew he should stay away, he couldn’t seem to do it.
He set down his glass on the bar, ignoring his brother’s muttered imprecation as he threaded his way through the crowd toward where Gia stood. But when he got there, she was gone, Delilah and the other guest immersed in conversation. Instinct took him to where Gia stood at the edge of the terrace, looking out at the water, a silent, delicate figure silhouetted against a sparkling, dark blanket of blue.
The image struck him as particularly appropriate, because hadn’t it always been Gia against the world? Gia, who’d hovered on the outside, sitting by herself in the high-school cafeteria the first time he’d ever seen her, shunned by her fellow students because of who she was. Because she’d been escorted to and from school by her bodyguards, her friendships vetted and discarded by her powerful father before they’d ever had a chance to take flight.
He would never forget the shy smile that had lit up her face when he’d plunked his tray down beside hers and asked if the seat beside her was taken.
She turned as he approached, as if she’d sensed his presence, that same invisible thread tethering them together that had always defied reason. Her spine rigid, her face set in a mask he couldn’t possibly decipher, she looked haunted. Guarded. Vulnerable. It awakened a primitive need to protect inside of him that was as instinctive as it was irrational.
“Santo,” she said huskily, unleashing that insanely sexy voice that had haunted his dreams. “I had no idea you would be here tonight.”
He came to a halt in front of her. Dug his hands into his pockets. “Delilah is hot on the idea of putting our boutiques in her hotels. Lazzero and I were on the way home from a golf tournament in Albany. She suggested we drop in.”
Her long lashes brushed the delicate line of her cheeks. “That’s exciting. Delilah has some of the biggest key influencers on the planet on her client list. It would be the perfect partnership.”
“We think so.” He held her gaze. “I was sorry to hear about your husband.”
She inclined her head. “Thank you. It was a shock. It’s taken me some time to process it.”
He would have bought her cool, collected act if it wasn’t for the white-knuckled grip she had on her clutch. The tremor in her voice that dismantled his insides. “Gia,” he said softly, stepping forward to sweep a thumb across her jaw. “Are you okay?”
She flinched away from his touch, a quick, reflexive movement that sent a hot rush of emotion through him. “I’m fine. You know I didn’t love him, Santo. What my marriage was and what it wasn’t.”
“I’m not sure what I know and what I don’t,” he growled, “because you walked away without a word.”
“Santo—”
He waved a hand at her. “You dropped off the edge of the earth for two years, only to show up here tonight. Forgive me if I had to ask the question. Old habits die hard.”
She anchored her teeth in her lush bottom lip. “I work for Delilah. I have for the past couple of years.”
He frowned. “You live here?”
She nodded. “You know I never wanted that kind of a life for myself. When Franco died, it was my opportunity to reach out and take everything I had been denied. Delilah,” she explained, “is an old friend of the family on my mother’s side. She offered to help me create a new life for myself. Gave me a job as a designer for her hotels and a place to stay. No one,” she stated evenly, “knows me as Giovanna Castiglione here, they know me as Giovanna De Luca.”
And she wanted to keep it that way. He struggled to wrap his head around that revelation. “And what does your father think of all of this?”
Her chin hiked, a tiny, but imperceptible movement. “He doesn’t know.”
He frowned. “What do you mean, he doesn’t know?”
“I mean he doesn’t know where I am. No one does, Santo. I left the life. I walked away.”
She’d left the life? Walked away? A surge of astonishment coursed through him. “You ran away?”
A fire darkened her emerald eyes. “I am a Castiglione, Santo. You know who my father
