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Engaged For Her Enemy's Heir
Kate Hewitt
Surrendering to the Italian billionaireWhen ruthless Rafael Vitali learns the woman in his bed is the daughter of his sworn enemy, he can’t get her out of his penthouse quick enough. But when Allegra reveals she’s pregnant, Rafael seizes the opportunity to assert his control. He insists Allegra move to Sicily… as his wife!Allegra’s night of abandon with Rafael shattered the life she once knew. His claim over her body, and their unborn child, is undeniable but giving him a claim over her fragile heart is beyond foolish…yet the temptation he poses is wildly, wickedly irresistible…When one night…leads to pregnancy!


Surrendering to the Italian billionaire
When ruthless Rafael Vitali learns the woman in his bed is the daughter of his sworn enemy, he can’t get her out of his penthouse quick enough. But when Allegra reveals she’s pregnant, Rafael seizes the opportunity to assert his control. He insists Allegra move to Sicily...as his wife!
Allegra’s night of abandon with Rafael shattered the life she once knew. His claim over her body, and their unborn child, is undeniable, but giving him a claim over her fragile heart is beyond foolish—yet the temptation he poses is wildly, wickedly irresistible...
‘You are so beautiful. So lovely.’
With gentle hands Rafael pushed her disordered curls away from her face, his fingers skimming across her skin, exploring her features. Allegra closed her eyes, submitting to his touch, revelling in it. The feel of his fingers on her face felt as intimate as a kiss, his touch so gentle and reverent it made her ache in an entirely new way. He slid his hands lower, each touch a question, his fingers feeling her collarbone and then his palm moulding to the curve of her breast.
‘A different kind of music,’ he murmured, his mouth following the trail of his hand, and she laughed, the sound shaky and breathless.
Yes, this was new music, and he was teaching her its breathtaking melody. She’d thought that in this moment she might feel fear, or at least uncertainty, but she didn’t. She felt wonderful, and she wanted to keep feeling wonderful—to come alive under someone’s hands and feel as close to another person as she could. For one night. One moment. When would she ever get a chance like this again?
Somehow Rafael had managed to slip her dress from her shoulders, and now her upper half was bare to him. He bent his head, nudging aside her bra with his tongue, and she gasped aloud. The feel of him against her sensitised flesh was a jolt to her whole body.
‘Oh...’ The single syllable held a world of newly gained knowledge as pleasure pierced her with sweet arrows. Her hands roved over his back, drawing him closer to her.
Desire was an insistent pulse inside her. Of their own accord her hips rose, welcoming the knowing touch of his hand. His fingers brushed her underwear and she bit off a gasp.
She’d had no idea...
One Night With Consequences (#u50af1ed2-49b3-5011-958e-d8dd043254d2)
When one night...leads to pregnancy!
When succumbing to a night of unbridled desire it’s impossible to think past the morning after!
But, with the sheets barely settled, that little blue line appears on the pregnancy test and it doesn’t take long to realise that one night of white-hot passion has turned into a lifetime of consequences!
Only one question remains:
How do you tell a man you’ve just met that you’re about to share more than just his bed?
Find out in:
Crowned for the Prince’s Heir by Sharon Kendrick
The Sheikh’s Baby Scandal by Carol Marinelli
A Ring for Vincenzo’s Heir by Jennie Lucas
Claiming His Christmas Consequence by Michelle Smart
The Guardian’s Virgin Ward by Caitlin Crews
A Child Claimed by Gold by Rachael Thomas
The Consequence of His Vengeance by Jennie Lucas
Secrets of a Billionaire’s Mistress by Sharon Kendrick
The Boss’s Nine-Month Negotiation by Maya Blake
The Pregnant Kavakos Bride by Sharon Kendrick
A Ring for the Greek’s Baby by Melanie Milburne
Look for more One Night With Consequences stories coming soon!
Engaged for Her Enemy’s Heir
Kate Hewitt


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
After spending three years as a die-hard New Yorker, KATE HEWITT now lives in a small village in the English Lake District with her husband, their five children and a golden retriever. In addition to writing intensely emotional stories she loves reading, baking, and playing chess with her son—she has yet to win against him, but she continues to try. Learn more about Kate at kate-hewitt.com (http://kate-hewitt.com/).
Books by Kate Hewitt
Mills & Boon Modern Romance
Moretti’s Marriage Command
Inherited by Ferranti
Seduced by a Sheikh
The Secret Heir of Alazar
The Forced Bride of Alazar
The Billionaire’s Legacy
A Di Sione for the Greek’s Pleasure
Secret Heirs of Billionaires
Demetriou Demands His Child
One Night With Consequences
Larenzo’s Christmas Baby
The Marakaios Brides
The Marakaios Marriage
The Marakaios Baby
Rivals to the Crown of Kadar
Captured by the Sheikh
Commanded by the Sheikh
Visit the Author Profile page
at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.
To my lovely editor, Victoria.
Thank you for all your help with this one!
Contents
Cover (#u88aef18d-af78-5554-a87f-8fc52059d75c)
Back Cover Text (#u7f1e750d-5349-5f40-a241-6b5b9511f9b0)
Introduction (#u2517b16e-1912-5cbb-9b52-642686f8555c)
One Night With Consequences (#u825db647-2751-5036-8762-bfe0e9f972f0)
Title Page (#u6212ddcc-f4ef-56bc-9956-696e3821b84c)
About the Author (#uaaeb7361-ff58-5956-a79f-dfc2fc45114c)
Dedication (#u11fc1083-ed53-5f34-a208-b3603743670e)
CHAPTER ONE (#u09d7cdd2-4a82-560b-9d41-ff8d55d2d5b2)
CHAPTER TWO (#ub79be8f4-72d9-506c-b0f7-3ccf4018d92d)
CHAPTER THREE (#ua7c31730-1f8e-545e-b5ff-3ae15378ecc3)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u50af1ed2-49b3-5011-958e-d8dd043254d2)
IT SEEMED AS if a funeral was just a chance for people to get drunk. Not that Allegra Wells had personal experience of such a thing. She’d stuck to sparkling water all evening and now stood on the sidelines of the opulent hotel ballroom in Rome where her father’s wake was being held and watched people booze it up. She could have felt bitter, or at least cynical, but all she could dredge up was a bone-aching, heart-deep weariness.
It shouldn’t be this way.
Fifteen years ago it wouldn’t have been.
She took a slug of water, half wishing it was alcohol that would burn its way down to her belly and make her finally feel something. Melt the ice she’d encased herself in for so long, so that numbness had become familiar, comforting. She didn’t even notice it most of the time, content with her life back in New York, small as it was. It was only now, surrounded by strangers and with her father dead, that she felt painfully conscious of her isolation in the world she’d always viewed at a safe distance. The father who had turned his back on her without a thought.
Her father’s second wife and stepdaughter Allegra knew, at least by sight. She’d never met them but she’d seen photos when, in moments of emotional weakness, she’d done an Internet search on her father. Alberto Mancini, CEO of Mancini Technologies. He was in the online tabloids often enough, because his second wife was young and socially ambitious—at least she seemed to be, from everything Allegra had seen and read online.
Her behaviour at the funeral, wearing black lace and dabbing her eyes with artful elegance, didn’t make Allegra think otherwise. She hadn’t spared Allegra so much as a glance, but then why would she? No one knew who Allegra was; she’d only known about the funeral because her father’s lawyer had contacted her.
