Wedded, Bedded, Betrayed. Michelle Smart

      ‘But... But that’s insane.’ She ran her fingers through her messy hair. ‘Tell me what your real proposition is.’

      ‘That’s it. I want my ring on your finger and my baby in your belly.’

      ‘A baby? You want me to have a baby with you? You are insane—’

      ‘Those are my conditions for not throwing your father and the rest of your family to the mercy of the authorities.’

      She shook her head, visibly pulling herself together. Dragging herself away from the railing, she rejoined him at the table, finished her caffè e latte, then helped herself to the fresh pot of coffee.

      Done, she leaned forward, her fingertips holding onto the table as if they were suction pads.

      ‘Putting aside the fact your proposition is the most stupid idea in the history of humanity, and putting aside your monstrous idea of us having a baby together, what would you hope to achieve by marrying me? My humiliation? My subjugation? What?’

      ‘I have one mission in my life and that’s your father’s destruction. You marrying me...’ he allowed himself the luxury of imagining Ignazio’s reaction to the news ‘...will destroy him emotionally. You’re his special princess; the light of his life. Knowing you belong to me will cut right into what is left of his heart.’

      Her eyes flashed pure hatred at him. ‘I will never belong to you. And I am not having your child.’

      ‘If you agree to my proposition you will take my name. You will have my child. A Ricci will become a Mantegna. Together we will make a new life.’ Now Gabriele leaned forward to mimic her stance, placing his fingers on the table so they almost touched hers. ‘Your father, your brothers, the whole world will believe you have fallen in love with me and that whatever heart you have in your body belongs to me.’

      Now her eyes were wide with stark panic. ‘I can’t do it. No one would believe we’re in love for a second.’

      He shrugged. ‘It will be your job to make them believe it.’

      She rubbed at her eyes. He looked closely to see if there were tears but clearly Elena, despite her doll-like exterior and unfortunate fainting fit, was tough. It wasn’t a thought that should make him glad but it did.

      Knowing she was more than equipped to be his equal lessened a fraction of the guilt trying to eat at him.

      He would not allow himself to feel guilt. After what her father had done, guilt and empathy had no place in his life.

      Gabriele’s father had worked hard all his life, had been a loyal and faithful husband, father, employer and friend. To see his reputation trashed and the anguish it had caused, along with his father’s bewilderment that the man he’d considered a brother had been the root of it all...

      ‘It’s one thing wanting to hurt my father but why are you dragging me into it?’ she asked, shaking her head. ‘I’ve done nothing to you. I don’t even know you.’

      ‘Because I know you’re as guilty as he is. Even if you didn’t have a direct hand in the framing of my father, you did nothing to stop it. Your father is a monster yet you act as if he were a deity. You should consider yourself lucky that I’m giving you this chance. Be in no doubt, the FBI will find evidence against you and your brothers too.’ Gabriele rose from the table. ‘I appreciate it’s a lot for you to take in so I shall give you some time to think things through.’

      ‘How long? How long, damn you?’

      He looked at his watch. ‘I want your decision by the time we reach Tampa Bay.’

      ‘I can’t...’ She swallowed, her face pinched and furious. ‘I can’t. It’s impossible.’

      ‘You can. The choice will ultimately be yours. Just bear in mind that should you choose the wrong option, your father will spend what’s left of his miserable life in a prison cell. There might even be a cell with your name on it too.’

      As he walked back indoors, the feel of her hate-filled eyes burning into his back, he took some deep breaths to dislodge the uncomfortable, cramp-like feeling that had settled in his chest.

      * * *

      A hot shower made Elena feel cleaner but not at all better.

      She’d sat outside on the deck for almost an hour, trying hard to think but being unable to drag up a coherent thought.

      She should never have taken the long weekend off work.

      She’d hardly taken any time off in the past year: since Gabriele had started his whispering campaign she hadn’t dared. She’d wanted her employees and the Ricci shareholders to see her relaxed and unworried. An average week would see her travel to a minimum of four countries. Yes, she travelled by private jet but even thirty thousand feet in the air there was no respite to be had. Always there was paperwork to catch up on, emails to send and reply to, daily conference calls with her father.

      A fortnight ago she’d caught a cold that wouldn’t shift. As the days had passed her energy levels had sapped. Getting out of bed had become a feat of endurance. Then, on Thursday, she’d sat through a board meeting in Oslo fighting to keep her eyes open. As soon as it had finished she’d dragged herself into her office, sank onto the sofa and promptly fallen asleep. While she’d slept she’d dreamt of the family Caribbean island, bought two decades ago, and had woken knowing she needed a break. She didn’t need a doctor to tell her she was in danger of burnout.

      Their home on the island was big enough that all the family could come and go as they pleased. As a rule, they notified the household staff so preparations could be made, but on this fateful occasion she’d decided what she needed more than anything was peace. Just the thought of being completely alone—obviously with the exception of the unobtrusive security guards—had lifted her spirits.

      Three days of solitude and sunshine...

      She’d arrived on the island late yesterday afternoon. She’d dumped her case in the house and then decided to do something she hadn’t done since she was a child, and head to the south of the island where the clear shallow waters allowed her to wade far out, and catch a fish for her supper.

      Her belly rumbled as she recalled how she’d never had a chance to eat her catch, a juvenile foot-long barracuda.

      The sun had gone down and she’d built a small fire on the beach. Her barracuda had been almost cooked to perfection when shouts had distracted her.

      She’d assumed one of the security guards had injured himself and rushed off through the woods to help.

      Luck had not been on her side. She’d stepped onto the main drive that cut through the woods at the exact moment the man clad head to foot in black had stepped out of the house. He couldn’t miss her.

      She’d been rooted to the ground, her shock so great she’d been unable to move more than a muscle. It was as if her brain had been incapable of comprehending that there was a stranger before her and that this stranger represented danger.

      Then the adrenaline had kicked in and she’d turned to run but by then it had been too late—the man had already yelled for back-up and was powering towards her. So she’d done the only thing she could. She’d opened her throat and screamed, literally, for her life.

      Thank the Lord that Gabriele had heard it. She couldn’t bear to think of what would have happened if he hadn’t, or if he’d ignored it.

      Her wrists were still sore from where that man had tied her to the bed. He hadn’t cared if he hurt her. Indeed, she would guess he got off on it.

      It was this knowledge, that Gabriele had put himself in danger to rescue her, that tempered the fury ravaging her entire body. Even her toes were angry.

      But he had saved her. He’d put himself in grave danger for her. When he’d slung her over his shoulder there had been an understandable impatience but not a roughness. Hurting her had been the last thing on