Innocent in the Italian's Possession Read online

  Yes, she had an Italian surname, but he would bet she had a good deal of English blood in her. Perhaps she was the daughter of an expatriate who’d come to Italy to find a rich husband. Instead that woman had gotten snared by a fisherman.

  Not that Gemma’s heritage made a damned bit of difference to him.

  She was still doing all she could to cushion her life. Too bad the little piece of fluff had sunk her claws into his papa when the old man was at his lowest.

  He shoved Gemma from his thoughts and rang up the accounting department. By now every one in Marinetti’s employ would know that he’d assumed the reins of the company.

  Now it was time to get down to business.

  “Buongiorno, Umberto,” Stefano said in greeting as the little man he remembered so well from childhood answered the phone.

  “Stefano? Buongiorno,” the man replied warmly, and Stefano smiled, certain the older man would have kissed his cheeks had they met in person. “It is good you are back to manage the company.”

  “Sì.” Though he imagined not everyone at Marinetti would share his relief.

  His papa’s employees had always been loyal. To a fault? He’d soon find out.

  “I am acquainting myself with my father’s recent business dealings and I need your help. Last month, did my father make a substantial withdrawal of company funds?”

  The riffling of papers came over the line. Papers, when the company should be solely using computers!

  “Sì, Cesare requested an expenditure.” Umberto noted the date.

  Stefano set his teeth. It was the same time of month that his father and Gemma set aside for their jaunt to Milan.

  “What was the purpose of this advance?”

  “It wasn’t my place to ask,” Umberto said.

  Stefano smoothed a thumb and forefinger over his brow, frustrated by the old-world attitude of his father’s employees. The misappropriation of funds should have thrown up red flags to the man in charge of finances.

  Stefano gave a clipped thanks and ended the call.

  He’d been able to launch a swift investigation on Friday, but he’d only been able to discern one damning thing. In the past nine months, his papa had taken monthly trips to Milan with Gemma Cardone. Each time a substantial amount of funds were removed from his personal account.

  Clearly any money his father gave Gemma was for services rendered in her role as his mistress. Considering the staggering amount she’d gained, she must be very good in bed!

  That was a thought he didn’t wish to dwell on.

  Never mind that his body thrummed with sensual energy whenever she was near. She was a desirable woman and he was a red-blooded Italian who loved to love women.

  That was all there was to it. That’s all there would ever be! He wouldn’t dally with his father’s leavings, nor would he fall under the charms of a scheming gold-digger again!

  He would make her regret milking his father out of a fortune and causing his mamma such heartache. He could still hear the pain and fury in her voice when she’d phoned him just a week before she died.

  “I have been publicly humiliated,” his mother had said. “I went shopping with your aunt Althea, only to be taken aside in the store and told that there was a block on my account!”

  He could guess how her Sicilian blood must have boiled. “What did Papa say about this?”

  “He told me that times were hard for the business. That he hadn’t said anything earlier because he didn’t wish to worry me,” she said. “But that was a lie. The old fool has taken a mistress. After thirty-three years of fidelity, he suddenly decides to take a lover.”

  “You’re sure of this?”

  “Positive,” she’d said. “Ever since he hired that woman nine months ago, he pays little attention to me.”

  The woman being Gemma Cardone with her innocent smile and seductive body. “You’ve based your suspicions on Papa hiring a new secretary?”

  That heaped more coals on his mamma’s fiery temper. “They work together all day. They go away on business trips every month, yet Cesare denies he is branching out the shipping business. So I ask you what are they doing on these trips to Milan?”

  Stefano hadn’t a clue, but his mother’s suspicions convinced him to look into his father’s affairs. It had been simple to follow his papa’s treks to Milan.

  Each month he and Gemma drove the same route to Milan. They always lent the same suite in the hotel. They’d hole up there for three or four days. Stolen moments. A tryst de amore, he was sure.

  Perhaps his father needed a young woman to fire his blood and make him feel virile again. These things happened. But Stefano wouldn’t tolerate his papa abusing his mother.

  If Cesare Marinetti took a mistress to satisfy his lust, he must make concessions to his wife to soothe her pride.

  As for Stefano, he damn sure couldn’t let a gold-digger bankrupt his father’s company! However, a car wreck one week ago had taken his mamma’s life and had nearly done the same to his papa. There had been no time to think about righting the wrong until now.

  He splayed his hands on the desk and felt his blood pounding at his fingertips. Two things topped his agenda: Get Marinetti Shipping back on track and send Gemma Cardone packing.

  His muscles clenched in anger—and desire—as he thought of her seducing his papa out of so much. Too much to let her get off easy.

  His papa must have been over the moon for her. And why wouldn’t he?

  She was more tempting than he’d imagined. Despite knowing what she was, he’d been powerless to stop the desire that had erupted inside him and flowed hotter than lava off volatile Mount Etna.

  Hotter still than the Sicilian blood inherited from his mamma that demanded the satisfaction of vengeance and desire. He could hold a tight fist on his explosive anger, but he was powerless to control his desire for Gemma, and that admission angered him all the more.