Around her people swirled and chatted, caught up in their own intricate dance of social niceties. Allegra wondered why she stayed. What she was hoping to find here? What did she think she could gain? Her father was dead, but he’d been dead to her for fifteen years, or at least she’d been dead to him. No messages, no letters or texts or calls in all that time. Nothing, and that was what she grieved for now, not the man himself.
The father she’d lost a long time ago, whose death now made her remember and ache for all she’d missed out on over the years. Was that why she’d come? To find some sort of closure? To make sense of all the pain?
Allegra’s mother had been furious that she’d been attending, had seen it as a deep and personal betrayal. Just remembering Jennifer Wells’s icy silence made Allegra’s stomach cramp. Interactions with her mother were fraught at the best of times. Jennifer had never recovered from the way her husband had cut both her and Allegra out of his life, as neatly and completely as if he’d been wielding scissors. Although it hadn’t felt neat. It had felt bloody and agonising, thrust from a life of luxury and indulgence into one of deprivation and loneliness, trying to make sense of the sudden changes, her father’s absence, her mother’s tight-lipped explanations that had actually explained nothing.
‘Your father decided our marriage was over. There’s nothing I could do. He wants nothing to do with either of us any more. He won’t give us a penny.’
Just like that? Allegra had barely been able to believe it. Her father loved her. He swooped her up in her arms, he tickled her, called her his little flower. For years she had waited for him to call, text, write, anything. All she’d got, on and on, was silence.
And now she was here, and what was the point? Her father was gone, and no one here even knew who she was, or what she’d once been to him.
From across the room Allegra saw a flash of amber eyes, a wing of ink-black hair. A man was standing on the sidelines just as she was, on the other side of the room. Like her he was watching the crowds, and the look of contained emotion on his face echoed through Allegra, ringing a true, clear note.
She didn’t recognise him, had no idea what he’d been to her father or why he was there—yet something in him, the way he held himself apart, the guarded look in his eyes, resonated with her. Made her wonder. Of course, she wouldn’t talk to him. She’d always been shy, and her parents’ divorce had made it worse. Chatting up a stranger at the best of times verged on impossible.
Still she watched him, covertly, although she doubted he noticed her all the way across the room, a pale, drab young woman dressed in fusty black with too much curly red hair. He, she realised, was definitely noticeable, and many women in the room were, like her, shooting him covert—and covetous—looks. He was devastatingly attractive, almost inappropriately masculine, his tall, muscular form radiating energy and virility in a way that seemed wrong at a funeral, and yet was seductively compelling.
They were here to commemorate death, and he was all life, from the blaze of his tawny eyes to the restless energy she felt in his form, the loosely clenched fists, the way he shifted his weight, like a boxer readying for a fight. She was drawn not just to his beauty but to his vitality, feeling the lack of it in herself. She felt drained and empty, had for a long time, and as for him...?
Who was he? And why was he here?
Taking a deep breath, Allegra turned and headed for the bar. Maybe she would have that drink after all. And then she would go back to the pensione where she’d booked a small room, and then to the reading of her father’s will tomorrow, although she hardly thought he’d leave her anything. Then home to New York, and she’d finally put this whole sorry mess behind her. Move on in a way she only now realised she hadn’t been able to.
She ordered a glass of red wine and retreated to a private alcove off the main reception room, wanting to absent herself as much as she could without actually leaving.
She took a sip of wine, enjoying the velvety liquid and the way it slipped down her throat, coating all the jagged edges she felt inside.
‘Are you hiding?’
The voice, low, melodious, masculine, had her tensing. She flicked her gaze up from the depths of her glass and her eyes widened in shock at the sight of the man in front of her. Him.
It was as if she’d magicked him from her mind, teleported him across the room to stand here like a handsome prince from a fairy-tale, except there was something a little too wicked about the glint in his eye, something too hard about the set of his mouth, for him to be the prince of a story.
Was he the villain?
Too stunned to form a coherent response, or one of any kind, Allegra simply stared. He really was amazingly good-looking—dark hair cut slightly, rakishly long, those glinting, amber eyes, and a strong jaw with a hint of sexy stubble. He was dressed in a dark grey suit with a darker shirt and a silver-grey tie, and he looked a little bit like Allegra imagined Mephistopheles would look, all dark, barely leashed power, the energy she’d felt from across the room even more forceful now, and twice as compelling.
‘Well?’ The lilt in his voice was playful, yet with a dark undercurrent that snaked its way inside Allegra like a river of chocolate, pure sensual indulgence. ‘Are you?’
Was she what? She was gaping, that much was certain. Allegra snapped her mouth closed and forced her expression into something suitably composed. She hoped.
‘As a matter of fact, I am. Hiding, that is. I don’t know anyone here.’ She took a sip of wine, needing the fortification as well as the second’s respite.
‘Do you make a habit of crashing funerals?’ he asked lightly, and she tensed, not wanting to admit who she was...the rejected daughter, the cast-off child, coming back for scraps.
“Not unless there’s an open bar,” she joked, hefting her glass, and the man eyed her thoughtfully. Did he believe her? She couldn’t tell. ‘Did you know him?’ she asked. ‘Alberto Mancini?’ The name stuck in her throat, and she saw a flash in the stranger’s eyes, a single blaze of feeling that she couldn’t identify but which still jolted her like lightning.
‘Not directly. My father did business with him, a long time ago. I wanted to...pay my respects.’
‘I see.’ She tried to gather her scattered wits. The look of sleepy speculation in the man’s eyes made her skin prickle. His gaze was like a caress, invisible fingertips trailing on her heated skin. She’d never reacted to someone so viscerally before, so immediately. Maybe it was simply because her emotions were raw, everything too near the surface. She certainly couldn’t ever recall feeling this way before. ‘That’s very kind of you.’ He smiled and said nothing. ‘What did you say your name was?’
‘I didn’t.’ His gaze swooped over her again, like a hawk looking for its prey. ‘But it’s Rafael.’
* * *
Rafael Vitali didn’t know who this beguiling woman was, but he was captivated by her cloud of Titian curls, the wide, grey eyes that were as clear as mirrors, reflecting her emotions so he could read them from across the room. Weariness. Sorrow. Grief.
Who was she? And what was her relationship to Mancini? It didn’t really matter, not now his business was done, justice finally satisfied, but he was still curious. A family friend—or something less innocuous? A lover? A mistress? She hadn’t come just for the bar, of that he was certain. So what was she hiding?
Rafael took a sip of his drink, watching the emotions play across her face like ripples in water. Confusion, hope, sadness. A lover, he decided, although she was surely young enough to be his daughter. Mancini’s wife and daughter were across the room, looking sulky and even bored. Rafael would have spared a second of sympathy for the man’s widow if he hadn’t known how she’d raced through his money. And tomorrow she would discover how little there was left...perfect justice, considering how Mancini had done the same to his mother, leaving her with nothing.
And as for his father...
He braced himself for the flash of pain, the memories he closed off as a matter of self-protection, of sanity. He never let himself think about his father, couldn’t go to that dark, closed-off place, and yet for some reason Mancini’s death had pried open that long-locked door, and now he was feeling flickers of the old pain, as raw as ever, like flashes of lightning inside him, a storm of emotion he needed to control.
‘Take care of them for me, Rafael. You’re the man of the house now. You must protect your mother and sister. No matter what...’
But, no. He needed to slam that door shut once more, and right now he knew the perfect way to do it...with this beguiling woman by his side.
‘I hope the bar is worth enduring a wake for,’ he said lightly, and she grimaced.
‘I’m not really here for the bar.’
