Innocent in the Italian's Possession

That’s when his papa had hired Gemma Cardone. That’s when his papa had begun spending more time with her in Milan than at his shipyard. That’s when thousands upon thousands of euros had vanished.

Stefano returned to the desk and lounged in the chair from which his papa had ruled for so long. He opened the file his accountant had assembled and welcomed the bite of anger nipping along his nerves.

He abhorred deceit. Gemma had smoothly deceived his papa.

She deserved to be treated in kind.

He jabbed the intercom button. “Join me, Gemma. Now.”

“Yes, sir.” Was there a touch of annoyance in her voice?

It pleased him that she was peeved to be at his beck and call. He wanted her to finally earn her paycheck by actually working.

She stepped inside and faltered, her pen and notepad clutched tightly in hand again. “What do you want?”

Due compensation. His blood heated, his muscles tightening as his gaze slid over her curves. You, bella. I want you.

This carnal attraction to her annoyed the hell out of him. He favored sophisticated women who wanted nothing more than a physical relationship. He had neither the time nor patience to suffer manipulative women.

Never mind the fact that Gemma Cardone stared back at him with a wide-eyed vulnerability that made his mouth go dry. He had the proof that she was a schemer, out to get all she could out of his papa. She’d certainly achieved that end!

He wouldn’t be surprised if she hoped to lure him into her silken trap as well. That would never happen.

She would not seduce him as she had Cesare Marinetti. It would be a waste of her time to use her wiles on him for he was immune to such machinations.

He meant to give her tempting body a dismissing look, but found himself appreciating the way her silk blouse draped over her full breasts. How her skirt nipped in at her slender waist only to flare over her womanly hips.

His muscles tensed and blood pooled in his groin just at the thought of pressing her back on his desk and making love with her. He curled his fingers into fists and pressed the knuckles into the wood, vexed that his body was still not listening to his brain where she was concerned.

Perhaps he’d be wise to sever all ties with Gemma Cardone now. He could certainly afford to replace his papa’s lost fortune.

He’d be free of this temptation and could devote his attention to the shipyard.

But a swift dismissal would let her off scot-free to practice her duplicity on another victim. Word would quickly spread that Cesare and Stefano Marinetti were easy marks.

No, he had to make an example of her. He had to venerate his mamma’s cry for vengeance. He couldn’t let Gemma Cardone get away with such duplicity.

His gaze narrowed on the mistress who seemed too damned poised.

Sì, too much pride and honor was at stake to sweep this nasty business under the rug. He had to publicly ruin this little schemer. The sooner, the better.

Stefano waved a hand at the chair before his desk, impatient to get this unpleasantness finished. She hesitated in the doorway a heartbeat before quickly crossing the room.

His pulse began racing as his gaze lingered on the brief skirt that hugged her thighs and showcased long, elegant legs that could cling to a man’s flanks as they writhed in the throes of passion. Maledizionel He didn’t want to think of seducing her.

He damned sure didn’t want to think of her doing the same to his papa. That image sent anger bolting through him with the burning intensity of a lightning strike.

Damn seductive gold-digger.

Damned beautiful gold-digger.

As soon as she was seated, he began. “I want to know what business my father and you conducted in Milan for the past nine months.”

She went still as death, fixing those expressive blue eyes on him again. Her small fingers tightened around the edge of her notepad and her back stiffened, as if ready to defend something that wasn’t defendable. “That is between me and your father.”

“Not anymore,” he said, gaining satisfaction in watching her glare at him as if he were in the wrong—the guilty always tried to divert attention away from themselves. “I hold majority shares in Marinetti Shipyard. The profits and debts are now mine to manage.”

She blinked and the steel in her spine seemed to bow, as if burdened by that news. “Are you actually taking over your papa’s company?”

“My plans are not open to discussion,” he said. “We were discussing your role in my father’s life.”

The color drained from her face. “I told you I’m his personal secretary.”

He snorted. She must think him as gullible as his papa.

“Were you aware that my father is nearly bankrupt?” he said.

Her face turned as white as marble. “I—I knew he was having financial difficulties of late.”

“Yet you continued to take thousands of euros from him every month, even though he could ill afford such lavish gifts.”

“It wasn’t a gift.” She pressed her lips together and downed her head, convincing him of her guilt but not her remorse.

“Then what was it, Miss Cardone? Payment for services rendered?”

Her head snapped up and her eyes sparked with indignation and some other emotion he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “How dare you think that I—That Cesare and I were more than friends.”

“Do not lie to me, Miss Cardone.”

“I’m telling you the truth. Cesare is a dear friend and my employer. Nothing more.”

He pressed his palms on the desk when he longed to grasp her narrow shoulders and shake the truth from her. “Where the hell did the money go? You certainly haven’t spent it on designer clothes or a fancy apartment.”

“How would you know?”

“I’ve seen the small flat you live in and rent.” He snorted. “You don’t even own a car. Look at me!” he commanded when she looked away. “I want the truth. Why was my father giving you thousands of euros every month on top of your salary?”

She trembled the slightest bit, like a hare cornered by the wolf. “It was a loan.”

“A loan,” he repeated, and she bobbed her head.

It was a lie. He was sure of it. But he didn’t hold any hope that she’d divulge her secrets. Not yet anyway.

“What are the terms of your loan?” he asked, forcing a lighter tone with her now.

She blinked and her soft mouth parted slightly. Could it be she hadn’t thought that for every loan there was an agreement of repayment?

She shifted uneasily on the chair and looked everywhere but at him. “It was interest free for the first nine months, so I’ve not actually made a payment. Cesare agreed that I could wait until the inn was making a modest profit.”