Untamed Italians. Janette Kenny
“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 wife own the other half of the inn?”
“No,” she said, the denial swift and firm. “Emilio inherited Papa’s fishing business but decided to move it to La Spezia. He said it made good sense to base the business there where he’d be bringing in his day’s catch, and he didn’t mind taking the train from Manarolo each morning.”
Did she honestly believe that?
In the short time he’d had to look into Gemma Cardone’s past, he’d discovered her brother strove to live the life of a playboy. His frequent visits to the Monte Carlo gaming tables were well-known, as was his debatable talent at poker.
The question was where had her brother come by his original bankroll?
Stefano doubted it was from fishing.
He suspected Gemma had fed her brother’s gambling habit with the money she’d gained from Cesare in hopes of doubling her family’s fortune. But had he been successful?
Rumor had it that Emilio Cardone had been on a losing streak of late. A destructive losing streak. What more had he sold in order to gamble?
“I do worry about Nonna,” she said, drawing his attention back to her.
There was genuine concern in her voice. While Stefano was curious what troubled her so, he refused to be moved by it.
“Why? Is your grandmother in poor health?”
She shook her head. “She seems hearty enough, but I know that my sister-in-law lets Nonna do the bulk of the work.”
“A bit of a shirker?” Like Cardone?
“She’s young and has a baby that demands her time.”
Stefano sipped his wine and let it all sink in. Around one year ago life for the Cardones had changed drastically thanks to Gemma becoming Cesare Marinetti’s secretary.
“I am curious how you came to work for my father,” he said.
She took a bite of mozzarella-topped tomato, stalling to answer he was sure. “I was in Milan attending university and we happened to meet.”
Stefano had made his fortune by his ability to read people. Right now he knew Gemma Cardone was lying through her straight pearly teeth. He suspected she was in Milan trolling for an easy victim who would support her and her worthless brother.
“Milan is a big city,” he said. “You were lucky to meet my father there, let alone be offered a job that you sought.”
“I am well aware of my good fortune,” she went on but carefully avoided meeting his eyes.
He stabbed a prosciutto-wrapped mushroom and ate it without appreciating its rich flavor.
To make Gemma suffer for the grief she had put his mamma through, all he had to do was seize control of her inn. That would be easily accomplished if she failed to make that first loan payment by midnight.
He’d own the hotel and Gemma Cardone. He would make her life hell.
The waiter returned with their main course, but Gemma showed little interest in the sumptuous meal. She sipped her orange soda and checked her watch.
The deadline was an hour away, and the calm she’d exhibited earlier was quickly fading. The frown marring her smooth brow hinted that things were not going as she’d planned.
“Is something wrong?” he asked as he refilled his wineglass, determined to remain unmoved by her growing distress.
“My brother was supposed to meet me here.”
The vintage wine threatened to sour on his tongue. How dare she invite someone to join them at dinner without consulting him!
“Why?”
Her gaze lifted to his and this