‘I thought not.’ He braced a shoulder against the wall so he was closer to her, inhaling her light, floral scent. A flyaway strand of coppery hair brushed his shoulder. She was utterly lovely, from her silver-grey eyes to her pert nose and lush mouth, her skin pale and creamy with a scattering of red-gold freckles. ‘So how did you know him?’ he asked.
She shrugged, her gaze sliding away. ‘I knew him a long time ago. I’m not even sure he’d have remembered me, to be honest.’ She let out a wavering laugh that sounded a little too sad, and Rafael resisted the tug of sympathy he felt for her. He didn’t want to feel sorry for her, not now. Not when he’d already decided to sleep with her. Besides, she was no doubt been one of Mancini’s cast-off mistresses, a gold-digger in it for the money and baubles. Why feel sorry for such a woman?
And yet he couldn’t help but notice how fragile she looked, as if a breath might blow her away. There were violent smudges like bruises under her eyes, and her face was pale underneath the gold dust scattering of freckles. The figure underneath the rather shapeless black dress looked slender and willowy, with a hint of intriguing curves. ‘I can’t believe anyone would forget you,’ he said, and was amused to see her cheeks turn pink, her pupils flare, as if she were an innocent unused to compliments.
‘Well...you’d be surprised,’ she returned with an uncertain laugh. ‘What business did your father have with my—with him?’
‘A new technology for mobile phones.’ He didn’t want to talk about the past. ‘At least new at the time. The industry has moved on quite a bit since then.’ But the technology would have made his father a lot of money, if Mancini hadn’t cut him off. If he’d lived.
‘I wouldn’t know. I’m rather useless with technology. I can barely manage my own phone.’ She took a sip of wine, golden-red lashes sweeping down onto her porcelain cheeks. Rafael had the desire, unsettlingly strong, to sweep his thumb along her cheek and see if her pale skin felt as creamily soft as it looked.
‘What do you do, then?’ he asked. ‘For a living?’ He reckoned she must be in her late twenties. Had she found a new sugar daddy?
‘I work at a café, in Greenwich Village. It’s a music café.’
‘A music café? I’ve never heard of such a thing.’
‘It’s a shop for instruments and libretto,’ Allegra explained. ‘As well as a café. But it’s so much more than that—it hosts concerts for aspiring musicians, and offers lessons to all sorts of people. It’s a bit of a community hub, for music-lovers at least.’
‘And you are one, I gather?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was quiet and heartfelt, as well as a little bit sad. ‘Yes, music is very important to me.’
Rafael watched her, disconcerted by this shy admission, by the genuineness of it, of her. He didn’t want to confuse or complicate his feelings, had no intention of deepening what would be a shallow but satisfying sexual transaction.
‘I suppose I should leave,’ Allegra said slowly. ‘I don’t really have a reason to stay.’ She sounded reluctant, and when she looked up at him her eyes were full of mute appeal, wanting him to stop her. And stop her he would.
‘It’s still early,’ he said as he angled his body closer to her, his shoulder brushing hers, letting her feel both his heat and intent. Her eyes widened, and her tongue darted out to touch her lips. Primal need blazed through him. She was either artless or very, very experienced—he couldn’t tell which, but either way she enflamed him. ‘But we don’t have to stay here. Tell me what your favourite piece of music is.’
‘Oh...’ She looked surprised, and then shyly pleased. ‘I don’t think you’d know it.’
‘Try me.’
‘All right.’ She smiled, and it felt like a ray of sunlight on his soul, disconcertingly bright, reaching too many dark corners. It was just a smile. ‘It’s the third movement of the Cello Sonata by Shostakovich. Do you know it?’
‘No, but I wish I did. I wish I could hear it.’
‘He’s not one of the most well-known composers, but his music is so emotional.’ Her grey eyes developed a pearly sheen; she looked almost tearful. ‘It moves me like nothing else does.’
‘Now I really wish I could hear it.’ The look of naked emotion on her face caught at him unexpectedly. He’d started the conversation about music as a way to invite her up to his suite, but now he found he genuinely wanted to hear the piece. ‘I have a suite in this hotel,’ he said. ‘With an amazing sound system. Why don’t you come upstairs and listen to the piece with me?’
Allegra’s eyes widened with stunned comprehension. ‘Oh, but...’
‘We can have a proper drink at the same time. The bar up there is much better than the plonk they’re serving down here.’ He whisked her glass from her fingertips and deposited it on the tray of a hovering waiter. ‘Come.’ He held out his hand, willing her to agree. The evening couldn’t end here, unsettled, unsated. He needed more. He craved the connection and satisfaction he knew he’d find with her, however brief.
Allegra stared at his outstretched hand, her eyes wide, her fingers knotted together. ‘I’m not...’ she began, and then trailed off, looking endearingly uncertain. Was it an act? Or was she really reluctant?
He didn’t want her reluctant. ‘I am,’ he said, and reached for her hand, pulling her gently towards him. She came slowly, with hesitant steps, her wide-eyed gaze searching his face, looking for reassurance.
And he gave it as his fingers closed around hers, encasing the spark that had leapt between them at the first brush of skin. He drew her by the hand, away from the circulating crowds. A few people gave them curious looks, a veiled glance of envy that Rafael ignored, just as he’d ignored the subtle and not so subtle come-ons of the various women there. There was only one he wanted, and he was holding her hand.
They walked hand in hand out of the room, across the foyer, and then to the bank of gleaming lifts. Rafael’s heart started to race in expectation. He was looking forward to this more than he’d looked forward to anything in a long time.
He pressed the button for the lift, holding his breath, not wanting to break the fragile spell that was weaving its way around both of them. Not wanting to let her entertain second thoughts.
The doors opened and they stepped inside, the lift thankfully empty. As the doors closed Rafael turned to her. ‘You have the most enchanting smile.’
She looked completely surprised. ‘Do I?’ she asked, and he nodded, meaning it, because her smile was lovely, a shy, slow unfurling, like the petals of a flower. More and more he was thinking she was genuine, that her air of innocence and uncertainty wasn’t an act. At least, not that much of an act. She must have had some experience, to be mourning Mancini, and yet she almost seemed untouched.
‘You do. And I think it is a rare but precious thing.’ He leaned back against the wall of the lift and tugged her gently towards him, close enough so their hips nudged each other’s and heat flared, a spreading, honeyed warmth that left him craving more. ‘I would like to see it more often.’
‘We have been at a funeral,’ Allegra murmured, her gaze sweeping downwards. ‘There hasn’t been much cause to smile.’
The doors pinged open before Rafael had to come up with a response to that thorny statement. He stepped out, directly into the penthouse suite he’d booked. Allegra looked around the soaring, open space, her eyes wide.
‘This is amazing...’
Was she not used to such things? Rafael shrugged the question aside, drawing her deeper into the room. The doors to the lift closed. At last they were alone.
CHAPTER TWO (#u50af1ed2-49b3-5011-958e-d8dd043254d2)
WHAT WAS SHE DOING? Allegra felt as if she’d stumbled into an alternate reality. What kind of woman followed a strange, sexy man up to his penthouse suite? What kind of woman fell headlong under his magnetic spell?
Certainly not her. She didn’t do anything unexpected or impetuous. She lived a quiet life, working at the café, her closest friend its owner, an eighty-year-old man who treated her like a granddaughter. Her life was small and safe, which was how she wanted it. And yet from the moment Rafael’s hand had touched hers she’d been lost, or perhaps found. She felt as she’d been wired into a circuit board she’d had no idea existed, nerves and sensations springing to life, making her entire body tingle.
