Innocent in the Italian's Possession

Some months ago, Cesare had confided in her that he and his son hadn’t been on speaking terms in years. The old man didn’t have to tell her that upset him. She could tell.

He loved his youngest son, but according to Cesare, Stefano had disagreed with him and his eldest son over how to run Marinetti Shipyard. So he had left the company and struck out on his own and their estrangement had remained.

Interesting that Stefano had returned and stepped into the role of CEO now. Surely he wouldn’t take advantage of Cesare’s illness to disrupt the way things were done here? Surely he wouldn’t make drastic changes?

Her intercom buzzed, a long discordant sound that rifled the calm she’d desperately sought. So much for getting a reprieve from Stefano this morning.

She jammed a finger on the call button. “Sì, signor.”

“Stefano.” The silken timbre of his voice stirred a restless energy in her—something that was better left sleeping around him. “I have need of your services.”

“Coming.”

She stood and smoothed a hand over her skirt that had crept up her thighs, picked up her pen and notepad, and marched into the lion’s den. She was immediately thrust into another breathless moment of sensual awareness as her gaze locked on the sexy man lounging at Cesare’s desk.

He’d removed his jacket and slung it carelessly on the leather sofa, as if settling in to work. He’d even rolled up his shirtsleeves and left his cuff links lying on the desktop, the stones glinting the fire of diamonds in the light. But he still looked more the playboy than executive.

His silk tie hung loose around the strong column of his neck. His stark white shirt was open at the collar, revealing a wedge of olive skin sprinkled with black hair.

The same dark hair sprang from his forearms that were corded with muscle. A Gucci watch banded one wrist.

Anger knotted her stomach. Everything about him screamed money and sophistication. He was the consummate billionaire flaunting an extravagance that Cesare certainly couldn’t afford.

Up until nine months ago, Marinetti Shipyard had made a marginal profit building fishing boats and ferries. Some called Marinetti Shipyard antiquated.

Of late, she’d heard the rumors that it was on the verge of collapse. The last hurt the most because it was true.

Cesare had been forced to dig deeply into the profits and a failure of new orders coming in had been unable to compensate for the loss. If she could, she would’ve given back the money Cesare had insisted she take.

But it was gone and her only source of income now was her salary. Without Cesare running his business, how much longer could they go on?

Just last week Cesare had confessed that he’d had to sell a good deal of his shares to Canto Di Mare in order to make payroll. He barely held controlling interest in his own company. No wonder his health had broke!

Without another word or glance Stefano’s way, she settled into the chair before Cesare’s desk, ready to take dictation from her temporary boss. She would surely count the days until Cesare’s return.

“I will be dividing my time between Marinetti and my own company,” he began, rocking back in the chair with lazy insouciance and surprising her with that announcement. “After my father’s surgery, of course.”

“Of course.”

Good! Stefano would only be here part-time. He was likely bored already with his papa’s business.

Cesare Marinetti was old school and his schedule at Marinetti Shipyard was relaxed. Everything here was done in slow precision as it had been done for generations.

Even a good many of the employees were extended family with sons following in their fathers’ footsteps. But what would Stefano know of that?

He’d walked away from his family. He’d found fault with the way this shipyard was run years ago. He’d shunned tradition.

“As my own secretary is on holiday,” Stefano said, snaring her attention. “You will accompany me as I commute between both locations.”

Was he joking? She had no intentions of being at his beck and call, especially since she had so much to do for Cesare in Milan. That took precedence over bowing to Stefano’s whims.

“That is impossible. My work is here,” she said.

CHAPTER TWO

THE mouth she’d earlier admired curved into a devilish smile that sent her stomach cartwheeling. She knew before he said a word that she’d just baited the lion. And lost.

“Your work is wherever and whatever I deem it to be for the foreseeable future. And,” he said, raising one finger when she opened her mouth to voice a weak objection, “to make myself clear, my father is on strict bed rest before his surgery and throughout his recuperation. That includes personal business.”

Those last four words shot ice down her spine. He was ordering her to keep away from Cesare. The wall had been thrown up. It was a small wonder Cesare was able to contact her when he had. Which was likely what his son had anticipated when he took over.

At least she’d gotten the files out in time. She’d simply have to keep them hidden until Cesare returned. And she would guard them with her life.

“Am I forbidden to visit him, as well?” she asked, worry seeping into her bones when she thought of the little girl waiting for Cesare in Milan.

They couldn’t just abandon her now. If Cesare was unable to see to her care, then Gemma would have to do so for him. But first she’d have to get away from Stefano.

That could prove difficult, considering he planned to take her away from here in the capacity of his personal assistant.

“You may visit my father.” He stroked the chiseled line of his classically strong jaw with a thumb as if carefully considering her question. “After his surgery.”

If she thought he was genuinely concerned about the older man’s health prior to the heart bypass, she’d not take this personally. But the hard glint in his eyes mirrored the undertone in his warning—one meant just for her. Could he know of her deep relationship with Cesare? Had he somehow discovered his papa’s secret?

No, that was impossible. She and Cesare had been discreet to a fault. Cesare had doled out a fortune to ensure privacy at the hospital.

Stefano was just throwing his weight around in hopes she would make a mistake. Well, it was time she reminded him that she worked for his papa first and him second.

She got to her feet, still clutching her notepad like a shield. “Cesare wanted me to prepare a detailed list of the ships we are contracted to build during the next year. If you are through, I’d like to get started on it.”

“This is to be included in the prospectus for the new stockholder?”

“Yes,” she said, unsettled by the mesmerizing intensity of his eyes that seemed to look right through her.

He lifted one broad shoulder in a careless shrug. “It can wait.”

“No, it can’t,” she shot back. “Cesare made it clear that the paperwork must be completed today.”

“I am telling you it can wait.”

She threw a hand in the air, disgusted that Stefano wasn’t taking his papa’s wishes seriously. “You may not care if your father’s business flourishes or fails but I do. Until I hear otherwise, he is my boss, not you.”

Gemma could have crawled under the table, for she’d never, never, let her emotions get the better of her until now. But Stefano Marinetti seemed to know what buttons to jab to push her over the edge. And wouldn’t that be a crime!

If she walked out, Cesare would have nobody in his corner. He’d have to reveal his secret and face the consequences. And a little girl would be exposed and branded a bastard.

Her shoulders slumped, for that realization was all it took for her to pull in her claws. She’d been the object of scorn before. She certainly wouldn’t wish it on another innocent. Besides, she’d given Cesare her word that she’d carry on with her role here.

“Forgive my lack of manners,” she said.