  No woman had ever had that much power over him. Not even the young gorgeous lover he’d brought home from college. He’d been unsure of the depth of his love for her. He’d questioned her profession of love for him.

  But he hadn’t realized she’d been a gold-digger until she had seduced his brother. How ironic that she’d have had more wealth had she remained with Stefano.

  It was a hard lesson learned. He’d not be duped again—especially by his father’s mistress!

  Maledizione! She’d caused his mother untold grief, and made a fool of his papa. She’d not do the same to him.

  But even as his heart thundered with the need for retribution, he knew a swift punishment wasn’t enough. No, Gemma Cardone should be made to suffer as his mamma has suffered the last few weeks of her life.

  He strode to the window and stared out at the shipyard that had been in his family for generations. Marinettis had made their mark in quality ships, thanks to the seafaring men of Italy and the Mediterranean. Fishermen needed boats and ports needed ferries.

  Like his papa and grandpapa before him, Cesare had embraced that simple prescription for success. He saw no reason to deviate or expand.

  Stefano did. He had dreams of a bigger empire. A larger, cleaner international empire.

  He’d wanted to build eco-friendly vessels. Sailboats, ferries, trawlers and d’elite superyachts. Ships that would rule the seas yet not destroy the fragile environment.

  The superyacht would be the starship of his company. Floating pleasure palaces for the ultrarich, each custom made to suit discerning tastes.

  His papa thought his idea was an adulteration of the principles of the company. They had butted heads. They had argued fiercely as only Italians do.

  His papa insisted they were shipbuilders for Italians. Cesare was a millionaire and was content to move in that circle, refusing to cater to the whims of the ultrarich. He expected Stefano to fall into step with him just as his brother Davide had adhered to the niche Marinetti had carved for itself.

  In fact, he and his brother had clashed the hardest. Ov
er business, and the woman who’d come between them.

  Stefano couldn’t or wouldn’t comply, not when he was nothing more than the second son in charge of menial tasks. Not when his papa refused to consider his ideas, preferring to adhere to the routine that he and Davide had hammered into place. Not when he had to watch his former lover’s belly grow with his brother’s child.

  His heart hadn’t been broken, but his pride had surely been kicked hard.

  Stefano didn’t regret leaving this old-world business mired in old-world attitudes. He’d made his fortune and continued to build on it. He’d made a name for himself. But it hurt his pride that his papa hadn’t praised his business sense or his daring once in the past five years.

  He rested his fists on the windowsill, the wood as unyielding as his papa. Pride and honor ran deep in his veins.

  One kept him away, even after the tragic death of his brother and his family.

  One brought him back.

  He flicked another impatient glance at the connecting door. Marinetti Shipyard had operated the same for years, making a profit that had allowed his papa to maintain his millionaire status. But all that had changed one year ago.

  That’s when his papa had hired Gemma Cardone. That’s when his papa had begun spending more time with her in Milan than at his shipyard. That’s when thousands upon thousands of euros had vanished.

  Stefano returned to the desk and lounged in the chair from which his papa had ruled for so long. He opened the file his accountant had assembled and welcomed the bite of anger nipping along his nerves.

  He abhorred deceit. Gemma had smoothly deceived his papa.

  She deserved to be treated in kind.

  He jabbed the intercom button. “Join me, Gemma. Now.”

  “Yes, sir.” Was there a touch of annoyance in her voice?

  It pleased him that she was peeved to be at his beck and call. He wanted her to finally earn her paycheck by actually working.

  She stepped inside and faltered, her pen and notepad clutched tightly in hand again. “What do you want?”

  Due compensation. His blood heated, his muscles tightening as his gaze slid over her curves. You, bella. I want you.

  This carnal attraction to her annoyed the hell out of him. He favored sophisticated women who wanted nothing more than a physical relationship. He had neither the time nor patience to suffer manipulative women.

  Never mind the fact that Gemma Cardone stared back at him with a wide-eyed vulnerability that made his mouth go dry. He had the proof that she was a schemer, out to get all she could out of his papa. She’d certainly achieved that end!

  He wouldn’t be surprised if she hoped to lure him into her silken trap as well. That would never happen.

  She would not seduce him as she had Cesare Marinetti. It would be a waste of her time to use her wiles on him for he was immune to such machinations.

  He meant to give her tempting body a dismissing look, but found himself appreciating the way her silk blouse draped over her full breasts. How her skirt nipped in at her slender waist only to flare over her womanly hips.

  His muscles tensed and blood pooled in his groin just at the thought of pressing her back on his desk and making love with her. He curled his fingers into fists and pressed the knuckles into the wood, vexed that his body was still not listening to his brain where she was concerned.

  Perhaps he’d be wise to sever all ties with Gemma Cardone now. He could certainly afford to replace his papa’s lost fortune.

  He’d be free of this temptation and could devote his attention to the shipyard.

  But a swift dismissal would let her off scot-free to practice her duplicity on another victim. Word would quickly spread that Cesare and Stefano Marinetti were easy marks.

  No, he had to make an example of her. He had to venerate his mamma’s cry for vengeance. He couldn’t let Gemma Cardone get away with such duplicity.

  His gaze narrowed on the mistress who seemed too damned poised.