She felt, and after the numbness she’d encased herself in that was both good and painful, a necessary jolt, waking her up, reminding her she was alive and someone, someone was looking at her with warmth and even desire, wanting her to be there. The knowledge was intoxicating, overwhelming.
Rafael was still holding her hand, his warm, amber eyes on hers, his smile as slow and sensual as a river of honey trickling through her.
It was dangerous, letting herself be looked at like that. Dangerous and far too easy to float down that river, see where its seductive current took her. They were here to listen to music, but Allegra wasn’t so naïve and inexperienced not to realise what that meant. Why Rafael had really asked her up here.
Nervous and unsettled by her spiralling thoughts, Allegra tugged her hand from Rafael’s and walked around the suite, taking in all the luxurious details, soaring ceilings and marble floors, ornate woodwork and silk and satin cushions on the many sofas scattered around the large living area.
‘This place really is incredible,’ she said. Her voice sounded high and thin. ‘What a view.’ Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a spectacular view of the city on three sides. ‘Is that the Coloseum?’ She pointed blindly, and then felt Rafael come to stand behind her, his body so close she could feel his heat. If she stepped backwards so much as an inch she’d be touching him, burned by him. She wanted it, and yet she was afraid. This was entirely new, and new meant unfamiliar. Strange. Dangerous.
Except...what, really, did she need to be afraid of? Rafael couldn’t hurt her, not in the way she’d been hurt before, soul deep, heart shattered. She wouldn’t let him. She was nervous, yes, because this was strange and new, but she didn’t have to be afraid. She took a deep breath, the realisation calming her. She could be in control of this situation.
‘Yes, it’s the Coliseum.’ His hands rested lightly on her shoulders, and a slight shudder went through her, which she knew he felt. Daring now to prolong the moment, to up the ante, she leaned back so she was resting lightly against him. The feel of his chest, hard and warm, against her back was a comforting, solid weight, grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected. Making her want to stay there.
Rafael’s hands tightened on her shoulders and they stood there for a moment, her back against his chest so they could feel each other’s heartbeats. Allegra closed her eyes, savouring the moment, the connection. Because that’s what she wanted, what she needed now...to feel connected to someone. To feel alive.
So much of her life had been lived alone, since she was too shy to make friends at school, too confused and hurt to reach out to her mother, too wounded and wary to seek love from the handful of dates she’d had over the years. But this...one single, blazing connection, to remind her she was alive and worth knowing...and then to walk away, unhurt, still safe.
‘Shall we have champagne?’ Rafael’s voice was soft, melodious, and Allegra nodded. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but she wanted to celebrate. Wanted to feel this was something worth celebrating.
‘That sounds lovely.’
He moved away and she turned, wishing she could get hold of her galloping emotions, her racing pulse. Feeling this alive was both exquisite and painful. What was it about this man that made her want to take a step closer, instead of away? That made her want to risk after all this time?
The pop of a cork echoed through the room, making Allegra start. Rafael poured two glasses, careless of the bubbles that foamed onto the floor. ‘Cin-cin,’ he murmured, a lazy look in his eyes, and he handed her a glass.
‘Cin-cin,’ Allegra returned. She hadn’t spoken the informal Italian toast since she was twelve years old, and the memory was bitter-sweet. New Year’s Eve at her family home, an estate in Abruzzi, snow-capped mountains ringing the property. Her father had given her her first taste of champagne, the crisp bubbles tart and surprising on her tongue. The sense of happiness, like a bubble inside her, at being with her family, safe, secure, loved.
Had it all been a mirage? A lie? It must have been. Or perhaps she was remembering the moment differently, rose-tinted with the innocence of childhood, the longing of grief. Perhaps her father hadn’t been as doting as she remembered; perhaps he’d taken a call moments after the toast, left her alone. How could she ever know? She couldn’t even trust her memories.
‘Are you going to drink?’ Rafael asked, and Allegra blinked, startled out of her thoughts.
‘Yes, of course.’ She took a sip, and the taste was as crisp and delicious as she remembered. She blinked rapidly, wanting to clear the cobwebs of memory from her already overloaded mind. She didn’t want to get emotional in front of a near-stranger.
‘Tell me about yourself,’ she said when she trusted herself to sound normal. ‘What do you do?’
‘I run my own company.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘What kind of company?’
‘Property. Mainly commercial property, hotels, resorts, that sort of thing.’
He was rich, then, probably very rich. She should have guessed, based simply on his presence, his confidence. Even his cologne, with the dark, sensual notes of saffron, smelled expensive. Privileged. She’d been privileged once too, before her parents’ divorce. More privileged and even spoiled than she’d ever realised, until it had all been taken away.
Not that she’d been focused on her father’s money. Although her mother complained bitterly that after the divorce she’d got nothing, that she’d had to scrounge and beg and pawn what jewellery she’d managed to keep, Allegra hadn’t really cared about any of it. Yes, it had been a huge step down—from an enormous villa to a two-bedroom apartment too far uptown to be trendy, public school, no holidays, often living off the generosity of her mother’s occasional boyfriends, a parade of suited men who came in and out of her mother’s life, men Allegra had tried her best to avoid.
All of it had made her mother bitter and angry, but Allegra had missed her father’s love more than any riches or luxuries. And at the same time she’d become determined never to rely on anyone for love or anything else ever again. People let you down, even, especially, the people closest to you. That was a lesson she didn’t need to learn twice.
‘And you enjoy what you do?’ she asked Rafael. She felt the need to keep the conversation going, to avoid the look of blatant, sensual intent in his eyes. She wasn’t ready to follow that look and see where it led, not yet, and Rafael seemed content to simply sip and watch her with a sleepy, heavy-lidded gaze.
‘Very much so.’ He put his half-full glass on a table and moved towards the complicated and expensive-looking sound system by the marble fireplace. ‘Why don’t we listen to your music? Shostakovich, you said, the third movement of the cello sonata?’
‘Yes...’ She was touched he’d remembered. ‘But surely you don’t have it on CD?’
He laughed softly. ‘No, I’m afraid not. But the sound system is connected to the Internet.’
‘Oh, right.’ She laughed, embarrassed. ‘Like I said, I’m not good with technology.’
‘You can leave that to me. I can find it easily enough.’ And he did, for within seconds the first melancholy strains of the music were floating through the room. Rafael turned to her, one hand outstretched, just as it had been before. ‘Come.’
The music was already working its way into her soul, the soft strains winding around her, touching a place inside her no person ever accessed. Music was her friend, her father, her lover. She’d given it the place meant for people, for relationships, and she’d done that deliberately. Music didn’t hurt you. It didn’t walk away.
She took Rafael’s hand, the sorrowful emotion of the cello resonating deep within her. Rafael drew her down onto the sumptuous leather sofa, wrapping one arm around her shoulders so she was leaning into him, breathing in his scent, her body nestled against his.
It was the closest she’d ever been to a man, and yet bizarrely the intimacy felt right, a natural extension of the music, the moment, both of them silent as the cello and piano built in sound and power.
Then Rafael drew her against him even more tightly, so her cheek was pressed against his chest, her body pressed against his, and Allegra closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. She needed this. She closed her eyes, the music and Rafael and the champagne all combining to overwhelm her senses even as it made her want more, to let herself be swept away on this tide of emotion and see where it took her.
Underneath her cheek Rafael’s chest rose and fell in steady, comforting breaths. His fingers stroked her arm and his breath feathered her hair. Everything about the moment felt incredibly intimate, more so than anything Allegra had ever experienced before. If only they could go on like this for ever, feeling each other’s breaths, each beat of their hearts.
