Wedded, Bedded, Betrayed Read online

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  Run, Elena, run.

  In her mind’s eye she pictured the tree house her father’s staff had built for her and her brothers when they’d been children. If she could only reach it undetected, she would be safe.

  But no matter how quickly she ran along the beach, she could hear him gaining on her.

  Gabriele Mantegna. A man she vaguely remembered from her childhood. A man who scared her as much as the armed men in her family’s holiday home.

  This was the man who had spent two years in an American federal prison and tried to implicate her father in his criminality.

  In the distance ahead was the pathway that led into the forest and to her sanctuary.

  She pushed on even harder but still he gained ground. His breaths were heavy behind her.

  She wasn’t going to make it.

  A burst of fury rent through her, overriding her fear. She would not allow herself to be captured by this man.

  Coming to an abrupt halt, she turned on the spot and charged, propelling her entire body at him. It was like charging at a brick wall.

  But her ruse worked. Taken by surprise, Gabriele stumbled back onto the sand. Unfortunately he wasn’t so off guard that he didn’t immediately hook his foot around her ankle, sending her tumbling on top of him. Within seconds he had gained the upper hand, twisting her onto her back and pinioning her beneath him.

  ‘Are you trying to get yourself killed?’ he demanded, his angry breath hot on her face.

  Bucking beneath him, she tried everything she could to throw him off but she was too tightly caught.

  Gabriele swore and, panther-like, sprang back to his feet. There was no way for her to escape again for he unceremoniously pulled her up, hooked an arm around her waist, and slung her over his shoulder.

  No sooner had he started running than shouts echoed from the house.

  Terror as she had never experienced, not even when she’d unexpectedly stumbled upon the gang, careered through her.

  Yet, even with the indignity of being carried like a naughty child and the pain in her stomach as it jostled against his shoulder, when the first gun shots rang out she squeezed her eyes shut and thanked God for Gabriele’s strength, and prayed for the shots to fire wide.

  She had no idea how long he ran with her thrown over his shoulder. It could have been one minute, it could have been an hour. All she knew was that the men were chasing and firing at them.

  And then he was no longer running with her on the sand but wading through the sea. An engine ran close by. She hardly had time to register that a jet ski had appeared from nowhere before Gabriele had climbed onto it and shouted, ‘Go!’

  Whoever was driving didn’t need telling twice. The jet ski shot off over the still waters.

  Somehow Gabriele manipulated her body so she was no longer draped over his shoulder but secured on his lap, sandwiched between him and the man riding the jet ski.

  Within minutes they approached an enormous yacht. To Elena’s amazement, they steered straight into an opened hatch on the side and parked, exactly as if they were parking a car in a garage.

  Gabriele and the man who’d ridden the jet ski helped her off.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Gabriele asked, looking at her closely.

  She opened her mouth to retort defiantly that of course she was all right when the magnitude of everything she’d gone through that evening and the exhaustion that had brought her to Nutmeg Island hit her.

  A hot fog formed in her brain, perspiration breaking out all over, her hands suddenly clammy.

  And then it all went black.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ELENA AWOKE TO find herself cocooned in a heavy duvet on a bed so comfortable that for a moment the fact she didn’t have a clue where she was didn’t matter.

  She stretched then sat bolt upright as memories flooded her.

  She’d fainted. She remembered feeling all...wrong, remembered strong arms holding her, overriding her protests.

  Gabriele Mantegna .

  He’d kidnapped her. He’d given chase, thrown her over his shoulder and spirited her to his yacht via a jet ski.

  Or had he saved her?

  Yes, that was right. He’d certainly saved her from the criminal gang who’d done the unthinkable and overridden her father’s state-of-the-art security system and broken onto their island.

  But he was Gabriele Mantegna and instinct told her she’d be no safer with him than those men. The danger he carried was of a different kind.

  He’d carried her away from the hail of bullets that had rained on them. God alone knew how they’d escaped without being shot.

  What was he even doing there?

  So many thoughts crammed in her brain it was a struggle to think straight.

  Another memory came to her, of being placed on the bed and Gabriele’s rich voice murmuring in their native Italian that she should sleep.

  The only comfort she could take was that her clothes were still on.

