Modern Romance Collection: April 2018 Books 5 - 8. Heidi Rice

lunch with Harper had been surprisingly relaxed. Choosing the fresh catch of the day, Harper had ploughed her way through a large platter of seafood with surprising speed, enthusiastically mopping up the juices with hunks of bread. It had been a real delight to see her enjoying her food, although Vieri had been careful to avert his eyes to the twinkling expanse of the Mediterranean Sea when she had finally come up for air, dabbing her mouth with the napkin and declaring it was the nicest meal she had ever had. Even so, he felt a foolish swell of pride that he had finally managed to do something that had made her happy.

      A buzz from his phone alerted him to a new email message from Bernie, his head of security. Vieri clicked it open. Rodriguez had been found and was back in New York. But Leah McDonald was no longer with him. Bernie was awaiting further instructions. Vieri narrowed his eyes for a moment, then tapped out his reply.

      Leave Rodriguez to me. Find Leah McDonald asap.

      He heard a door opening and the sound of Harper and his godfather returning. Harper was laughing at something Alfonso had said and when they appeared in the sitting room she was still smiling, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her hair a mass of untamed curls. She looked...gorgeous. Dragging his gaze away, he was suddenly conscious of Alfonso’s eyes on him, a knowing smile playing about his lips.

      ‘Let me help you into your chair, padrino.’ For some unknown reason he felt flustered, as if he had been exposed. ‘I do hope you haven’t caught a chill.’

      ‘Stop fussing, my boy, I am fine. With your fiancée, I have been in the very best hands.’ He smiled at Harper before easing himself into his chair. ‘But I think I will go for a lie-down in a minute. Harper, perhaps you would be so good as to find Maria for me.’

      ‘Of course.’

      As she left the room, Alfonso signalled to Vieri to close the door behind her.

      ‘Come here, my son. Quickly. I want to talk to you before Harper returns.’

      Vieri pulled up a wooden chair and seated himself opposite his godfather.

      ‘What is it, padrino?’

      ‘I may be old,’ he started, fixing his godson with a watery stare, ‘but I like to think I am still pretty astute.’

      ‘Indeed you are.’ Vieri didn’t doubt that for a second.

      ‘And it is fairly obvious to me that you have rushed ahead with this engagement because you want to make your old godfather happy.’

      Vieri inhaled sharply. Was this it? Had they been rumbled? Had Harper been right all along? With Alfonso’s penetrating gaze firmly trained on his face, Vieri decided that if necessary he would come clean, admit that this was all a sham. He wasn’t prepared to dig the hole of this lie any deeper.

      ‘And I want you to know that you have succeeded.’ His lined face lit up. ‘Harper is a wonderful girl. I am delighted that you have fallen in love with someone so perfect for you.’ He raised his eyebrows.

      ‘Well...yes, thank you,’ Vieri mumbled quietly.

      ‘In fact I would go as far as to say you are very lucky to have found her. Young women like Harper are few and far between. Don’t lose her, Vieri.’

      ‘I’ll try not to.’

      But his attempt to be light-hearted was met with a sudden seriousness as Alfonso reached to take hold of his hand.

      ‘I mean it.’ His eyes glittered. ‘You have to trust me on this one. As someone who probably knows you better than you know yourself, I’m telling you, if you let Harper slip through your fingers you will regret it.’

      ‘Alfonso—’

      ‘No, hear me out, figlio. As you know, I never married, never had a family, not because I didn’t want to but because of the terrible vendetta between my family and the Sorrentinos. The vendetta that took the life of my dear brother.’ Alfonso’s voice faltered but with a look of grim determination he carried on. ‘Now I am the very last Calleroni so when I die the name will die with me and the generations of murder can finally cease.’

      ‘I know this, padrino.’ Vieri’s voice was soft. ‘I have always known.’

      ‘And you also know that this is the reason that I could never adopt you as my son, much as I wanted to, because I would never burden you with the Calleroni name.’

      ‘I do, padrino. But to be your godson has been more than honour enough.’

      ‘And it has been my pleasure. To see the success you have made of your life has been my greatest achievement. Especially...’ He paused and reached for a glass of water by his side to moisten his throat. ‘Especially as there were times, in the early days, when I thought I had lost you.’

      ‘Never, padrino. I would never have turned my back on you.’

      But they both knew the time that Alfonso referred to. That black period in Vieri’s youth when the course of his life could so easily have changed for ever. Or more likely ended—with a bullet through his head.

      Vieri had been just eighteen, little more than a kid, when Donatella Sorrentino had deliberately sought out her uncle’s handsome young protégé. At the time she had appeared to Vieri to be the height of sophistication: wealthy, extremely attractive and impossibly glamorous. He had known she was dangerous, but in Vieri’s naive eyes that had only made her all the more alluring.

      Some years before, Donatella Calleroni, as she had been then, had done the unthinkable and crossed the divide, forsaking her own family to marry into the Sorrentino dynasty. The fallout between the two warring clans had been predictably catastrophic. In the name of honour but blinded by revenge, her father, Eduardo Calleroni, had retaliated in the only way he knew how—with violence, ending up with him splattered across the tarmac in a hail of bullets. His brother’s death had broken Alfonso’s heart but if Donatella had felt any guilt, any remorse, she never had shown it.

      But even knowing all this, to Vieri’s intense shame, he had still fallen under her spell.

      In hindsight he could see how he had been groomed. Donatella had taken such an interest in him, buying him clothes, taking him to the theatre, the opera, for meals out in expensive restaurants. By keeping her entertained Vieri was doing her husband a favour, she had insisted, because Frank never did anything but work.

      In actual fact Frank Sorrentino had known full well what was going on, to start with at least. One of Sicily’s most notorious gangsters, he had thought it wise to keep tabs on the clever Romano boy who was a son in all but name to Alfonso Calleroni. Donatella had been dispatched to keep a close eye on him. Something she had done all too well.

      Before long the idea of them going to bed together had shifted from an erotic fantasy to an inevitability. And Vieri, still a virgin, had wanted it, badly. The thought of Donatella being his first, maybe even his only, had filled his head, consumed his young body, sent his teenage hormones into overdrive. So he had readily agreed to Donatella’s terms that nobody could ever, ever discover their illicit relationship. Despite knowing the possible consequences, they had embarked on a passionate affair.

      And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Donatella was bored, she told him. He was becoming too possessive, anyway he was far too young for her. It was only ever meant to have been a brief fling. From being a constant presence in his life she abruptly severed all contact.

      And Vieri had accepted her decision, respected her wishes. Despite being shocked, bruised, broken-hearted even, for he had genuinely believed himself to be in love with her, he had backed right off, walked away. Done as he was told.

      It was only several months later that he had discovered the full, horrifying truth. And such had been his all-consuming rage, his thirst for revenge, that he knew he would have been capable of almost anything. With fire raging in his blood and his contacts in the world of organised crime, the situation could so easily have ended in disaster, destruction, death.

      But then Alfonso had stepped in.