The music built to its desperate, haunting crescendo and then the strains fell away into silence. It had been, Allegra knew from having listened to the piece many times, just over eight minutes, and yet it felt like a lifetime. She felt both drained and intensely alive at the same time, and in the ensuing stillness neither of them moved or spoke.
‘Do you know,’ Allegra finally said softly, ‘the cello is closest instrument to the human voice? I think that’s why it affects me so much.’ She let out a shaky laugh, conscious of the tears on her cheeks, the rawness of the moment. The music had affected her more now than it ever had before.
‘It is a stunning piece of music,’ Rafael said quietly. His thumb found her tear and gently swept it away, stealing her breath, making her ache. ‘It causes me to both yearn and mourn.’
‘Yes...’ The sensitive, sincerely spoken observation pierced her to her core. This was the connection she craved, and unthinkingly she twisted in his arms, smiling through her tears, her face tilted up to his. Then she caught the blazing look in his eyes, felt its answer in the sudden, desperate thrill that rippled through her body. And this connection, even sweeter and more powerful than the last...
He dipped his head and she held her breath, the whole world suspended, expectant—and then his mouth was covering hers in a kiss that felt like both a question and an answer, a need both sating and sparking to life. It was enough, and yet it made her want so much more.
Allegra’s hands clenched on the crisp cotton of his shirt as his mouth moved with thorough and expert persuasion on hers, gentle and yet so sure. She’d never known a kiss could be like this, touching her to her very core, piercing her right through, knowing her. And right now she wanted to be known.
And then it became wonderfully, thrillingly more. In one easy movement Rafael swept her up and across the room and she found herself lying down on the soft leather cushions, his face flushed and his eyes jewel-bright as he looked down at her.
‘You are so beautiful. So lovely.’ With gentle hands he pushed her disordered curls away from her face, his fingers skimming across her skin, exploring her features. Allegra closed her eyes, submitting to his touch, revelling in it. The feel of his fingers on her face felt as intimate as the kiss, his touch so gentle and reverent it made her ache in an entirely new way.
He slid his hands lower, each touch a question, his fingers feeling her collarbone and then his palm moulding to the curve of her breast.
‘A different kind of music,’ he murmured, his mouth following the trail of his hand, and she laughed, the sound shaky and breathless. Yes, this was new music, and he was teaching her its breathtaking melody. She’d thought, in this moment, that she might feel fear, or at least uncertainty, but she didn’t.
She felt wonderful, and she wanted to keep feeling wonderful, to come alive under someone’s hands, feel as close to another person as she could. For one night. One moment. When would she ever get a chance like this again?
Somehow Rafael had managed to slip her dress from her shoulders, and now her upper half was bare to him. He bent his head, nudging aside her bra with his tongue, and she gasped aloud, the feel of him against her sensitised flesh a jolt to her whole body.
‘Oh...’ The single syllable held a world of newly gained knowledge as pleasure pierced her with sweet arrows. Her hands roved over his back, drawing him closer to her, desire an insistent pulse inside her.
Of their own accord her hips rose, welcoming the knowing touch of his hand. His fingers brushed her underwear and she bit off a gasp. She’d had no idea...
Rafael lifted his head, his gaze glittering as he looked down at her, his breathing as ragged as her own. The obvious fact that he wanted her as much as he wanted him solidified her certainty that this was what she wanted. What she needed. A connection, pure and true.
‘Will you come into the bedroom with me?’
She nodded wordlessly, knowing there was only one answer her aching body and heart could give.
‘Yes.’
In one fluid movement Rafael rose from the sofa and drew her towards the bedroom. Allegra followed, barely conscious of her rucked-up dress, her tangled hair.
The bedroom was as elegant and luxurious as the living area, and Allegra glanced at the massive king-sized bed, standing on its own dais and covered in a navy satin duvet. Rafael turned her to face him, framing her face with his hands as he kissed her again, even more deeply, and she responded, his kiss drawing a deep, pure note from her soul.
Rafael tugged the zip down the back of her dress so the black silk fell away, leaving her in nothing but her bra and pants, both simple and black, hardly sexy, and yet his gaze gleamed with approval as he looked at her, and her heart swelled. She had never realised how wonderful it felt, to have a man look at her like that. Want her like that. He drew her towards him, her breasts brushing against his chest, her hips nudging his so she could feel the hard length of his arousal against her stomach.
‘Cold?’ he whispered, and she shook her head.
No, she was not cold. It was a balmy spring evening, and the hotel suite was warm. The shiver was because of him, and he knew it, and she didn’t care.
He kissed her again, working his way down her jaw and collar bone to press his lips against the V between her breasts. She threaded her fingers through his hair, anchoring herself to him. She felt adrift in sensation, and his touch was the only thing that tethered her to earth.
Then he was moving his mouth lower, peeling away her bra and pants with his hands, sinking down onto his knees in front of her so Allegra swayed, shocked and overwhelmed by the feel of his hands on her hips, his mouth...
‘Oh...’ Her breath came out in shattered gasps. It was so unbearably intimate, to have him looking at the very essence of her, revering her in an act so selfless and giving and... ‘Oh.’
Rafael’s dark chuckle reverberated through her bones as her body trembled on the precipice of an orgasm that felt like an explosion. He rose again and drew her to the bed, leaving her trembling and aching and wanting more.
She watched, dazed, as he shucked off his clothes, revealing a bronzed torso, the muscles of his abdomen scored into hard, perfect ridges. His legs were long and powerful, and as for the most male part of him...
He was a work of beauty.
‘You may look,’ Rafael said as he covered her body with his. ‘And you may also touch.’ And then he was kissing her again, his arousal pressing into her with thrilling insistence, and that restless ache became an overwhelming clamour in her body, drowning out all thought, all doubt.
She gasped out loud as his fingers touched her in her most intimate and feminine places, teasing, toying, exploring, knowing. Her fingernails dug into the satiny skin of his shoulders as her body strained for the glittering apex she felt, just out of her reach, a pinnacle she needed to find, that she wanted them to ascend together.
And then, finally, he was sliding inside her, his breathing harsh and ragged as he filled her up, the momentary twinge of pain lost in the utter rightness of the sensation, the union complete and total.
He stopped, swearing under his breath, and, lost in a haze of need, Allegra stilled underneath him.
‘Rafael...?’
‘You are vergine?’ he demanded, and she gulped.
‘Yes...’
He swore again, his forehead pressed to hers. ‘I had no idea...’
‘Why would you?’ she managed, and he let out a shudder, his eyes clenched closed.
‘You should have told me.’
‘Rafael...’ She arched her hips upwards, letting her body plead in a way her words could not. She couldn’t let him stop now, not when everything in her was aching and demanding. With a groan he kept moving, the delicious slide of his body in hers making Allegra forget that tense moment as she gave herself up to the sensations cascading through her, building in a beautiful crescendo, and then the glittering apex burst into crystalline shards of pleasure around her as she let out a cry that rent the still air and then fell away like the most sacred note of music she’d ever heard.
* * *
Rafael rolled off Allegra, managing to suppress the curse that sprang to his lips once more. She’d been a virgin. He hadn’t expected that, not even when he’d decided she was artless and genuine, and guilt soured like acid in his stomach. He’d stolen someone’s innocence. He’d used someone who should have been protected, cared for. He’d done something he’d sworn he would never do again. Break a sacred trust.
He’d assumed she was a woman of some experience, even if she’d seemed a little shy. He never would have brought her upstairs otherwise. He never would have gone ahead with his seduction.