  Climbing out of bed, she held onto the frame until she was certain her feet were steady, then drew the floor-length curtains.

  Light flooded the cabin, almost blinding her with its brilliance. She opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony. The Caribbean Sea—at least she assumed they were still on the Caribbean—was calm, the yacht powering through it at a remarkable rate. If she closed her eyes she wouldn’t know they were sailing.

  Movement behind her made her turn and find a woman dressed in a maid’s outfit standing at the door of her cabin.

  The maid gave a tentative smile. ‘Good morning Signorina Ricci,’ she said in Italian. ‘Can I get you some breakfast?’

  The sea air had done a good job of clearing Elena’s head and reinvigorating her. As much as she wanted food and a hot shower, what she needed was to see Gabriele and find out what the hell was going on.

  ‘I would like you to take me to Signor Mantegna.’

  The maid nodded her acquiescence and Elena followed her out of the cabin and into a wide corridor. A flight of steps led into a huge atrium where a white grand piano sat in the centre ringed by a circle of plush white sofas.

  Gabriele was found on the third deck, sitting at a table overlooking a large, oval swimming pool, eating from a bowl of fruit.

  He rose to his feet. He wore only a pair of canvas shorts. ‘Good morning, Elena. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Much better thank you,’ she replied coolly, feeling her cheeks flame as she remembered basically falling into a dead faint at his feet.

  Being eye level with his naked chest only caused the flames to burn harder. Quickly, she averted her gaze.

  ‘You gave us quite a scare. Please, sit down. Coffee? Food?’

  She took the seat opposite him. ‘A caffè e latte would be nice.’

  Turning to the maid, he said, ‘Esmerelda, a caffè e latte and a tray of pastries for our guest, and a fresh pot of coffee for me please.’

  While he spoke to the maid, Elena took the opportunity to flash her eyes over him.

  Last night Gabriele had been dressed in a black wetsuit. It had been obvious then that he had a good body on him. However, nothing could have prepared her for seeing it in the flesh. Strong and defined, it was covered across the pecs with fine dark hair. This, coupled with his deep bronze colour, was testament to a man who enjoyed the outside life.

  But there had been a couple of years when his outdoor recreation would have been severely limited...

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked abruptly.

  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen a topless man before, she reminded herself. She had three older brothers. The male physique was hardly a mystery.

  ‘I appreciate you saved me from those men last night but what were you doing on ou
r island? If you had nothing to do with those men, how did you know to rescue me?’

  It could only have been for nefarious purposes. Ever since Gabriele’s release from prison he’d been conducting a subtle one-man vendetta against her family. The media intrusion had become intolerable.

  The handsome, charismatic billionaire head of Mantegna Cars, a convicted fraudster and money-launderer, never missed an opportunity to make digs at her father. Gabriele had pleaded guilty to the charges and taken sole responsibility—though it was widely believed he’d only done so to save his own father—but many whispers had reached the media that Gabriele was fingering Ignazio Ricci as the real culprit.

  Thoughtful eyes, such a dark brown colour they appeared black, met her gaze. With his strong nose and wide, sensuous lips, Gabriele’s features had a soulful quality that was totally incongruous for a man such as him.

  ‘I heard you scream. That’s how I knew there was someone in danger.’

  Her throat still hurt from that scream.

  ‘We’ll wait until your refreshments have been served and then we can talk about the rest of it.’ His gaze flickered over her, scrutinising her in a fashion that made her flush. Having not looked in a mirror, she could only imagine how awful she looked with her bed hair and the clothes she’d fished in, made a bonfire in and slept in.

  ‘Can you at least tell me where we are?’

  ‘We are currently in the Gulf of Mexico. All being well we should arrive at Tampa Bay by early evening.’

  Since assuring himself that Elena’s faint wasn’t anything to worry about, Gabriele had done some research on the woman he hadn’t set eyes on in over two decades. His mind had been so filled with revenge on Ignazio and, to a lesser extent, his three sons, he’d almost forgotten she existed.

  From thinking a man like Ignazio didn’t have the capacity to love anyone, Gabriele now knew that, in Elena, he had found his nemesis’s Achilles heel.

