Mistresses: Blackmailed For His Pleasure. Annie West

would have argued fiercely, for no man cares to admit he was a fool over a woman—even a hot-blooded Italian who lives to love women. If his father would’ve realized what Gemma was after, she wouldn’t have dipped so deeply into Cesare Marinetti’s pockets.

      But Stefano had removed himself from his father’s business before his brother’s death. And afterward? Nothing had changed his father’s view of the world. Nothing had opened his eyes to the pollution he was leaving the future generation to clean up.

      After Davide’s funeral, his father had taken Stefano aside. “Are you ready to give up playing inventor of eccentric ships and return to the family shipyard?”

      That fierce Marinetti pride had kept Stefano from asking his papa if he’d needed or wanted his help. Pride and deep involvement launching a new class of eco-friendly seagoing vessels, he amended.

      “No,” he’d said, and walked out of his papa’s life again.

      He refused to return to Marinetti Shipyard and be nothing more than a figurehead. He refused to assume his brother’s role and be groomed to one day take over the shipyard. He refused to give up his dream now that it was within his grasp.

      He’d never been able to see eye to eye with his papa regarding business. Neither of them would bend.

      A damned shame it had taken another death for his papa to finally ask for his help. Still nothing had changed.

      His father had placed the business in his hands but had insisted that any major changes be discussed with him first. He’d agreed only because he hadn’t wished to cause his father undo stress in his condition.

      But vengeance simmered in him as he thought of being near the woman who’d come between his father and mamma. He’d known he’d make her pay for all the hell she’d put his mamma through.

      That alone was reason enough for Stefano to despise Gemma Cardone. While forcing Gemma to repay every euro she’d conned out of his father was just punishment, it would take years for her to do so even with the plump salary she drew as Cesare’s personal secretary.

      No, he had to get her out of his father’s life for good. The only way to do that was to make her his paramour!

      Stefano set his menu aside and studied the little schemer in the mellow candlelight. She looked pale and vulnerable as she stared at the menu, like a waif washed ashore and in need of a protector.

      Yes, no wonder his father had fallen under her spell. Now it was time to turn the tables on her.

      “They are noted for their calamari,” Stefano said in a conversational tone that he used to put adversaries at ease. “But of course feel free to order whatever you wish.”

      “I couldn’t do such a meal justice,” she said.

      A typical excuse from women who were obsessed with maintaining a model’s figure. All they wanted was a bit of cajoling so they wouldn’t feel guilty about indulging!

      Not that Gemma had to fret about gaining weight. She was edging toward the painfully thin side already.

      “A bit of antipasto will awaken your appetite,” he said. “Perhaps zuppa as your primo.”

      “Please, I’m really not hungry.”

      First her refusal to drink alcohol and now her lost appetite. Was she playing some game to dupe him, or was she beset by an increased case of nerves?

      The waiter arrived with his wine and a glass bicchere holding her orange fizz. He served the lady first, then he gently poured a dram of wine in Stefano’s glass and stepped back to dutifully wait his approval.

      Stefano noted the bouquet had a slightly spicy, sweet fragrance much like the one Gemma wore. He frowned, annoyed that comparison came to mind. With effort he concentrated on his opinion of the vino.

      “Signor?” the waiter asked.

      Stefano pushed thoughts of Gemma aside and gave a clipped nod of approval. “Delizioso.”

      The waiter smiled and proceeded to rattle off the house specials. “What would the lady like?”

      “Un insalata e bruchetta,” Gemma said.

      Stefano tapped the menu on the table. “You must have more than that.” Before she could protest, Stefano ordered antipasto and calamari for two. “My mamma always maintained that they serve the best dolce.”

      She wet her lips and he knew she was tempted. “I shouldn’t.”

      Ah, but she wanted dessert.

      He found her willpower annoying and admirable.

      “How is Cesare today?” she asked.

      She gave the impression she was as delicate as the crystal stem of the glass he clutched in his hand. But he knew there was steel in her spine. Not enough, though.

      He could snap the wineglass as easily as he would break her. Mio Dio, right now he wanted to do both!

      Soon, he told himself. He’d satisfy his revenge soon.

      He waited to reply as the waiter bustled in with the platter of antipasto and then left them to their privacy. Those few moments seemed to make her more anxious.

      “Papa is stable and resting,” he said.

      A slight smile touched her mouth, but her expansive sigh relayed her relief and drew his attention to the quick rise and fall of her bosom. “I’ve been worried.”

      More likely she was concerned about her future role in his papa’s life! He speared shrimp, smoked tuna and vegetables onto his plate and let his anger ebb again. Her cushy lifestyle was crashing to an end around her, whether she realized it or not.

      What did she value above all else?

      By her own admission she’d invested a lot of money in her family’s inn in Manarolo—an inn that she held half ownership in. As he was aware exactly how much money she’d gained from his father, the refurbished inn must rival a five-star hotel on the Riviera!

      Still, he found it interesting that she’d put up her shares as collateral on her loan. Even with improvements, he couldn’t imagine her assets would come close to covering his father’s loss, but if she and her family relied on the income from the inn, he could yank that security blanket out from under her.

      “Tell me more about your family’s inn on Manarolo.”

      Genuine excitement lit her eyes and he knew he was on the right track. “It’s a wonderful old house nearly five hundred years old. At least half of that time it’s been in our family.”

      “Your mother’s family?” he asked as he passed the antipasto to her and insisted she eat.

      “No, my papa’s.” She picked a pitiful few items off the platter—no wonder she was skin and bones! “The inn had passed from generation to generation to the oldest girl, but all Nonna had was Papa. So when Mamma gave birth to me, Nonna gave me half of the inn and let Mamma manage it for me. But when she died, it was up to Nonna to see to the inn and care for my brother, Emilio, and me while Papa fished.”

      It was an arrangement he’d heard of with other working class Italians. Though he was curious about her mother’s death at such a young age, he didn’t wish to discuss the subject. Perhaps his own mamma’s untimely death was still too fresh on his mind.

      “Your nonna continues to manage the inn then?” he asked, knowing full well Gemma couldn’t have done so the past year because she’d been busy bilking his father out of thousands of euros.

      “With my sister-in-law’s help.”

      He popped a succulent shrimp in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. He could have her past more thoroughly investigated, but that would take time. His patience had nearly run its course.

      “What of your brother?” he asked. “Does he and his