And yet...the music, the mood, the way Allegra had looked at him with hungry hope...all of it had made him yearn in a way that now left him feeling deeply uneasy. Sex was a transaction, nothing more, pleasurable and easy as it was. He didn’t ever let it mean anything, and he hoped like hell Allegra wasn’t imbuing it with some kind of emotion he would never let himself feel.
And yet it had been the innocent purity of her response that had been his undoing. He hadn’t even used birth control. The realisation crystallised like ice inside him. He’d meant to reach for a condom, but in the moment he’d completely forgotten. He’d lost his head. He’d certainly lost control of his body.
Next to him Allegra was still, a rosy flush covering her pale, porcelain body, the perfect foil for the creaminess of her skin. Her hair was spread across the pillow in a tangle of red-gold curls, making him want to thread his fingers through them even now, and pull her towards him for an open-mouthed kiss. Even now, with his climax still thudding through him, knowing how innocent she’d been, he wanted her. He’d never wanted a woman so quickly, or so much.
Allegra rolled on her side, curling into him, her arms wrapped around his chest. Rafael froze, confusion colliding with alarm, irritation with guilt. He didn’t do pillow talk. Ever. All of his bed partners knew what he expected in bed, and what he definitely didn’t want. He made it very clear from the beginning that emotional attachments were a no-go zone, except Allegra, of course, hadn’t received that memo. And as a virgin she would no doubt expect some intimacy now, some soft talk that he knew he was utterly incapable of. He didn’t let people get close. People he could hurt. People he could fail.
As he’d already hurt Allegra, deflowering her in what amounted to a tawdry one-night stand.
Her leg found its way between his, her damp cheek pressed to his chest. She let out a shuddering sigh.
‘I miss him,’ she whispered, her voice sounding broken. ‘I miss him so much.’
Shock had Rafael stilling. What the hell...? ‘Miss him?’ he repeated tonelessly.
‘I know I shouldn’t, there’s nothing to miss,’ she continued softly. ‘I hadn’t even seen him in fifteen years. But I do miss him. I miss what we once had, what I thought we had. That’s why I came tonight, I think. Because I was looking for something, some kind of closure...’
She was talking about Mancini. But fifteen years... She couldn’t have been his mistress. She was in her late twenties at most.
‘Allegra,’ Rafael asked hoarsely, turning to stare down into her pale, lovely face. ‘Who are you?’
She looked up at him with tear-drenched eyes. ‘I’m his daughter,’ she said simply, and Rafael bit down on the curse that sprang to his lips.
Allegra was Alberto Mancini’s daughter. The daughter of his enemy, his nemesis, was lying in his arms, seeking his comfort, because her dear father, the man who had as good as murdered his own, was dead.
His stomach heaved. He felt a thousand different emotions—fury and guilt, disgust and alarm, regret and sorrow. He was sickened by his own part in this unexpected drama, taking a woman’s innocence, a woman who he should, by rights, have nothing to do with. He’d hated the Mancinis for so long, had wanted only justice...but what was this? What was he? Allegra was looking for comfort and he had none to give.
He rolled away from her and out of bed, grabbing his boxers and slipping them on in one jerky movement. From behind him he heard Allegra shift in bed, and then her voice, trembling, uncertain.
‘Rafael?’
‘You should go.’ His voice was brusque; he didn’t think he could have gentled it if he’d tried. Anger was coursing through him now, a pure, clean rage. Mancini’s daughter. Did she know what her father had done? Did she realise the blood he had on his hands? Reasonably he knew she couldn’t; she must have been a child when his own father had died.
And yet...she was a Mancini. She missed her father, a man he’d hated. She’d been innocent, and he’d abused it. His feelings were a confused tangle of guilt and anger, shame and frustration. It was all too much to deal with. He needed her out of his life. Immediately.
‘You...you want me to go?’ Her voice was a trembling breath of uncertainty.
‘I’ll call you a cab.’ He reached for his trousers and pulled them on. Then, because she still wasn’t moving, he grabbed her dress and tossed it to her. It fell on her lap; she didn’t even reach for it.
She looked gorgeous and shocked, sitting in his bed, the navy sheet drawn up to her breasts, her hair tumbling about her shoulders, her eyes heartbreakingly wide.
‘But... I don’t understand.’
‘What is there to understand?’ Each word was bitten off with impatience. Innocent she might might have been, but surely she could figure out what was going on. ‘We had a one-night stand. It’s over.’ He paused. ‘If I’d known you were a virgin, I would have done things a bit differently. But as it was...’ He shrugged. ‘You seemed happy enough with how things happened.’
She blinked as if she’d been slapped, and then she lifted his chin, showing a sweet courage that made his emotions go into even more of a tailspin.
‘I was,’ she agreed with emphasis. ‘I may be innocent, but even I can tell when an exit strategy needs some work. And yours sucks.’
‘Thanks for the tip, but the sentiment remains the same.’ Rafael folded his arms, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. Too many emotions had been accessed tonight, too many raw nerves twanging painfully. He couldn’t take any more. She had to go.
Allegra took a deep breath, lifting her chin, blinking back tears. ‘Will you give me a moment of privacy to dress?’ she asked with stiff dignity, and although he could have retorted that he’d already seen her naked, Rafael didn’t have it in him to be that cruel. Her fragile courage touched him in a way he didn’t like, and he gave a terse nod before stalking from the room.
He needed a drink, something far stronger than champagne. This didn’t feel at all like he’d expected it to, needed it to. He’d been looking for satisfaction, and instead he felt more restless than ever. Restless and remembering.
‘All you have is your honour, Rafael. That’s all that’s ever left. Your honour and your responsibilities as a man.’
But he had neither now.
The door to the bedroom opened just as Rafael poured himself a generous measure of whisky. He forced himself not to turn as he heard Allegra’s heels click across the marble floor of the living area. Remained with his back to her as she pressed the button for the lift and the doors pinged open.
‘Goodbye,’ she said, her voice soft and sad and proud all at once, and then she was gone.
Alone in his penthouse suite, Rafael raised the glass of whisky to his lips. He stared out at the unending night and then, instead of drinking, he threw the tumbler against the wall, where it shattered.
CHAPTER THREE (#u50af1ed2-49b3-5011-958e-d8dd043254d2)
ALLEGRA SAT DOWN in the lawyer’s office, her stomach seething with bitter memory as well as nerves. It was the day after her father’s funeral, and also of the biggest mistake of her life. She’d left Rafael’s hotel suite with her chin held high but her self-esteem, her whole self in tatters, everything in her reeling from his treatment of her.
He’d been so tender, and she’d felt so treasured. Had it all been a lie? Again? It seemed she did have to learn that lesson twice. People weren’t what they seemed. They said and did what they liked to get what they wanted and then they walked away.
And she was the one left, alone and hurting.
Except, she’d told herself last night, staring gritty-eyed at the ceiling of her bedroom in the modest pensione, she didn’t have to be hurt by this. Before it had begun she’d told herself she wouldn’t be. What they’d done together might have seemed meaningful at the time, but he was still a stranger. A sexy, selfish, unfeeling stranger. It wasn’t as if she’d loved him. She hadn’t even known him.
She’d made a mistake, she told herself as she rose from bed that morning, body and heart aching with fatigue. A sad, sorry mistake, because she’d given a part of herself to someone who hadn’t deserved it. She’d searched for comfort and affection from someone who had neither wanted nor offered neither. She’d survive, though. She had before.
She’d lost her father when she’d felt most vulnerable, had watched him walk away from her without a backward glance. She’d seen her mother withdraw into bitterness and desperation, and she’d fended for herself since she was eighteen. Over the years she’d lost plenty of dreams, and this didn’t have to hurt nearly as much. She wouldn’t let it.