  Sì, too much pride and honor was at stake to sweep this nasty business under the rug. He had to publicly ruin this little schemer. The sooner, the better.

  Stefano waved a hand at the chair before his desk, impatient to get this unpleasantness finished. She hesitated in the doorway a heartbeat before quickly crossing the room.

  His pulse began racing as his gaze lingered on the brief skirt that hugged her thighs and showcased long, elegant legs that could cling to a man’s flanks as they writhed in the throes of passion. Maledizione! He didn’t want to think of seducing her.

  He damned sure didn’t want to think of her doing the same to his papa. That image sent anger bolting through him with the burning intensity of a lightning strike.

  Damn seductive gold-digger.

  Damned beautiful gold-digger.

  As soon as she was seated, he began. “I want to know what business my father and you conducted in Milan for the past nine months.”

  She went still as death, fixing those expressive blue eyes on him again. Her small fingers tightened around the edge of her notepad and her back stiffened, as if ready to defend something that wasn’t defendable. “That is between me and your father.”

  “Not anymore,” he said, gaining satisfaction in watching her glare at him as if he were in the wrong—the guilty always tried to divert attention away from themselves. “I hold majority shares in Marinetti Shipyard. The profits and debts are now mine to manage.”

  She blinked and the steel in her spine seemed to bow, as if burdened by that news. “Are you actually taking over your papa’s company?”

  “My plans are not open to discussion,” he said. “We were discussing your role in my father’s life.”

  The color drained from her face. “I told you I’m his personal secretary.”

  He snorted. She must think him as gullible as his papa.

  “Were you aware that my father is nearly bankrupt?” he said.

  Her face turned as white as marble. “I—I knew he was having financial difficulties of late.”

  “Yet you continued to take thousands of euros from him every month, even though he could ill afford such lavish gifts.”

  “It wasn’t a gift.” She pressed her lips together and downed her head, convincing him of her guilt but not her remorse.

  “Then what was it, Miss Cardone? Payment for services rendered?”

  Her head snapped up and her eyes sparked with indignation and some other emotion he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “How dare you think that I— That Cesare and I were more than friends.”

  “Do not lie to me, Miss Cardone.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. Cesare is a dear friend and my employer. Nothing more.”

  He pressed his palms on the desk when he longed to grasp her narrow shoulders and shake the truth from her. “Where the hell did the money go? You certainly haven’t spent it on designer clothes or a fancy apartment.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I’ve seen the small flat you live in and rent.” He snorted. “You don’t even own a car. Look at me!” he commanded when she looked away. “I want the truth. Why was my father giving you thousands of euros every month on top of your salary?”

  She trembled the slightest bit, like a hare cornered by the wolf. “It was a loan.”

  “A loan,” he repeated, and she bobbed her head.

  It was a lie. He was sure of it. But he didn’t hold any hope that she’d divulge her secrets. Not yet anyway.

  “What are the terms of your loan?” he asked, forcing a lighter tone with her now.

  She blinked and her soft mouth parted slightly. Could it be she hadn’t thought that for every loan there was an agreement of repayment?

  She shifted uneasily on the chair and looked everywhere but at him. “It was interest free for the first nine months, so I’ve not actually made a payment. Cesare agreed that I could wait until the inn was making a modest profit.”

  This time it was his turn to frown, for his hasty inv
estigation of her revealed she was the daughter of a fisherman from Cinque Terre. Her only family was a grandmother who lived in Manarolo, and a brother who had a weakness for gambling.

  He’d been unaware that she owned property, but the fact it was a business raised his suspicions.

  “What inn?” he asked, careful to keep his tone casual.

  “My family’s inn in Manarolo.” Her eyes blazed with such passion that his own anger cooled for a heartbeat. “It has been in my family for generations, passing from mother to daughter. Since my mamma died long ago, my nonna and I own it. But it was falling into disrepair. I’ve refurbished much of it with the money Cesare loaned me. It is beginning to do quite well with tourists.”

  As well it should, since she’d likely poured a small fortune into the restoration of it. Money that was drained from his father’s business!

  “Your nine months are up,” he said. “Where is your contract so I may review the loan details?”

  “Cesare and I had a verbal agreement. He never got around to deciding on a monthly cost I could afford.”

  “Then I must remedy that for my father,” he said, and had the satisfaction of seeing a damning flush steal over her pale cheeks. “I’ll have Umberto draw up the papers. Can we agree on payment in full within three months with the first installment due the first of the month?”

  Her lush lips thinned and he saw a second’s uncertainty flicker in her eyes. “Yes, of course.”

  She agreed far too quickly. More than likely she’d been salting the excess money away. Possibly she’d invested it and could pay back the loan in due time.

  But there was the possibility she thought to disappear and then he’d be cheated of his vengeance.

  He couldn’t let that happen. He had to hold her to their agreement and he knew of only one thing she seemed to prize above everything.

  “For collateral, I’ll hold your half of the inn until the loan is repaid in full,” he said.

  “No!” The worry lines deepening on her brow proved she didn’t like that idea at all.

  “Do you have something else you can put up in its place? Something of similar value?”