The Correttis (Books 1-8). Кейт Хьюит

fallen asleep and she tried to ignore the knot of worry in her stomach, but after a moment or two she knocked.

      ‘Breakfast is here.’

      Ella stood at the door and all she could hear was silence.

      ‘Santo…’ She knocked again. ‘Answer me.’

      Nothing.

      ‘Santo!’ Ella tried to keep the note of panic from her voice as she thought of head injuries and hangovers and the fact that the newspaper headlines could be far worse tomorrow than they were now. She was actually terrified for him.

      ‘Santo!’ She rapped loudly. ‘If you don’t answer then I’m going to have to come in.’

      Still nothing.

      Ella tried the handle, but of course it was locked.

      Heart in her mouth she ran to her bag, rummaging through it and then through her purse to find a coin. With shaking fingers, she fitted it into the slot and turned the lock.

      ‘Santo!’ she shouted and when still there was no response, Ella knew she had no choice but to go in.

      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘SANTO…’ AS SOON as she opened the door, Ella regretted it.

      There were some things she simply shouldn’t see and immediately Ella knew why he hadn’t answered her.

      Santo’s modesty was covered by bubbles, his head resting on the edge of the bath. His eyes were screwed closed, and his lips were pressed together. For once Ella wasn’t catching her boss doing something inappropriate—that she could deal with. What she couldn’t immediately deal with was the fact that Santo Corretti, a man who charmed his way through life, who always had a smart answer for everything, who, she was sure, cared about nothing other than movies and getting laid, was lying in a bath and trying and failing not to cry.

      Santo never cried.

      He could not remember a single time that he had. It was an entirely new experience to him.

      Not when his father, Carlo, had died alongside his uncle. Nor had there been a hint of a tear at his grandfather’s death. Not even as a little boy—it was as if he’d been born knowing that tears would never work with his mother, Carmela, and any sign of weakness would only have infuriated Carlo. So instead Santo had relied solely on looks, wit and charm.

      He’d just run out them today.

      ‘Go…’ He put his hand up, the word barely making it out of his lips, his shoulders shaking with the effort of holding it in. Both wished they were embarrassed for a rather more salacious reason.

      ‘I can’t just go.’ And no, this wasn’t in her job description, but Ella wasn’t just going to leave him, so she sat on the edge of the bath and pondered the man. He was unshaven, there were bruises on his chest too and he looked battered but not just physically—he looked broken.

      She had at times wondered if there were any feelings to be had in that beautiful head, but now he lay clearly shattered and she watched as he blew out a breath and then finally spoke.

      ‘Do you really think he’ll be okay?’

      ‘It’s Alessandro!’ Ella said firmly. ‘Which means yes—of course he’ll be fine. He just needs some time.’

      After a moment Santo nodded and then opened his eyes. Ella didn’t want him to be so beautiful, but seeing this side of him just served to confuse her more. ‘I really do think that he’ll be fine.’

      ‘It’s not just Alessandro…’ he admitted. ‘It’s the whole lot of them. You should have heard the stuff that came out last night,’ Santo started, but didn’t continue.

      ‘You can tell me.’

      ‘Because you care?’ There was a strange surliness to his words and Ella frowned, but then he shrugged. ‘It is family stuff—it is not for me to say.’

      Ella chose not to push. She knew all about family secrets, knew there were certain things you just didn’t speak about. She had lived her life keeping quiet after all.

      She looked around the bathroom and wondered how someone could make so much mess in so little time. His clothes were strewn all over the floor, the tap was still running where Santo had brushed his teeth and no, she noted he didn’t replace the cap.

      ‘It’s a mess,’ Santo said, only she guessed that he wasn’t talking about the bathroom.

      ‘Families often are.’

      She looked at him then, met his eyes. Usually she pulled hers away, usually she could not stand to have anyone examine her soul. But she saw the green and the bloodshot and the pain in his and for a second she thought she might cry too, which she hadn’t since that terrible day. As Ella sat looking at Santo she was a breath away from telling him that she knew the pain the people who should love you the most could cause, but she held on to it, just as she always had.

      He did not ask.

      She did not tell.

      It was safer that way.

      ‘Come on,’ Ella finally said. She knew that he would hate to have been seen like this, knew that neither would mention it again.

      She put her hand in the water and met his ankle, but she brushed past that and pulled out the plug. Then standing she turned off the sink tap. But as she went to go, Santo just lay there, the water rather rapidly disappearing, and before she saw far too much of her boss Ella grabbed a towel.

      ‘I’ll avert my gaze,’ Ella said, holding the towel up while trying to make a joke, but there was simply no room for jokes this morning and no room for modesty either. In the end, Santo took her hand and sort of hauled himself out of the bath as Ella did her best not to look. He tucked the towel around his hips and walked out to the suite, bypassing the breakfast that had been laid out and heading straight to bed.

      ‘Sorry about this.’

      ‘Oh, you will be…’ Ella started and then stopped. Now really wasn’t a time for their regular teasing. ‘Let’s just forget about it.’ He gave her a slightly suspicious look, but Ella meant it. Yes, they might tease each other at times, but she wasn’t going to use this. ‘It never happened, Santo.’

      ‘Thanks.’ He gave a brief nod and then went back to telling her what to do. ‘Can you get my phone?’

      He sat on the edge of the bed as Ella went off and he could hear her loading up plates and pouring drinks. Santo really did not know what was happening to him—it was as if everything had suddenly caught up, everything he had pushed down and ignored or suppressed was now strewn out before him and refused to go back into its neat box. Family secrets spewing out last night had made Santo feel physically sick. For the first time he hadn’t even been able to screw his way out of it—last night he had removed his mouth from hers, felt her lips on his neck and looked down at another nameless blonde and couldn’t be fagged to head to bed. Instead he had sent her on her way and spent the night with a bottle of whisky, trying to get hold of Alessandro.

      Santo sat there searching for one good area of his life, but even the film was in trouble now thanks to Taylor’s behaviour yesterday.

      One good thing.

      He looked up as Ella walked in, his very professional, somewhat aloof PA, and very annoyed suddenly, Santo climbed into bed and tossed the towel to the floor in a very surly gesture because, apart from the drama of his family, he’d found another thing out yesterday.

      ‘You’re leaving?’

      Ella felt a blush spread over her cheeks, and it wasn’t because he was clearly naked beneath the sheets. There was the awful part when looking for another job where you naturally didn’t let your employer know. She had felt such horrible guilt as she’d lied about her whereabouts and, to make matters worse, Santo had been really nice about her trip to Rome to supposedly visit a doctor.