Signor Fratelli had been insistent that she attend the meeting, although Allegra didn’t know why. She doubted her father had left her or her mother anything; if he hadn’t given her anything in life, why would he in death? She wasn’t looking forward to the meeting, to sitting in a stuffy room with her father’s second wife and stepdaughter, the family he’d chosen. Still, it would be a few minutes of discomfort and tension, and then she could return to New York. Act as if none of this had ever happened.
‘Signorina Mancini.’ The lawyer greeted her with a tense smile as Allegra was ushered into the stately room with its wood-panelled walls and leather club chairs. ‘Thank you for coming.’
‘It’s Signorina Wells, actually,’ Allegra said quietly. Her mother had reverted to her maiden name, as had Allegra, after the divorce. She glanced at Caterina Mancini, whose icy hauteur didn’t thaw in the least as her arctic-blue eyes narrowed. Her gaze flicked away from Allegra and she didn’t offer a greeting.
Next to her, her daughter Amalia, around the same age as Allegra, shifted uncomfortably, giving Allegra a quick, unhappy smile before looking away. Allegra felt too tired and on edge to return it. The other woman had her mother’s cool blonde looks without the icy demeanour. In different circumstances, another life, Allegra might have considered getting to know her. Now she could barely summon the emotional energy to sit next to the two women who had taken her and her mother’s places in her father’s life.
Signor Fratelli began making some introductory remarks; through a haze of tiredness Allegra tried to focus on what he was saying.
‘I am afraid, in recent weeks, there has been some change to Signor Mancini’s financial situation.’
Caterina’s gaze swung to pin the lawyer. ‘What kind of change?’ she demanded.
‘Another corporation now has controlling shares in Mancini Technologies.’
Caterina gasped, but the words meant little to Allegra. She still didn’t know why the lawyer had insisted she be there for such news.
‘What do you mean, controlling shares?’ Caterina asked, her voice high and shrill.
‘Signor Vitali of V Property has secured controlling shares,’ the lawyer explained. ‘Only recently, but he is now essentially the CEO of Signor Mancini’s company. And he will be here shortly to explain his intentions regarding its future.’
Allegra sat back and closed her eyes as Caterina’s ranting went on. What did she care that some stranger now owned her father’s company? None of this was relevant to her. She shouldn’t have come. Not to the lawyer’s, and not even to Italy.
‘Ah, here he is,’ Signor Fratelli said, and then the door to his office opened and Rafael appeared like a dark angel from her worst dreams.
Allegra stared at him in shock, too stunned to react other than to gape. He looked remote and professional and very intimidating in a navy blue suit, his eyes narrowed, his mouth a hard line. His cool gaze flicked to Allegra and then away again without revealing any emotion at all. Allegra shrank back into her chair, her mind spinning, her body already remembering the sweet feel of his hands... What was he doing here?
Signor Fratelli stood. ‘Welcome, Signor Vitali.’
Maybe because she was so tired and overwhelmed, it took Allegra a few stunned seconds to realise what it all meant. Rafael was Signor Vitali of V Property. He owned her father’s company. Had he known who she was last night? Was it some awful coincidence, or had she been part of his takeover? She pressed her hand to her mouth and took several deep, steadying breaths. The last thing she wanted to do was throw up all over Rafael Vitali’s highly polished shoes.
She was so busy trying to keep down her breakfast that she missed the flurry of conversation that swirled around her. Distantly she registered Caterina’s outraged exclamations, Rafael’s bored look. Signor Fratelli was looking increasingly unhappy.
Allegra straightened in her chair, her hands gripping the armrests as she struggled to keep up with what was being said.
‘You can’t do this,’ Caterina protested, her face pale with blotches of angry colour visible on each over-sculpted cheekbone.
‘I can and I have,’ Rafael returned in a drawl. ‘Mancini Technologies will be dissolved immediately.’
Allegra stayed silent as Rafael outlined his plan to strip her father’s company of its apparently meagre assets. Then Signor Fratelli chimed in with more devastating news—nearly all of her father’s assets, including the estate in Abruzzi, had been tied up with the company. The result, Allegra realised, was that her father had died virtually bankrupt.
‘You killed him,’ Caterina spat at Rafael. ‘Do you know that? He died of a heart attack. It must have been the shock. You killed him.’
Rafael’s expression did not change as he answered coldly, ‘Then I am not the only one with blood on my hands.’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Caterina demanded, and Rafael didn’t answer.
Numb and still reeling from it all, Allegra turned to Signor Fratelli. ‘May I go?’ She didn’t think she could stand to be in the same room as Rafael much longer. He’d used her. More and more she was sure he’d known who she was, and had planned it. Had it amused him, to have the daughter of the man he’d ruined fall into his hands, melt like butter?
‘There is something for you, Signorina,’ the lawyer told her with a sad smile. ‘Signor Mancini had a specific bequest for you.’
‘He did?’ Surprise rippled through her along with a fragile, bruised happiness, even in the midst of her shock and grief. Signor Fratelli withdrew a velvet pouch from his desk drawer and handed it to Allegra.
Caterina craned her neck and Rafael and Amalia both looked on as Allegra clasped the pouch. She didn’t want to open it in front of them all, but it was clear everyone expected it. Caterina was bristling with outrage, seeming as if she wanted to snatch the precious bag from Allegra’s hands.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the pouch and withdrew a stunning necklace of pearls, with a heart-shaped diamond-encrusted sapphire at its centre. She knew the piece; it had belonged to her father’s mother, and her mother had loved to wear it. Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked them back. The value of the piece was not in its jewels but in the sheer, overwhelming fact that her father had remembered her. She clenched the necklace in her fist, gulping down the emotion, before she managed to give Signor Fratelli a quick nod.
‘Grazie,’ she whispered, the Italian springing naturally to her lips.
‘There is a letter as well,’ Signor Fratelli said.
‘A letter?’ Allegra took the envelope from the lawyer with burgeoning hope. Perhaps now she would finally understand her father’s actions. His abandonment. ‘Thank you.’ The letter she refused to open here. She rose from her seat, making for the door.
As she brushed past Rafael she inhaled the saffron scent of his cologne and her stomach cramped as memories assailed her.
His hands touching her so tenderly. His body moving inside hers in what had been an act more intimate than anything Allegra had ever experienced or imagined. She’d understood all along that it had been a one-night stand; she’d known that they weren’t building a relationship. And yet the reality had been both harsher and more intense than she’d ever expected—both the import of what she’d shared with Rafael and the cruelty of him kicking her out the door.
Now, on shaking legs, with her head held high, she walked past him and out the door. She’d just started down the steps when the door opened behind her and Rafael called her name.
Allegra hesitated for no more than a second before she kept walking.
‘Allegra.’ He strode easily to catch her, touching her lightly on the arm. Even the brush of his fingers on her wrist had her whole body tensing and yearning. Remembering. She shook him off.
‘We have nothing to say to each other.’
‘Actually, we do.’ His voice was low and authoritative, commanding her to stop. She paused, half turning towards him, wanting to ignore how devastatingly attractive he looked even now.
‘What,’ she demanded in a shaking voice, ‘could you possibly have to say to me now? You got your revenge.’
‘Revenge?’ His mouth firmed into a hard line. ‘You mean justice.’
‘Did you know I was his daughter last night?’ Allegra demanded shakily. ‘Did it...did it amuse you, having me fall all over you when you knew you were ruining him?’