  Their fathers had been close friends since childhood. When Alfredo, Gabriele’s father, had emigrated from Italy to the US with his wife and young son, their friendship had endured. Alfredo had passed on his new American contacts to Ignazio and vouched for him, enabling him to expand his own growing empire.

  Their businesses had been complementary, with Ricci Components supplying many of the parts fitted in Mantegna Cars. Both men had subsequently diversified from their business origins and a decade ago had merged the overlapping aspects of their respective businesses, at Ignazio’s suggestion. Gabriele had had some reservations about the merger but had kept them to himself—after all, Ignazio was practically family.

  Despite their enduring closeness, Ignazio had kept his only daughter hidden away in Italy. Gabriele doubted he had seen Elena in the flesh more than a handful of times since she was a toddler. His only real memory of her was as an unabashed tomboy.

  The light of her father’s eye, she had been home educated and protected all her life. She’d joined her father’s business at the age of eighteen and worked closely with him for a number of years before being given the role of running the European division of Ignazio’s empire.

  Unlike her brothers, who had all the subtlety of a trio of strutting peacocks, she still, as an adult, kept in the background. Media sightings of her were slim and those that existed were all business related.

  One particular broadsheet interview with Ignazio had caught his attention. It had been conducted four years ago, when Gabriele’s father had first been charged. Ignazio had slated Alfredo and spoken eloquently about how ‘duped’ he felt. The only sincere words Gabriele had sensed from the man had been about his daughter:

  ‘Elena is the hardest worker of my staff and the best child a man could hope for. I know when I become infirm, she will be there to care for me.’

  He allowed himself a smile.

  Gabriele’s visit to the Ricci chapel might not have provided the evidence to clear his name he so badly wanted but in Elena he had found a silver lining. He’d found a weapon that could hurt Ignazio much more than merely sending him to prison.

  Oh, yes, as a weapon to hurt Ignazio, he had found none better.

  But then his smile dropped.

  There would be nothing to celebrate until he found the evidence that cleared his father’s name—and his own—and would allow his mother whatever peace she was capable of finding.

  ‘I should tell you that your presence here has presented me with something of a dilemma,’ he said.

  Her brows drew together, her startling green eyes holding his. ‘What kind of dilemma?’

  ‘You have provided me with options I hadn’t considered before.’ Seeing Esmerelda returning to them, he left it at that.

  Elena’s caffè e latte, a large fresh pot of coffee and a plate of pastries were placed between them, and Gabriele’s coffee poured.

  ‘Please, eat,’ he instructed with a wave of a hand, as Esmerelda disappeared back inside.

  ‘Tell me why I’m a dilemma.’

  ‘I would prefer to have this conversation without worrying you’re going to fall into another faint due to hunger.’

  ‘I’ve never fainted before,’ she stated matter-of-factly. ‘It was the shock and adrenaline of everything, that’s all. I’ve never been kidnapped before and then rescued, then chased, then thrown over a shoulder to a jet ski with live ammunition being fired at me.’

  ‘Why did you run from me?’ he asked curiously.

  ‘Because you have a grudge against my father and hate my family. You appeared in the room like a dark phantom—I was scared.’

  ‘I don’t hold a grudge against your father,’ he denied calmly. ‘My loathing towards all you Riccis is much stronger than that.’

  Her pretty, lightly golden face paled. ‘Then why did you rescue me?’

  ‘Because I’m not such a monster that I would leave you at the mercy of those men.’

  A tiny, shaking hand took a cornetto. Instead of biting into it, she put it on the plate before her, then took a sip of her caffè e latte.

  ‘I don’t understand why you hate us all so much.’

  ‘Really?’ He allowed his disbelief to ring through the syllables. Elena was a child of Ignazio’s loins. She worked closely with him. Gabriele doubted there was anything about Ignazio’s business practices she was unaware of. She was as guilty as he. ‘Then let me educate you.’

  At the foot of the table sat his briefcase. He pulled it onto his lap, opened it, and took out a document file.

  ‘I went to Nutmeg Island last night searching for evidence of your father’s criminality. These are a few of the documents I copied from the basement of your family chapel last night. As you can see, I’ve had them printed off to make digesting them easier. These are irrefutable proof that Ricci Components is laundering 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 thro
ugh 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.’