Michelle Smart - Wedded, Bedded, Betrayed

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 our 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.