‘I didn’t know you were Mancini’s daughter, and if I had, I wouldn’t have touched you. I want nothing to do with any Mancini, ever.’ He spoke with a cold flatness that made Allegra recoil.
‘Why? What had my father ever done to you?’
‘That is irrelevant now.’
‘Fine.’ She wouldn’t let herself care. She intended to forget Rafael Vitali ever existed from this moment on. ‘Then we have nothing to say to each other.’
‘On the contrary.’ Once more Rafael stayed her with his hand. ‘We didn’t use birth control.’
Five simple words that had her stilling in frozen shock, dawning horror. She licked her lips, her mind spinning. She was so innocent, had felt so overwhelmed, that the fact they hadn’t used birth control hadn’t even crossed her mind. She was ashamed by her own obvious naiveté.
‘If you are pregnant,’ Rafael continued in a low, steady voice, ‘then you will have to tell me.’ His tone brooked no argument, no protest.
‘Why?’ Allegra demanded. ‘You wanted to have nothing to do with me last night. Why would you want to deal with my child?’
‘Our child,’ Rafael corrected her swiftly. He handed her a business card, which Allegra took with numb fingers. ‘Naturally I hope this will come to nothing. But if it does not, I am a man of honour.’ Cold steel entered his voice, making Allegra flinch. ‘I take care of what is mine.’
Come to nothing.
An appropriate term for the evening they’d shared, and any possibility emerging from it. Allegra longed to rip his business card into shreds, but the gesture seemed childish. She crumpled it in her fist instead.
‘Suffice it to say,’ she bit out, ‘I have no desire ever to speak to you again, about anything.’
‘I’m serious, Allegra.’
‘So am I,’ she choked, and then hurried down the stairs.
Back at the pensione, still trembling from her encounter with Rafael, Allegra finally opened the letter from her father.
Dear Allegra,
Forgive an old man the mistakes he made out of sorrow and fear. I cared more for my reputation than for your love, and for that I will always be sorry.
Your mother loved this necklace, but it belongs to you. Please keep it for yourself, and do not show it to her.
I don’t expect you to understand, much less forgive me.
Your Papa.
Tears streaked silently down her face as she read the letter again and again, trying to make sense of it. He’d loved his reputation more than her? What did that even mean? The letter hadn’t answered anything, only stirred up more questions.
And yet...he was sorry. He had loved her. But if that was the case, why had he been able to let her go?
* * *
Rafael sat in the lawyer’s office, the acid of regret churning in his stomach. In his mind he could see Allegra’s huge, silvery, tear-filled eyes, and another pang of guilt assailed him. He’d handled last night badly. He knew that, yet he also knew he couldn’t have changed his reaction. Alberto Mancini had killed his father. What he’d done in exchange to Allegra—treating her harshly after a single night together—was negligible in comparison.
As for a possible pregnancy...he would provide for any child of his, absolutely. There was no question about that at all. But he hoped to heaven and back that Allegra was not carrying his baby. And he wished he’d been able to temper his actions last night, at least a little. Or, even better, that the whole night had never happened.
Yet even as the thought flitted through his mind he knew he was a liar. Last night had been incredible, explosive, the most intense sexual encounter of his life. He hadn’t used birth control because he’d been so overcome with desire, with basic, blatant need. He’d wanted her last night and seeing her this morning, looking so pale and proud, he’d wanted her all over again, to his own shame.
‘Signor Vitali? Is there anything left to say?’
Rafael blinked the lawyer back into focus, along with Mancini’s widow and stepdaughter. He’d thought he’d enjoy seeing Caterina Mancini brought low but, despite the obvious fact that she was a gold-digger, he felt sorry for her. She’d had nothing to do with his father’s downfall, and right now his eye-for-an-eye justice tasted bitter.
And if she was right, and Mancini had died of a heart attack, of shock at having his business bought out from under him...
Then he’d killed Mancini just as Mancini had killed his father.
Uncertainty and guilt cramped his stomach. He didn’t like either emotion, would not entertain them for a moment. If his actions had brought about Mancini’s death, then so be it. Justice had finally, fully been served. He had to believe that.
* * *
Allegra travelled back to New York in a daze, sleeping nearly the entire flight, wanting only escape from the grief and memory and pain.
The world felt as if it had righted itself a little bit when she was back in her studio apartment in the East Village, enjoying the quiet, peaceful solitude of her own space, the sound of muted traffic barely audible from the sixth floor. She’d said hello to Anton, her boss and landlord, and then retreated upstairs. All she needed now was some music to help to soothe and restore her.
Allegra automatically reached for her favourite Shostakovich before her hand stilled, her stomach souring. Had Rafael ruined her favourite music for her for ever? Maybe. She chose some Elgar instead, and then curled up on her sofa, hugging a pillow to her chest, trying not to give in to tears.
A few minutes later her mobile rang, and Allegra’s heart sank a little to see it was her mother.
‘Well?’ Jennifer demanded before Allegra had said so much as hello. ‘Did you get anything? Did I?’
‘It was a lovely funeral service,’ Allegra said quietly, and Jennifer merely snorted. Her mother held no love, or even any sentiment, for Alberto Mancini. ‘We didn’t get anything,’ she said after a tiny pause. Although she didn’t understand it, she would heed her father’s advice not to tell her mother about the sapphire necklace. ‘He didn’t even have much to give.’ She explained about Rafael Vitali and his takeover of Mancini Technologies, striving to keep her voice toneless, betraying none of the emotion still coursing through her at the memory of that one earth-shattering night. She’d forget it. She’d start forgetting it right then. She had to.
‘Vitali?’ Jennifer said sharply. ‘He bought the company?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not that it has anything to do with us.’
‘No,’ Allegra agreed dourly. ‘Although Caterina Mancini accused him of practically killing...’ Even now she could not say Papa. He might have signed the letter as her papa, but he hadn’t acted or felt like one since she’d been a child. ‘Him. Because the heart attack might have been brought on by shock.’ The thought that Rafael might have actually killed her father was like a stone inside her.
And she’d given herself to this man.
Jennifer was silent for a moment. ‘It’s over,’ she said at last, and that knowledge rested in Allegra’s stomach like lead. Yes, it was over. It was all over.
* * *
Over the next month Allegra did her best to move on with her life. She worked at the café, she chatted with customers, she walked in the park and tried to enjoy the small pleasures of her life, but after that one earth-shattering night with Rafael, everything felt dull and colourless.
It was foolish to miss him when he’d treated her so brutally, and yet Allegra felt like Sleeping Beauty who had been woken up. She couldn’t go back to sleep again. Retreat was not an option, and yet it was the only one she’d ever known.
So she tried to forget about that evening entirely, but a month after she returned from Italy she threw up her breakfast. She passed it off as having had a dodgy takeaway the night before, but when she threw up the next morning, realisation crept in, cold and unwelcome. The third morning she bought a pregnancy test.
She stared down at the two pink lines in shock, realisation coursing through her in an icy wave. It seemed too unfair that on top of having the misfortune to have slept with Rafael Vitali and then been brutally rejected by him, she now was carrying his baby. One night—and now this?
Her baby. Her child, living inside her, like a flower, waiting to unfurl. The maternal instinct was so strong it took her breath away. She hadn’t expected it, had never even thought about having children, not seriously. After all, she was perennially single, with no one in the picture or even on the horizon.
And yet...a baby. Someone to love, someone to make a family with, a proper family. She would never abandon her baby the way her father had abandoned her. She’d never take out her frustration and bitterness on her child the way her mother had on her. She’d be the best mother she knew how to be, already loving this scrap of humanity with a fierceness that surprised and humbled her.

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